Under Dark Sky Law

by Tamara Boyens

  They marched through the humid air with its oddly organic gutter stench and into the green and white striped tent of the café. A woman was sitting at one of the black iron tables. Dark brown eyes glared at them from a heart-shaped face that had perfectly smooth skin. Her voluminous dreadlocks were rolled into tight, even partitions that fell into a neatly tied pony tail at her shoulders. The edge of her long layered white dress flapped in breeze, leading Xero to wonder where exactly that breeze was coming from. Did the dome have a small leak? Had New Orleans gotten funding for better dome weather simulations when she hadn’t been paying attention?

  The woman stood when they went through the iron gate. Xero was surprised at the lack of security given the current political climate, but then again, New Orleans had always done things its own way. More personnel could be hiding in the shadows, waiting on all the convenient balconies of the resurrected plantation houses. All they needed was a sign, and everyone could be dead in seconds. At least that’s how Xero would have staged it, and she knew from experience that Voodoo was no fool.

  “Xero. We meet again,” the woman said and walked towards the group.

  Xero was at the head of the group, with Neptune and Radar forming the middle and Milo pulling up the rear of a diamond shape. Xero held out her hand, “Enchanté,” she said. “How have you been, Voodoo?”

  Voodoo stared at her hand, but didn’t shake it. She moved her gaze to the rest of the band. “Didn’t I tell Xed that I just wanted to deal with you?” she said.

  Xero put her hands on her hips. “If you did, that directive never made it’s way down to our itinerary,” she said. “Is that going to be a problem?” She was proud of herself for maintaining the diplomacy. A lot of literal blood had been spilled between the two of them in the past, and she was trying to keep the image of Trina in her mind to motivate her to stay cordial. She was the leader. She had to set a good example and keep the rest of her crew in line at the same time.

  Voodoo crinkled up her full lips into a loose pucker. “I don’t like it when my directives are disobeyed, but because I am wise and merciful, I will grant you a compromise. You may keep your crew in this outer tent area, but only you may accompany me inside,” she said, pointing at Xero.

  Xero held up a hand behind her, silently telling Neptune to shut it for the moment, knowing that she wanted to come out with a sonic retort or physical attack that would knock Voodoo on her ass. “That is not an issue. They will wait here and the two of us can speak inside,” she said.

  Neptune grumbled and hissed, but somehow managed to hold her tongue.

  Xero turned around to address her crew. “Stay here for the time being. When I give you the signal, we may reconvene, or if you sense that harm has come to me that would end my life, you may enter the inner hall, but not before that. If I am in distress, but it does not appear to be immediately lethal, do not disturb us. You will cause more trouble than you will solve,” she said.

  “This is bullshit!” Neptune yelled. “I can’t do my job under these conditions—you’re asking me to let you walk into a situation where it sounds like you know that you’ll be harmed. What in the fuck is up with that?”

  Voodoo whirled around, her dreadlocks and skirt snapping in a self-created dust devil. “So crass. All of you have always been so disgusting and vulgar, such a lack of tact. I’m not sad that you’ve been banned from the domes this whole time,” she said.

  “I regret that you are still not eager to let us enjoy your beautiful city, but that is of course your prerogative. We thank you for considering our request for trade relations,” she said and wanted to give herself a pat on the back for being so fucking cordial.

  Voodoo just folded her arms and sneered. Xero cracked a smile and nodded towards the indoor area of the café. “So, you wanna dance?” she said.

  “Yes, I do. Follow me,” she said and walked inside, leaving her crew to organize themselves on the patio.

  “Do not go in there,” Neptune said, her body as rigid as one of the street performers pretending to be a statue that dotted Bourbon Street.

  “Look Neptune, it’s not the safest thing I’ve ever done, but it’s also definitely not the most dangerous. I appreciate your caution as always, but do you really think that bitch is going to get the upper hand? I will drop that whore if she so much as comes near me,” Xero said.

  Neptune exhaled and hung her head. “You’re right boss, I know you can take on just about anyone and come out on top. I just don’t trust that slimy fuck. For all I know she’s got an alligator pit that she’s ready to dump you into,” she said.

  “Nah, if she really didn’t want us here, she wouldn’t have let us inside the in the first place. She wants the goods. She’s just going to be a pain in the ass about it. We have to play ball, or we risk losing the chance to save Trina,” she said. She purposely avoided Milo’s gaze when mentioning Trina. She had to ready herself for a battle, and sympathy wasn’t something that had any place in her psyche for that moment.

  “Alright, but if I hear one fucking thing outta line from in there, we’re going in guns blazing,” Neptune said.

  They staged themselves in decent positions on the porch, a surprisingly moist breeze blowing hard through the tent canopy and carrying with it some putrid scents that smelled more like the flats then a newly renovated dome. New Orleans never could catch a break, and in some ways she sympathized with Voodoo and her shitty attitude.

  “Good luck,” Radar said. “Kick some ass so I don’t have to do my electric eel impression in the middle of a dome.”

  She grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this. Time to play,” she said.

  CHAPTER 24

  The space inside the Café was small, just like it had been in the old world. The back wall had the traditional green and white striped wallpaper juxtaposed with a dark creamy beige paint on the other walls. The kitchen staff had vacated or were hiding out in the back of the kitchen. Voodoo had pushed tables and chairs back to the wall, leaving an open space in the middle of the cramped room. She was leaning against a stainless steel counter underneath green wallpaper where the wall was cut out to reveal part of the kitchen.

  “This looks authentic,” Xero said.

  Voodoo didn’t move. “It is. The French Quarter has always been fortunate when it comes to weathering the storm. The outside walls of this building were demolished in the tidal waves, but the core survived. Almost everything in here is made from existing materials. Welcome to a true piece of history,” she said.

  Xero looked around, appreciating the old green and white menus and display cases of merchandise tucked into the walls of the small room. “I always did like this place,” she said. “I used to come here all the time when I was in college, before the dome restrictions.”

  Voodoo raised her eyebrows. “A lowlife like you went to college?” she said.

  “Yes. Believe it or not, I’m a doctor. Means I can patch you up after I poke a few holes in you,” she said and winked.

  Voodoo’s jaw tightened. “That ain’t going to happen,” she said, slipping into casual speech, and Xero knew that it was working. She was getting under her skin, fucking up her game.

  “Of course you can always spare yourself the trouble and just forget this silly little duel. We come in peace—all we want to do is enjoy your fine city and do some good business with you and your associates,” Xero said.

  “Business out here ain’t so simple like that,” Voodoo said.

  “Not to make you think I’m a coward or anything like that, but you don’t think having a fight in the middle of the day in the middle of a major café isn’t going to attract some kind of unwanted attention? I’m a stranger here to the new way New Orleans is running, but in the other domes I deal with, that kind of thing isn’t exactly tolerated,” she said.

  Voodoo sneered at her again, her arms shooting out to grip the edges of the stainless steel counter. “New Orleans isn’t anything like the domes you’re used to. On paper we’re a dome,
but in reality we’re abandoned, just like we’ve always been abandoned. On paper it’s all government controlled, but in reality I’m the leader of the French Quarter. People here do what I tell them to do,” she said.

  Xero nodded. “I can understand that sentiment,” she said.

  “How could you possibly understand anything. You’re nothing but a beast, a greedy filthy lying monster. How could you possibly understand anything like suffering? How can you possibly understand how we’ve been neglected and used in this city for decades? Even in the old world it was always made clear that we’re on our own down here,” she said.

  “Lady, you ever been to Tucson? My town ain’t never been right either. No one would have even thought to put a dome down there. We always were and always will be in the fringes,” she said.

  “And yet you poisoned my town. You burned my people’s flesh. You don’t give a shit about anything other than your precious money,” she said.

  Xero shrugged. “Money is power. You know that as well as I do, or I wouldn’t even be here in the first place. You wouldn’t have let me in if you didn’t want what I have to offer,” she said.

  Voodoo took a step forward, her hands curled into claws and stretched out in front of her. “There are people dying in here. New Orleans is suffering, the air quality isn’t good enough to keep some of the older people alive,” she said.

  Ah. Now it made sense. That was why they wanted the Alphamine. “It’s a tradeoff to be sure. More people will live. Alphamine will improve their lung function, but it’s addictive as fuck, and you’ll still see some of the same problems you have with any other recreational drug. But it’s your choice. It’s a controlled environment—even if I really wanted to, it would be hard to saturate this area with Alphamine if you didn’t want it to be imported,” Xero said.

  Voodoo’s eyes bulged. “Choice? I have no choice. I can’t sit still while people die,” she said.

  “And you can’t get the government to shore up the problems in the air filtration and climate control system,” Xero said.

  Voodoo’s clawed fingers flexed and she pulled her eyes tight enough that her forehead turned into a highway of wrinkles. “Fuck you,” she said.

  Xero shrugged. “If you wish, although I don't think the two of us have ever been that close,” she said.

  “I would never touch someone as filthy as you,” Voodoo said.

  “You know, you can call me what you want—drug dealer, dictator, slut, whatever. You can have as many reasons as you want to hate me, but the truth is, the real reason you do hate me is actually not my fault. We never would have sold or distributed a drug that eats holes in someone’s skin. For one, it’s just disgusting, and for another that stuff spread back to our own territory and caused the same problems. It doesn't matter whether I have morals or not, that’s just bad business. Killing off the market for your other, more lucrative and pleasant drugs doesn't make any sense,” she said.

  “Say what you want it was still your fault that something like that ever came to be. If you want permission to deal back in my territory you’re going to have to earn it,” Voodoo said.

  “Fair fight? Are you going to have goons come out of the shadows and turn this into an old Bruce Lee movie?” she asked.

  “Fair fight. Me against you. First blood,” she said.

  “Weapons?” Xero said.

  From inside the pockets her dress she extracted two twin knives. Nothing special, just two ordinary blades about the length of a hand. Without a word she threw the one in her right hand directly at Xero’s face. She ducked, and the knife landed in the beige wall a few inches above her head.

  “Isn’t this a historical landmark?” Xero said.

  “Not the outer wall. See, arrogant pricks like you don't bother to listen. Pick up your knife,” she said.

  Xero put one hand against the tacky wall and pulled against the knife with the other. The knife came out cleanly in her hand, leaving only a few sprinkles of drywall to fall on the baseboards.

  “This is your last chance to stop this. I think there are better ways to work out our differences,” Xero said.

  Voodoo didn’t respond, but instead dropped into a fighting stance, knife clutched in an overhead stab position. With such a telegraphed move, Xero already felt sorry for her. She stood still while Voodoo launched herself across the room, dodged to the side, and tried to land a hit in Xero’s diaphragm. Xero saw it coming from a million miles away. She admired the woman’s passion, but her emotion was blinding her. When they’d tangled in the past Voodoo had been an extremely dangerous opponent—cold, calculating, and precise, like Xero when she was in the right mood. They’d traded blows and watched each other’s blood drip more than one time. Now it seemed like she was duking it out with Xero just to justify making the trade and distributing an illegal drug that would have other negative consequences. Voodoo didn’t actually want to fight, but her inner morals were forcing her to.

  As much as she would have loved to humor her opponent and make her think that she was overwhelmed by the attacks, the truth of things was that the woman was clearly out of practice. She may have encountered more than her share of shenanigans in the dome, but she hadn’t been living in the harsh reality of the pits for the last twenty years. She’d grown soft, and it showed. Perhaps that was part of why she felt so compelled to challenge Xero again. She’d lost the fights before, but was certain that beating Xero in another fight would bring her vindication.

  She was rather disappointed in Voodoo’s diminished fighting skills. She had actually been looking forward to a really good fight. Fully assuming that she was going to nail Xero in the ribs, Voodoo had sunk all of her weight into her strike. A big mistake, as the gambit made her lose her balance and crash into the outer wall after Xero dodged out of the way. Without even thinking about it, Xero flipped around and drove her knife into the back of Voodoo’s thigh with one quick in and out stab. She could have killed the woman right then and there, and the thought crossed her mind. With Voodoo dead they could do business with someone that was less of a pain in the ass, but they didn’t have time to wait for all that dust to settle. She backed away until she was where Voodoo had started out, leaning against the stainless steel kitchen counter.

  Voodoo screamed as red blossomed out across her white dress, the blood quickly dripping down over her thigh and splattering on the tiled floor. Xero was fairly sure that she hadn’t hit the femoral artery, but there was still plenty of blood running down the floor. Voodoo clutched the knife in her shaking hand and was trying ineffectively to stop the blood flow with her other hand. Xero nodded towards the weapon.

  “First blood?” Xero said.

  She watched Voodoo’s tense face, her eyes bulging, her teeth clenched as she breathed in short bursts that sent strings of saliva cascading over her full lips. She kept breathing heavily, but the fire drained out of her eyes, her face softening like a slowly falling soufflé.

  Voodoo dropped the knife and it clattered against the cold tiles. “First blood,” she said.

  “Good,” Xero said and put her own knife down on the counter. “You want me to patch that up for you?”

  Voodoo shook her head, her dark skin turning a shade paler as blood continued to run down her leg.

  Xero shrugged. “Suit yourself—you better get some pressure on that soon or you’ll pass out,” she said. She looked over her shoulder. “Hey, you got any beignets left back there?”

  CHAPTER 25

  Voodoo didn’t look pleased, but Xero had in fact found some beignets and coffee that had been left in the kitchen from before it was abandoned for their fight. Her team enjoyed the snack before some goons had come back out of the café to give them their next directives. The beignets tasted real, so at least that was a good indication that some things were still functioning in the city. All of their food stuffs hadn’t gone synthetic like they had in a lot of the bigger East Coast cities. She had half expected Voodoo to die of stubbornness before she summoned so
me kind of medical care, but apparently she was still smarter than that at least.

  They were taken back to the plantation home where they had started the evening. Still in their concert gear, they spread themselves out in the parlor again. Radar and Xero shared a purple velvet loveseat. She ran her hands back and forth over it’s soft surface, brushing the fibers this way and that. She laid herself out horizontally across the couch, her feet hung over the edge and she leaned against Radar’s side.

  “That’s not exactly a fighting-ready position,” Radar said.

  “Any position is a fighting-ready position for me. I’m always ready to go,” she said and kept playing with the velvet. “You know, for as many problems as this area has, they sure have a lot of great stuff. This couch feels real too. You hardly ever see actual velvet anymore. Think of all the great stuff we can get if Voodoo ever stops being butt hurt and gets over being stabbed. We can put velvet all over the Golden Lanes—it’ll be just like the 1960s,” she said.

  “Good to know you’ve got your priorities in order,” Radar said.

  Xero hung her head backwards to meet Radar’s gaze. “Hey man, never underestimate the importance of style. Image is everything,” she said and looked down at the voluminous gothic lace gown that she was still wearing. “Hence, the reason why we’re wandering around in these getups.”

  Milo was sitting across the room in a high-backed chair that was also upholstered in deep purple velvet. His gaze was cast down at his fingers that were fidgeting, interlacing and unwinding, tapping at his thigh, clenching and unclenching while he thumped his right foot against the hollow wooden floors. His foot taps echoed in the high-ceilinged room.