That was where I saw the first sign of life. A sk8 who couldn't have been more than ten coasted up on a humming, nicely-tuned Chervoyg almost as long as he was. He brought the board to a stop and hopped onto solid ground, nicking the board neatly with a kick as the powercell died down. His hair stood up in gelled acid-green spikes, and his face was streaked with blue camopaint. He glanced around, not seeing me, and pulled a pack of smokes out of his breast pocket. He wore a fluttering flannel shirt and a loose pair of black pleather shorts covered in rippling silver magtape. This was evidently a little-used part of the Hole, because he proceeded to sit down right at the edge and smoke, looking up as the cloak of night fell across the faraway roof and tiny hole that was the main entrance to the subterranean world. Little drops of light that were antigrav and powercells began to flock through, weaving in complicated patterns.
I made a low noise, scraping against the plaswood shelter. Then I coughed, letting him know I was there.
He made no move. I stepped out cautiously.
He took one incurious glance over his shoulder, his fingers caressing his board's powercell. I stopped, the sweet scent of synth-hash filling my nostrils. He was normal, wouldn't be able to see the disturbance I created in the landscape of Power. But I still probably looked like I'd been run through a few hoverwashes.
Gabe used to smoke. Panic rose under my breastbone. I swallowed, my sword shoved into the loop on my belt. My hands were loose and raised. "Hi. I'm Dante Valentine."
He let out a chuff of smoke and a choking sound. "Fuck. Wonton w'hini."
"I know how to ride a board." I kept a firm hold on my temper. "I just don't have one right now. You can help me with that."
He had wide blue eyes, clashing with his acid-green hair. "Landerfuck," he sniffed with magnificent disdain. "Niners outa clap w'hinioo."
"Innocent until proven otherwise." I gave him a lopsided smile. Some people try to mimic slictribe lingo, I don't. It's enough that I can guess at 80 percent of what they mean. Even Konnie had been hard to understand at times.
It was a long shot, but I decided to go for it. "Konnie Bazileus. Heaven's Arms. He still around?"
I thought his eyes couldn't get any rounder. "Bazzmouth on'yo tribe?"
"I'm not tribe," I said. "I'm lander, remember?"
He shrugged. "Bingya Bazzmouth."
"Thanks." I folded myself down onto the gritty filthy floor of the ledge jutting out into the side of the hole, blood crackling as it dried on my clothes. "Bum a smoke?"
After that it was nothing but waiting. Those of the slictribe don't function in the same timezone as the rest of us; the less charitable say it's because of all the hash and XTSee. He smoked his way through two more cigarettes, generously sharing with me, then stood slowly, brushed his pleather shorts off, and pressed the powercell. He tossed the board and flung himself after it, his new BooPhooze sneakers thudding on the deck's surface. It used to be Rebotniks or Aeroflot were the popular brand, but no longer.
I was getting old. I even felt old. Creaky, my bones dry. The synth-hash didn't soothe me as much as I wished it would. As soon as he was gone I stubbed the last one out in the filthy greasy crud masquerading as dirt down here.
I put my head down on my knees and tried to breathe. The blue glow of my god's attention was comforting, hovering at the edges of my mental awareness. I'd just outrun four cruisers and what looked like Mob troops. That wasn't a new trick, cops and Mob working together; sometimes the cops needed a little help from the extralegal side. Of course, the Mob troops had only been legally-augmented, but if they were working for the cops I didn't blame them. Still, it bothered me. I assumed they were Mob, because they hadn't behaved like cops, cops would have shouted at me to drop my weapons.
If they weren't from the Tanner Family's war with me, maybe they were from Lucifer pulling strings behind the scenes again, using me to trap Eve. Hellesvront had all kinds of agents on earth, it stood to reason the cops might be part of that network.
What a joy. I've got so many enemies, even I can't decide between them.
The rattling whines of slicboards began to build as the Hole woke up. Sk8s and other slictribers, like psions, generally come out and play at night.
I tilted my head up, watching the aerial ballai. It's impossible to look totally graceful while riding a board you're always on the edge of spilling-but confidence imparts its own kind of grace. I watched the little darts of antigrav light, spinning in the figure-eight pattern slic riders use for high-traffic zones, others dipping down and peeling away to take runs around the edges. Whoops and high joyous cries echoed through the cavern. The pounding of a vance party in another part of the Hole started to throb like a heartbeat, music meant to shake dancers into a trance and keep them there for hours.
I'd thought before of using the patterns of hover traffic for divination. Now I watched the spots of firefly light that were the slicboarders, and I felt premonition flutter under my skin. Deep, unsteady panic welled up from the pit of my belly.
"Gabe," I whispered, and watched the lights tremble as my eyes filled with tears. I blinked them away.
Konnie still rode a board. And he, of all people, reminded me of just how much we'd all aged while I was letting time pass me by in Toscano. His fingernails were still clipped brutally short and painted with black moleculedrip; he probably still played in a Neoneopunk band. Kids like Konnie rarely ever grow up. He was still riding, still part of a tribe. That meant he was still fast and mean.
He was still lean, and rode with hipshot ease. Still wearing flat golden plasmetal rings on his right hand; still the same dead flat dark eyes. His hair was different now, dyed magenta and long-braided, studded with ivory beads. He wore-since he was no longer a young punk fashion plate but an aging one-a black V-neck linen shirt, skintight purple viscose-velvet breeches, and supple black fake-shark boots. Fans of wrinkles spread at the corners of his eyes, and his mouth was bracketed with two curving lines. He still rode a Valkyrie-slictribers are nothing if not loyal to their decks.
Konnie had known my old face. My human face. I'd been taking my slicboards to him for servicing since I'd left the Academy, and we'd evolved a useful acquaintanceship over the years-an acquaintanceship I was about to use for all it was worth.
I presented my left cheek subtly as he stood with his back to the ledge, studying me. With luck he'd recognize my tat. The kid with the green hair settled down crosslegged and lit another cigarette. The sweet smoky smell of synth-hash rose and twirled around the other odors of the Hole. I was glad I'd learned to tune down some of the demon acuity in my nose.
Konnie grinned, showing strong white teeth. It was a vidflash expression, there one moment, gone the next. "Deadhead. You get augments?"
"Kind of. Against my will." I lifted a shoulder, dropped it. Blood crackled on my clothes, almost dry now and powerfully fragrant of spice and rotting fruit. Tucked under Konnie's arm was a long slim shape in a chamois sheath. "Nice to see you too, Konnie."
"Been a long wave." He studied me carefully, scrupulously speaking my language instead of slic lingo. "You bringin' trouble. Niners all over all the entrances. Been a few scuffs."
"I'm sorry." My eyes burned, and my lungs. The vast dim cavern beat with the pulse of slicboard travel and more vance parties starting, the walls really beginning to bounce. Stray tufts of breeze made the beads in his hair clack together, touched my cheek and ruffled my clothes. "I'm on the warpath, Konnie. I don't want to hurt any slictribers, but my temper's real short. I want a board, and I need to get out of here unseen and send a couple messages. I can pay."
He shrugged, his lip curling. "Pay."
Oh, Sekhmet sa'es. "New Credits, you ass. Not datband dangle. You think I was born yesterday?"
His eyes were troubled as he studied me. "You look awful young."
You have no fucking idea how old I feel. "Not my fault. I lost a game with the Devil, Konnie." There is no lie like telling the truth, is there?
Is there, Japhrime
l?
Trust me, Japhrimel's ghost replied. Say you will not doubt me.
I wish he hadn't left me with McKinley, I wish I'd known not to get angry at him. Maybe I could have convinced him to help Eve, maybe not. I should have tried
"Devil?" He blew out, a long low whistle between his strong white teeth. Business at the Arms must be good. He wore a datband plugin that registered him as constantly monitored by a security company, which meant he probably had his fingers in a few extralegal pies.
"Don't ask. Look, Kon, are you gonna help or am I going to have to figure something else out? I'm kind of in a hurry." I risked a little rudeness.
He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Holy shit." For a moment he sounded much younger, and his dead dark eyes flared to life. The Hole pounded, confused air swirling and buffeting, making the riding even more challenging. I heard a chorus of yells-a duel, maybe. "It is you. Valentine."
"Don't worry," I told him. "Nobody else would recognize me either."
"Shit they won't." He weighed the chamois-sheathed package in both hands, his rings winking in the uncertain light. My own rings swirled with Power, his were merely human.
Completely human.
"You still got that look," he said finally. "We all know it, that hungry Valentine look. Who you hunting this time, baby?"
"Whoever runs the Tanner Family and killed my best friend." And anyone else who gets in my way. "Name a price, Konnie. If I don't have it, I'll get it in an hour."
He tossed me the package. I flashed to my feet and caught it, moving too quickly to be human. He didn't flinch, I have to give him credit. But he made that little clicking sound again, tongue popping. "You always paid before. Spect you earned a little cred." He jerked his head back. "C'mon, ride wit' me. Then we figure out how get you outa here."
I need more, Konnie. "And a couple slic couriers? There's no danger in it, not for them."
"Shit;" Konnie said, "this ain't nothin'. You shoulda seen the fight we had last year between the Pacers and the TankLickers. Anything a Lander comes up with we can handle."
My heart squeezed down on itself. These were no more than children, even if they were sk8 and sIic couriers. I bloody well hope you're right, Konnie. I really do.
Chapter 24
The package in chamois was a Valkyrie, sleek and black and beautiful, freshly-tuned and magclean. Good old Konnie. I wondered how much of my reputation still survived down here in the Hole.
I sent four messages by slic courier, three on paper and one on air.
The air-message was for Abracadabra, telling her I was still alive and still going after Gabe's killers. She'd make sure the information got around and caused maximum confusion. It also had a chance of reaching Lucas, who would be able to pick up my trail in the Hole if he was lucky. I'd feel a lot better about this once he managed to catch up with me.
The first paper message was to Selene. Tell Tiens Japh's been taken and needs help. That would also let the Hellesvront agents know I believed them without committing me to letting them «protect» me. Maybe, just maybe, they would concentrate on getting Japh out of hock or sowing some confusion, to keep my trail clear of demons. I didn't hope for much-after all, they were probably more interested in finding me and spiriting me away from Saint City before another group of demons got their hands on me. Still, I could hope.
Next message, to the Tanner Family's corporate front downtown. A courier with long orange dreadlocks and the androgynous holovid figure in style now knew where it was and took a short note for me.
Hand over Spocarelli and Thornton's killers or I'll send you to Hell. Nice, sharp, direct, though I intended to pay them a visit soon after they received it. I signed it with a flourish and a certain feeling of grim enjoyment. The orange-haired courier also knew where the Tanner Family mansion was, their nerve center. It was by far the most productive half-hour I'd spent in a while, talking to her.
The very last message was to Jado. To this courier, a short, stocky mean-looking kid with a fuzz of dead black hair and a pierced lip, I gave Eddie's mastersheets, sealed in a magpouch with the homicide file and a note asking him to hide it and apologizing for the inconvenience. This about wiped out my stolen bankroll, between pressing cash on Konnie and paying the couriers hazard fees. I was a hot commodity now; it would have been cheap not to pay them for potentially running across someone who would give them plasflak intended for me.
I finally stood at the edge of another ledge, down in the well of the Hole, far enough down that I felt the dread touch of claustrophobia. This would probably be a very good place to hide if I wasn't so damn nervous in close, dark spaces. The central cavern was huge, of course, but still it was underground, and it was dark, and I could feel the pressure of the dirt overhead and to the sides bearing down on me. Konnie stood next to me, humming an old RetroPhunk groove.
A shiver touched my back. I needed food, I needed rest.
Too bad, sunshine.
A clear piercing whistle floated through the pulsing. Konnie finally tapped at his board, leaning against his leg. "Tribe's movin' to clear out an exit. Think y'can keep up?"
I shrugged. I had demon reflexes and had put in a fair amount of time on slicboards, but he was tribe. He lived on his board when he wasn't running his shop. I knew better than to show any false bravado here, especially as he was doing me a favor. "Just go slow and try not to tip me."
He sniggered. Japhrimel would have caught the sarcasm in my tone, but Konnie didn't. He simply smacked the powercell, tossed the board, and performed the same trick as the other kids, leaping out into space and letting his feet thud on the deck's surface, the antigrav giving resiliently under him. The kick of the kinetic energy meeting frictionless antigrav made the deck bounce violently, but he controlled it and whooshed away as I pressed the powercell on my own board and dropped it on the ledge, jumping and landing hard, stamping my front foot down to propel the board out over the Hole.
Space slid away under me, the board bounced, and I caught my slic legs quickly and dove after Konnie, who circled in a lazy spiral and finally nipped neatly into an archway on the west side. I followed into the choking darkness, hoping he wouldn't lead me astray.
It was a shock to go aboveground. Especially on a slicboard, bulleting past neon and keeping to streetside because the hoverlanes would bring me to the attention of the cops sooner. I hoped nobody had figured out I'd been talking to Horman-and I hoped he hadn't alerted his superiors to my presence. I was depending on him to come through for me.
I went a short way into the Tank and found a nice dark Taliano restaurant that wouldn't cavil at my appearance, got a booth, and started eating. Garlic bread first, and a bottle of chianti; calamari and bruschetta, two orders of spaghetti, and the biggest steak they had. Then another bottle of chianti-the carbs in it would help keep me fueled-and another order of spaghetti, an order of fettuccini alfredo with chicken and broccoli. Finally, comfortably full, I ordered three beers and downed them all one after another. I don't like beer, but it's a cheap source of carbs.
If I hadn't been so hungry I would have read the book Selene gave me while I ate instead of stuffing everything down as fast as I could. Long ago I stopped feeling good about the sheer amount of food I needed. I felt like a glutton, especially when I'd expended a lot of physical power. If Japhrimel had been around it would have been better, I didn't need to eat quite so much when I hung around him. There I went thinking about Japhrimel again.
I had to pay with my datband, but that didn't matter. I didn't intend to stay in the Tank for long, and by the time any bounty hunters or police reached the restaurant, I would be long gone.
Outside it was raining again, pellets of slushy ice. Wet neon slicked the streets, painted the hovers with splashes and traceries of light. The streets hummed uncomfortably, the well of Power pulsing a little differently. I noticed less psions than usual out in the rain-washed night.
I didn't blame them. Saint City felt carnivorous tonight.
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So did I.
I zipped through the streets with wet wind mouthing my hair, splashes and kisses of cold against my skin. My clothes were definitely the worse for wear, full of dried blood and artistically torn, unmarked golden skin showing through the rips and bullet holes. I had a full load of ammunition, thanks to Konnie, plus my plasguns and my sword as well as my knives.
It wasn't enough for a full-scale assault on a Mob Family.
The Tanner Family nerve center was in a rich part of town, an arc of prime bayfront property housing blueblood mansions. This wasn't the corporate front, the legal face of the Mob business. This was their home, where they would entertain and hold their most important meetings. A lone psion would be recklessly stupid to attack a nerve center.
I might be stupid, but I'm fast, I'm mean, I have a sword that can cut the Devil and the will to use it. Whoever's there will just have to die, that's all. After they answer my questions.
All my questions.
I had to approach from uphill, swinging out in a wide arc and staying below the hoverlanes likely to hold police traffic. Slicboards can't go over water, and if I'd had a hover… well, a hover wouldn't have changed anything. Across the water, the lights of downtown glittered like a necklace, the orange glow of antigrav and streetlights staining the rainy sky. My city throbbed and pulsed like a heart, its chambers thudding with Power-a pulse echoed by the Gauntlet, clasped to my left wrist.
There are demons in the city tonight. Something's happened. Has Japh broken free? I don't think so, I'd probably feel it through the mark. But something's shifted.
Let's hope that's good for Eve.
The mansion was low and beautiful, a song of blue Graeco-Revival architecture, with outbuildings just as graceful and flawless. The Family had done well for itself. Good shielding wedded to the walls and property line, the kind of shielding laid for corporate clients. There would be regular security too, magscan and deepscan shields, a whole battery of defenses as well as guards roaming the grounds.
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