Songs From Spider Street

by Mark Howard Jones

  He could hear the sound of her coughing and gagging from behind the bathroom door.

  “Anyone would think it was poison,” he yelled to her. “It’s a real insult, you know?”

  She eventually emerged, mopping her face with a towel. “It sticks in my throat,” she said quietly.

  He smirked at her. “Try spitting it out next time.”

  “Wouldn’t that be just as much of an insult?” She sat down on the bed next to him.

  “Sure. But not as bad as you dying from jizz poisoning.”

  She leant back, brushing against him. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

  He slid his arm across her shoulder, squeezing her to him. “Hey, c’mon. Tell me where the Musel comes from. Who makes that shit?”

  “It’s obvious you’re not going to leave me in peace until I tell you something,” groaned Lise, wriggling free. “OK, listen – it’s alien. That’s why you’ve never seen it before and that’s why nobody knows what it is. Its owners won’t miss that lot until the week after next, so we need to have shifted it by then. And there’s no way it’s ever going to be traced to us. But keep your mouth SHUT about it.”

  “Alien? Christ! Where the hell did it come from?”

  “It’s manufactured by the Tepnesevil.”

  “Those geeks!”

  “They’re not geeks, Tom. They’re very interesting. Serene but unbelievably violent at the same time. The drug’s part of their religion. It’s a bit like old-style Buddhism, I suppose, in the way …”

  Tomos shook his head in boredom. He hated her when she was in full ‘schoolmistress’ mode. Why couldn’t she just talk about her investments or her retirement plans like everybody else?

  He had to interrupt her before she bored him to death. “Haven’t they got a colony on the moon … I mean, our moon?”

  She stopped in mid flow and then added: “It’s not a colony. It’s a religious retreat.”

  “Yeah, whatever. But why’d they choose our moon?”

  Lise paused for a moment before answering. “ I think they were offered it jointly by the UN and the Renewed Republic of the Americas. Somebody obviously made a lot of money out of it. I mean, why else would they do it?”

  Tomos frowned. “I don’t trust them. I mean, it’s so far from their home world.”

  “Yeah. I think the clue is in the word ‘retreat’.”

  “Hmmnnn.” Tomos continued frowning.

  Lise stood and began dressing. Tomos lay back, luxuriating in the afterglow of his orgasm. He stretched himself, groaning with the effort and pleasure of it.

  When he opened his eyes Lise, now fully clothed, was standing over him. “Hey. Don’t just lie there. We’ve got to sort out who we push this stuff out to!”

  Tomos smiled up at her. “There’s no rush. No rush. We’ve got it, that’s the main thing.”

  Lise shook her head and walked off. She busied herself with something in her flight bag.

  He looked at her round rear under her tight skirt as she bent over. She reminded him of another blonde. His first girl, in fact. Back in the settlements on the outskirts of the city, where he’d grown up. Sylve had an urgent need for some crack (God, remember that old stuff?!) and he had the means whereby she could get it. All she had to do was be nice to him.

  She’d been scared – but then she was scared of everything – and he’d strung her along for nearly two months before she was found dead in a stairwell. Overdose the autopsy said, but an overdose doesn’t give you a broken neck. Despite the police suspicion at the time, his conscience was clear. He hadn’t touched her. Even back then, that was someone else’s job.

  He still thought about Sylve often. Even though her looks were beginning to suffer, her hair was soooo blonde. Since then he’d always thought blondes were something special.

  Tomos dreamed of her and drifted off. He could hear Lise shuffling around somewhere in the background. God, I wish she’d stop, he thought, before drifting off further. To where the sound didn’t bother him.

  Tomos woke with a gentle start. His one arm had gone dead where he’d lain on it and a thin string of drool silvered his skin. He scrambled up and looked at the clock. He estimated he’d been asleep for about 30 minutes.

  He looked around but Lise was nowhere to be seen, though he could smell her perfume.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and shook himself awake as he pulled on his clothes.

  Now he realised that there was a faint murmuring coming from the bathroom. Lise? She must be on the phone even though she was talking softly. That wasn’t like her. And why was she making a call from the bathroom? Her favorite spot was perched next to the coffee machine in the kitchen.

  He pushed open the door. “Hey, who are you talking to?”

  Lise looked up, shocked, and Tomos knew something was wrong. He sprang forward and grabbed her wrist, twisting the phone towards him. Before she managed to thumb the image to black he caught a glimpse of a familiar face topped by a distinctive hairstyle.

  “Randall!” he hissed. “What did …?” He pulled her towards him by her wrist. She stumbled slightly, falling against him.

  Clarity came quickly. “With him? You bitch! You … this is just …”

  She put out her hand to placate him, ward him off. “It’s not about that. Not sex. It’s about something … higher, more important … I can’t explain it to you because …”

  His look of disbelief grew more profound: “He was my friend. Why couldn’t you leave him alone? My friend.”

  She drew a breath of relief as he paced away from her. Then a revelation seemed to come to him and he turned quickly. “Oh, I get it! Yeah. You were going to cut me out of the deal. You and he were going to sell the Musel between you. With its street value you would both have been set up for a great time in the sun – just fucking each other stupid all day; laughing at me for being an easy mark. Leaving me in the shade.”

  She looked exasperated. “No, no. Look, It’s not like that …”

  He started towards her, his face getting steadily darker with fury.

  Now Tomos hated her beauty, her perfection, her faithlessness. What made her think she could get away with treating him like this?

  He pulled his pistol, raising it to shoulder level as she began to back away towards the bed. Lise’s eyes widened as she struck out at him, hitting him in the throat as soon as he was close enough. It didn’t stop him. She brought her knee up simultaneously, aiming for his groin.

  Tomos grabbed her by the throat as he turned sideways to avoid her jabbing knee. Fear filled her eyes as he brought the gun close to her lips. He stopped, speaking quietly but with venom: “I’m not going to shoot you. No point in ruining my $3 million Ellman carpet over you, you slut!” Instead he rammed the the gun into her mouth. Lise yelped with pain as two teeth shattered.

  The gun was wedged in her mouth, pushing against the back of her throat. She’s hating this he thought, as the gun stuck into her, filling up her mouth like a big metal and plastic phallus. “Just suck this for me, one last time,” he hissed, jerking the object back out of her mouth, past her blood speckled lips, dripping with red drool. A gasping, gurgling cough escaped her as he punched it forward once more with all his might. She flew backwards, an arc of blood and dentine leaving her mouth, spattering onto the sheets. The gun flew away from him, clattering onto the side cabinet and coming to rest on a pillow; her pillow.

  He stood, breathing raggedly and staring at the one part of Lise still visible from where she had landed. Her right leg showed above the edge of the bed, her foot at an angle, her shiny black shoe hanging comically from her big toe. Tomos almost laughed as he edged around the bed.

  He gasped. He’d never killed anyone before but he didn’t have to look twice. It was obvious she was gone.

  Lise’s head lay against the wall. But something seemed to have gone wrong with it. Not just death, he’d seen that before; something else. Her features had changed. They were longer, more angular, less
attractive. Maybe less human.

  Her hair had changed colour, too. It had changed from a radiant blonde to a duller shade, approaching drabness.

  Tomos hadn’t wanted this. He’d just wanted to mark her, teach her a lesson. To make sure she’d remember her betrayal and to ensure that she wore the trace of it for good and for everyone to see.

  Tomos began to hyperventilate. Suddenly he felt bad. Very bad. He’d never killed anyone before. He’d come close, once or twice, but this was it. It was only when he put up his hand to loosen his collar that he realised Lise had taken a deep gouge out of his neck when she had struck him. She always kept her nails razor sharp. The thick warmth now seeping through his clothes was evidence of that. He lurched into the bathroom.

  Dabbing at the wound ineffectually, he suddenly realised that the case sitting on the table in the next room offered the perfect solution to his problem. The Musel would kill the pain and give him enough strength to get to a hospital. It’d probably staunch the blood flow too; he’d noticed that minor wounds healed a lot more quickly since he’d been using it.

  Crashing into the door frame, Tomos staggered into the bedroom and found the packet of the drug he’d discarded earlier. He tipped it up, emptying it into his mouth. A larger dose than usual – normally four flakes was enough - but this was an emergency, he thought.

  Within a few moments a feeling of well-being flooded through him. Tomos breathed deeply, savoring the feeling of air filling his lungs as the pain ebbed away like a tide going out, steadily but surely. He stretched himself back to his full height and noticed that the feeling of panic about the events of a few minutes ago had left him along with the pain.

  Now he had to make plans. Should he just disappear, leave his apartment and Lise’s body to the law? He didn’t have time to look for Randall. Anyway it was Lise he was really angry with about that. (Christ, he didn’t even know they knew each other!) The fact that he had all the Musel – and all the profit – to himself would be revenge enough, he decided.

  He grabbed Lise’s case containing the drug and clicked it shut. He’d head for his old stamping ground at the settlements for a few days. He’d dress down and blend in with no problem; it’s where he was from. Once things got a little quieter, he’d sneak back here and prepare for a more permanent departure.

  He drew in a sharp breath as a lance of pain shot through his guts. He grabbed a chair to steady himself. He braced himself for a repeat but it didn’t come. Resuming his journey to the door, he got two steps before a sensation like a huge mudslide in his chest wrenched him to his knees. He groaned, gasped for breath and fell on his side.

  What the hell was this? The Musel should have ensured he was good for a few hours at least. But this pain was different to that caused by the wounds Lise had inflicted on him. This felt more permanent.

  He lay there for a few minutes, then decided he could risk getting to his feet. Carefully he raised himself to his knees, then grasped the edge of the sofa to pull himself up.

  Tomos was puzzled, frightened. Was this some neurological disease that had simply picked this moment to strike? One that had been waiting inside him for years? Or perhaps some sort of virulent viral infection that was doing the rounds?

  Then it dawned on him. The memory winked on like a beacon, lighting up the path he didn’t even know he was on. One that led to a place that froze his insides solid with fear.

  Musel. The Tepnesevil. Now he recalled her words, repeated from an old news feature. Used by the top level of the theocratic hierarchy during the ceremony of transformation. Only used after years of seclusion to purify the soul for fear of becoming something …

  He staggered to the mirror. His skin was changing, hanging loosely from his flesh. He stretched the skin from his arm across the surface of the mirror. It covered it easily. It was nearly transparent. The flesh beneath was taking on a translucent quality.

  Lise! The bitch must have been one of them. One of their priestesses. I was never to be her partner … just her victim. She just fed me the Musel to see me change, he thought. And Randall. Was he one of them, too? And why me? And how many more like me? Jesus!! There was no time now to find out.

  He was transforming. Becoming something new. Sweat trickled into his mouth and the half-burnt flavour tasted of fear. Fear of becoming something …

  What was he becoming? His pupils, now oddly shaped, dilated as he saw the changes begin …

  ‘… RUNS OUT LIKE SAND’

  The signs had hypnotised him from the first.

  While wandering the high dunes two weeks ago, Eber had spied them, shimmering in the rising heat. They were only visible from up here or from the air. Any lower down and they just looked like a collection of small rocks jumbled together.

  The strange shapes marked out on the slanted rock plateau nagged at Eber, reminding him of something. It was something fundamental but was it just out of reach, an itch in the back of his skull that he had no way of scratching.

  He didn’t know if they were language or art, or even who had made them. Nobody did.

  If they had been made by the previous inhabitants of the planet it was all they had left behind. Their only trace.

  Eber had spent an afternoon clambering over them, tracing along the patterns until darkness came and the chill of the three moons had crept into him, driving him back to his hideaway.

  He’d found out that what looked like rough carvings from up here were really very intricate close to, made up of small rocks laid together like tessera – a mosaic without meaning, at least to him and his kind.

  The loops and curves of the markings were punctuated by rounded, shallow hollows. As the day progressed shadows crawled slowly in and out of them like slow desert creatures wary of being spotted. Eber speculated that the hollows might be the equivalent of punctuation marks; it added nothing to his understanding of what they might mean.

  He’d walked away from them feeling a sense of defeat, a loss that would have been impossible to put into words. Perhaps that was what the markings were trying to express as well, either in an alien language or symbolically.

  Forcing his eyes away from the markings he wrapped his cloak tightly about him, hoping for respite from the heat, and headed on. He’d left himself plenty of time – partly to escape the worst of the day’s heat and partly to avoid the exhaustion he’d felt on the previous occasion after leaving himself too little time to rest.

  An hour later his destination appeared on the horizon, long and high.

  Now Eber could afford to sit and rest. He flipped open the thin box of Teplin and slipped the tiny piece of confection between his teeth. The instantly cool taste and slight narcotic effect helped to dissipate his exhaustion slightly.

  He let his thoughts drift and as always they drifted to Eleann. She was the one bright spot in his life since coming to this gods-forsaken planet from Ofauick.

  He had fled at the business end of a nasty misunderstanding involving the Ofauicket planetary governor, a knife and some stolen platinum lock plates destined for military use. Oh, yes … and the governor’s daughter. Actually, now he thought about it, that was where the knife had come in. But it was a game. She’d agreed to it, eagerly. And then she’d broken the rules. Simple as that.

  Eleann had saved him … almost. He liked to think of it that way. She’d been the medical activist assigned to him after he’d crashed his stolen transport near the southern peninsula’s only major city, Ankot.

  He’d hoped the crash would result in enough facial damage to require a quick cosmetic – just enough to hide his identity, to the naked eye at least. Broken arms and a fractured jaw just weren’t good enough.

  He would have to slip away from the city. Her small face with its close-cut hairstyle filled his mind while he was making plans - together with the perfect curve of her back as she arched upwards over his bed, her small breasts tugged higher by the movement. He was sure she’d registered his interest and took the risk of contacting her just before he�
��d skipped Ankot. He was only a couple of nights late leaving the city and nobody saw him at her apartment, he was sure.

  Eleann had found out two days later that the legal activists’ investigators had been asking questions around the medical hotel, puzzled at why Eber’s transport had no cargo and only one crew member. At least his fake pass data had kept them at bay for nearly two weeks. She had been impressed by that.

  Eber had found a hideaway in the deep desert. It was a block of buildings built into a rocky outcrop. The bare rooms smelt of propellant and he guessed it used to be a military outpost.

  He’d managed to get a message to Eleann via a Postloni trader who seemed uninterested in Eber’s presence alone in that remote region. He’d seemed very interested in the last of Eber’s stolen platinum. No questions were asked.

  This would be his third rendezvous with Eleann.

  Another hour brought him to his destination. He stood staring up at the huge structure, as red as the sands that surrounded it. Much of the outer wall had collapsed under the pressures of time and sand storms but it was still impressive.

  The carved red blocks tumbled over each other, some half-buried in the creeping sand. They acted as steps to gain access to the intact inner sections of the house.

  The huge mansion had been built by the water plexilionnaire Gilles Balatan-Liantkk in the days when the essential fluid had to be artificially created by huge subterranean plants of the planet’s third moon. But water is heavy, bulky stuff and the transport costs eventually eroded the fortunes of the half-Human, half-Postloni entrepreneur. His disgrace and suicide had started a financial panic that had sent many colonists back to their home worlds.

  Now Teppe was sparsely populated. “And thank gods for that,” Eber often thought. This world’s failing economy was the perfect place for him to hide and this former fantasy palace was the perfect playground. Eleann felt safer meeting him this far from the city.