They are nearly at the window and Jan waits until they are beside the door before pushing the button to slide down the car window. She has the gun on semi automatic. One pull of the trigger elicits three bullets in this mode. The window begins to slide, when she remembers something important. Another push sends the window back up again. Jan can sense the bemused confusion outside the car door. Since her arrival they have been trying to make contact telepathically. Until now Jan has remained silent, yet despite her apathy she is alert enough to realise that her behaviour is suspicious, so she sends out as male a signal as she can muster that she wants the lab coats to turn around. She sees red suit nod at this and the laboratory techies turn around. She reaches over to the seat beside her and picks up the silencer she found in the trunk. This now affixed to the gun she hits the button for the window to lower again.
No more than an inch has retracted before she squeezes off the first shot and one of the lab guy's head explodes in silence. A second later and his colleague suffers the same fate.
“Don't say a word. Your mind is blocked from doing the same. If you scream or attract attention I'll shoot you.”
“How do you know my mind is blocked?”
“I'm the stronger telepath.”
“So what do you want?”
“I want a vacation. One way. To Earth.”
“And who says that we can provide that kind of vacation?”
“According to your mind. You.”
Red suit grimaces at this. “And if I don't meet with your demand, I die.” a statement, not a question.
“We both do.”
“I'm not sure I understand.”
Jan opens the door. Opens her coat. She has twelve pounds of high explosive strapped to her waist like a belt.
“This is enough to wipe out the entire base.”
“I'm sorry to disappoint you but the exterior of the base is protected against all known explosives. We fucking make most of them for fucks sake.”
“I didn't say I was going to detonate outside, any more than I said we were going to die at the same time.” Jan levels the gun at red suit's head. Switches on the laser sighting for effect.
Red suit appears thoughtful. “This would be bad publicity for territory if it got out. Not to mention the damage you would do if you were to get inside. There is a chemical that we believe will give you your one way ticket to Earth. However, due to current government legislation, we have been unable to test it. Perhaps this is a... blessing in disguise.”
Jan smiles at red suit.
“You got a name?”
“Yes. It's a common feature amongst living beings. But I doubt you came here to make friends. Follow me. But leave the gun here. Is that understood. If you are seen to be approaching the territory building with an AG-74K fully automatic then there will be a few raised eyebrows and I really don't think you want that.”
“You know your guns,” says Jan. She is impressed.
“I should do,” answers red suit. “I designed it.”
Jan tosses the gun to one side. She never liked them much anyway. Tucked in her waistband, hidden from view is her cleaver. She hopes for red suit's sake she's telling the truth.
Red suit leads her to a doorway marked 'GOV : ORT : DISBND'. Jan is curious.
“It stands for outer realm travelling. Disbanded,” says red suit pushing open the door.
The room inside appears empty at first glance. Yet, as her eyes adjust to the dim light she sees a figure hunched over a desk.
Jan senses he is male. And to his right stands a woman. At the sight of Jan and red suit she nudges the man and points in their direction.
He turns slowly and Jan can see a look of bitter curiosity on his face.
“I told you my research is purely theoretical. You've already taken my budget, what do you want now. My fucking pens?”
Red suit practically grins at the man. “Actually Henrat...”
“It's Henret, Mariacilla, and you fucking... you know my name for fuck's sake,” the last is pleaded, in what Jan thinks is a nonsensical way, and she wonders what deeper relationship exists between the Henrat and red suit, “What the fuck do you want?”
“As I was saying Henret, it's your lucky day,” red suit points towards Jan. “Guess what we have here?”
Henret looks genuinely puzzled, as if Jan is part of something that is beyond contemplation.
Red suit sighs. “I have a terrorist, she has enough explosives to blow up the entire plant and you have a test subject.”
Henret glances at Jan, then back to Mariacilla, disbelief evident on his face.
“Where does she want to go?”
“Earth.”
Henret looks squarely at Jan. “Is this true young lady? Do you want to go to Earth?”
“Yes,” says Jan. She does.
“And how did you get in here in the first place?”
“I shot some white coats then threatened Mary-Alice here with an automatic rifle.”
“And where is this rifle now?”
“It's outback. In a car.”
Sudden dismay takes over Henret's curious face, and there is anger there too. “But this won't do. How on Dizor did you get Mariacilla to let you in here in the first place if the gun is in the car and the explosives were intended for inside. There isn't a mark on her.”
For the first time Mariacilla looks unsure of herself.
“I think I can help with that,” says Jan, and she is a flash of movement. Henret catches sight of reflective metal and the cleaver sits beneath Mariacilla's chin.
“Where the hell did that come from?” whispers the woman in the red suit.
“I never leave home without it,” replies Jan.
“Splendid,” says Henret, clapping his hands together.
Jan removes the cleaver and Mariacilla lets out a whimper. Moments later though she has her bitch persona back on full volume. She moves a stride at a time until she is facing Henret. “You owe me now, Henret. Does this mean you'll sign?”
Henret sighs and nods. There is a sad look in his eyes.
Jan looks over at the other woman, who has remained quiet throughout the entire conversation.“What's your part in this?”
The woman shrugs then turns back to scribbling notes on what Jan can only assume is paper.
Ten minutes later and Jan is wired up to a chair which looks surprisingly antiquated to her. The young woman stands beside her with a square contraption in her hand. It has a handle at the bottom of it with a trigger. At the top extends a circular glass tube, which is hollow. Attached to the end of the tube is a row of needles, again arranged in a circular fashion. Jan counts ten on the outside and three in a triangular fashion in the middle.
It has been explained to Jan that this is a needle gun. It has been adapted from the sort used by tattoo artists and is used when a series of injections have to be given simultaneously.
From this Jan deduces that there are at least thirteen different chemicals in the mix, if not more.
It occurs to her then that she should mention her own mixture earlier.
“It's fine. The machine picked it up. We're going to wipe it from your system in a minute,” the young nameless woman tells Jan. “Listen, to be honest, I'd feel much better about this whole thing if you could get rid of the explosives. We all want this. Even Mariacilla. We've invested the last two years of our lives in this project, not to mention nearly thirty thousand of our own money after they cut most of our funding; just for it to get cancelled at the last minute. We won't tell if you don't.”
“Not going to happen. I can read that you're genuine in what you say, but if the dynamic here changes so does your mind perhaps and I can't take that chance.”
The woman says nothing, yet Jan catches a stray thought, fucking terrorists, at least it was better than last month, poor Becks, fucking blown away for a... and Jan tunes out. She suddenly doesn't want to know who Becks was or what he was blown away for.
Which come to think of it...
&nb
sp; “That's the chemical's you had in your system removed. Great Shub's cunt you have some fucking tolerance to some heavy shit, you know that?” the woman says quite matter of factly.
...that's where the apathy's gone, thinks Jan. She does not usually feel such levels of guilt or discomfort when aware of another's bad tidings, yet the sudden drain has made it so and for the briefest of moments she wonders if this is how a human maybe feels about such things. Stops the thought dead. Cannot afford to let herself be dragged into ethical qualms and forces herself to care less about what's his name that got blown away.
“Okay, but you've got to remember that these chemicals have never been tested. Theoretically, they're one hundred percent the shit. In practice they might make you blow us all up.”
“That's a chance I'm willing to take,” says Jan.
Henret agrees and urges the nameless young woman to get on with the injection. She sighs and turns to face him.
“Fine, Henny. But somebody has to work the particle decelerator if this is a one way trip. Otherwise, only her rez will travel and her body will stay here. As will the fucking bombs she has strapped to her.”
Henret nods, this has just occurred to him and he takes Mariacilla by the arm and escorts her through a sliding door into another compartment.
The young woman looks down at Jan. “I know why you're doing this. Just so you know.”
“What? You know-” Jan stammers, nonplussed.
The young woman pushes the needles into Jan's arm at the shoulder. The pain is severe, and Jan flinches.
“Your girlfriend was an underground legend. Her and that other guy, the one you killed. Tommy or something. The 'Rider's from Hell.' Man, they were massive at the killing grounds.” The young woman says, and for the first time Jan takes in what she sees in front of her.
The woman is maybe a few years older than her Faith Emerald. Black hair is cut into one of the latest fashions, long at the back, curving upwards to the fringe where it dips in length again, this time cut at subtle intervals which deceptively allows its owner to see without problem. A single streak of green runs from front to back, just off to the left of centre.
Jan instinctively uses her other hand to push aside the hair which surrounds the skin around the woman's right eye.
Underneath is a tattoo. It has been skilfully designed so that should the hair fall out of place and reveal it, it would pass for any normal artistic decoration; a common enough occurrence in Dizor. However, hidden away in the intrinsically cultivated hues of blue and black is the Dertrlify, the sign of the Dizorian underground resistance.
The woman quickly pushes her hand away and looks to Henret who is gesturing frantically with both hands and eyes, and the young woman presses the trigger, releasing red, yellow, blue, green and black chemicals simultaneously into Jan's bloodstream.
“You've heard of her. What's your name?” Jan asks before the drugs finally take hold.
The woman smiles and it's the last thing Jan sees before her eyes fall shut. She opens them again moments later. She is standing in a subway station. People mill past her, brush against her. She smells a mingling of sweat and urine yet can see no evidence of the latter. Yet, the most affecting sense she has is one of avoidance and desperation. It radiates from nearly every quickening footfall which echoes in the underground travel cave.
She scans the posters on the walls, trying to get her bearings.
'DRUGS – GET HIGH AND YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE YOU'RE GOING TO LAND – CALL 0880408040 FOR ADVICE.' And under this – 'calls charged at local rates.'
She skips to the next one. 'HAVE YOU LOST AN ANGEL IN LOS ANGELES? MAYBE WE CAN HELP. CONTACT THE RUNAWAY SHELTER ON...
Jan blanks the rest of the message. She is in the right city, thank the fucking local deity. She thumbs through her mind for the number Faith gave her then realises that she has no money for a call. Her cleaver is still tucked into her waist and she fondles it, wondering how easy it would be to rob someone of enough for a phone call. She glances around, at the people walking by. She feels as if her pupils are growing larger with each passing second, so they can take in everything in her new surrounding all at once. Further down the corridor she hears a faint strumming beat. It brings an odd taste of sharp rust to her tongue. She follows the sound and sees an older man, maybe sixty if a day, sitting playing on a guitar. She recognises the instrument. It is known by another name on Dizor, yet she vaguely remembers Faith mentioning that they have them on Earth. For a second she is lost in the memory of that moment, yet just then the song ends and she walks closer to the old man.
In front of him sits a hat filled with a smattering of coins, a variety, most of them the shiny silver Faith has shown her.
She fingers her cleaver.
The old man looks up quizzically. “Would you like me to play something?”
“No. I need to make a phone call. I have the number in my pocket.”
The man points to a set of telephones, each separated by yellow curved partitions, enough so you aren't staring directly at your neighbour.
“How much does it cost? I don't imagine it would take long?”
“How much you got?”
“Nothing. Well no money,” she fingers the cleaver again.
The man studies her. His eyes look suddenly nervous. It is as if he has seen violence in all walks of life and senses it now, perhaps even just a whiff. He takes four quarters out of his hat and hands them over to Jan.
“This should be plenty,” he does not take his eyes from hers as he hands her the silver coins, they are sweaty to the touch and she nearly drops them from mild disgust.
She is about to turn away.
Stops.
The subway is cold and the man has no jacket.
Her jacket is large and warm and will fit this man.
Without thinking she removes Faith Emerald's contact number from the pocket and a small silver plated revolver, it was her lover's, the other Faith's, Faith Emerald had borrowed it on strict instruction from both parents before coming to Earth alone. Jan had found it inches from where her daughter had taken the serum. The man eyes the gun with curiosity. For some reason the sight of a weapon has calmed his fear. Jan hands him the jacket. Thanks him for his kindness. The man nods, tries it on for size. Jan walks up to the payphones. The thirteen pounds of explosive are on full display.
As she dials the number, a child runs into her blindly and her mother pulls her away with a brief apology. Two cops walk past her, then half way along the corridor they turn back the way they came. A business man takes the booth next to her, eyes her up. The phone rings in her ear. Ring Ring... Ring Ring... the click of connection. She hears Faith's voice. Tells her daughter she is in the realm of Earth. The conversation is quick. She hangs up the phone and makes for the entrance.
Thirteen pounds of high explosive strapped to her waist.
Nobody gives her a second glance.
CHAPTER FIVE
CANDY CATCHES UP WITH SOME OLD FRIENDS
“So what happened then?” asked Candy.
“I'm walking towards the entrance, trying to make up my mind what to do about the explosives I'm carrying around like a fashion item, when I saw a guy carrying a suitcase. He was walking into what were unmistakably the guys toilets. As I walked in this other guy walked out, and he gives me this look, like “Uh-huh!” and it takes me a minute to realise that he thinks I'm a whore. Still nobody has noticed the thirteen pounds of explosive tied to my waist.”
“I find that hard to believe. I mean, how the hell do you miss thirteen- what did they look like?”
“Each explosive is about the size of dice-”
“Are you fucking kidding me? They probably thought it was the latest from Gucci.”
“What's a Gucci?”
“Never mind, just get on with the rest of the story.”
“So, anyway. I stop him, grab him by the arm and say, If you don't mind waiting, you can have a shot too.'”
“What did he say?”
“He called me a two bit whore. So I smashed his face against the wall until he was dead. Of course when I calm down I realise that I've got a dead body on my hands and I remember Faith saying that murder is illegal on your world-”
“Murder is legal in your world?”
“In certain zones, yeah. Dizorian's are encouraged to express their base desires. So I'm standing in this small lead-through kind of room. Like there is a door, then this small room I'm in, then there's the pissers. So I sneak a peak around the door and the gents is empty. Then it occurs to me I'm a telepath. On the other hand, I haven't been receiving anything since I arrived here. So, I do a scan, and it's like the entire fucking station is thinking into my head. In words!”
“Excuse my ignorance but don't telepaths normally talk in words?”
“No, we... It's difficult to explain. It's more feeling and shapes. So I try again, and this time it's different. Toned down. The guy's in the bathroom alright, although I can't for the life of me understand what the hell he's saying.”
“Why not?”
“My daughter explained it to me. Apparently he was Chinese.”
“Chinese?”
“Yeah. And something else too, but I can't remember the name for it; it'll come to me. Anyway, the room is full of these cubicles, you know, just like we have back on Dizor,” Candy rolled her eyes at this; however Jan appeared not to notice, her brows furrowed, lost in the memory. “And he's in the last one on the end. So I drag the asshole whose face I just smashed in into the opposite cubicle, the one at the start, they're in a line you know. Great Shub, I nearly threw up there and-”
“What did you say?” Candy drew back from the table, her hand immediately resting on the handle of her knife.
Jan looked confused. “I said that the smell was so bad I nearly-”
“Who are you really? Nobody thinks that goat cunt is great,” said Candy warily.
“Including me. It's a figure of speech, that's all,” Jan laughed and held her hands up in mock surrender; however there was an odd look in Candy's eyes. “I hate Niggurath as much as you do, maybe more. If you don't believe me then read my mind. You're an empath, I'm an empath, well strictly speaking telepath; but it should be easy enough. Or call my daughter, Faith. She'll put you straight.”
Psycho Candy Page 35