Daystar

by Darcy Town

  “Who would flee with me?” Ravil choked back a sob. “These Wasters know nothing about anything!”

  “These creatures are driven by a constant flight from boredom, when has your life been boring?”

  “Never. I want boring!”

  Calpsan nodded as his joints began to ache. He pulled out a syringe and stabbed his thigh. His aging halted. “Eventually, you’ll get your wish.”

  Ravil looked at the syringe. “Do you have more?”

  He shook his head. “Only one, but I will have enough time to see you right.” Calpsan patted her head. “Now nap, Ravil.”

  “But...”

  He waved his hand in front of her face. “You desire a nap more than anything right now.”

  Ravil’s eyes grew heavy; she blinked against the sleep. “Not fair.”

  “Life is never fair, especially not for one like you. Remember that.”

  ***

  Rake bucked on the ground of an empty warehouse. A syringe slipped through his fingers and hit the concrete. His pulse went erratic, pressure strained his heart. He stared at the ceiling and struggled to breathe. “Fu—fucking...”

  A wave of adrenaline pumped through his blood. He drove his heels into the concrete and pushed his body across the ground. He slammed his head into the floor. Spit dribbled out between clenched teeth, his muscles spasmed. Rake shoved his hand into his mouth and bit down on his palm to keep from breaking his teeth against each other.

  The wave passed and his muscles relaxed. He sucked in air. “Fucking stims!” He coughed and rolled to his stomach, feeling the worst had passed. Blood dripped out his nose, but his pulse slowed. Rake jumped to his feet, his hands shook, his legs twitched. He glared at his limbs. “Behave!”

  He thumped his chest, angry at his heart, which pounded as if he had run a marathon. He rubbed his temples. No fix, no food, and he still stank. Rake made a face and stalked towards the warehouse door. Pain drove him to his knees.

  He struggled to stand. “Get up you weak bitch! Get up, Rake!” He closed his eyes and charged for the doors, ignoring the shortness of breath that left him dizzy. He slammed into the boxes he’d originally moved to block the entrance.

  Rake knew he should thank everyone else’s gods that he had not shot up with something worse, but he was pissed off at himself for not checking it in the first place. He’d just been so in need. “Idiot! Stupid, Rake.”

  The sound of his voice drove him on. He shoved the last of the boxes out of the way and stomped into the humid afternoon air. The alley should have been sunny, but the buildings were tall and the smog thick, so it was dark already. He rubbed blood off his upper lip and stumbled away from the warehouse.

  A woman beckoned him and he waved her off. A man held his hand out with something for sale. Rake shoved him away. A child ran up with its hands out for money. Rake held his sides. “Fuck off!” He said the equivalent in Mandarin.

  His vision doubled, but his tremors slowed. His body ached and he scratched at his arms to relieve the pain. As he came down from the stims, withdrawals of another kind set in. He bit his cheek as cold sweats made him chill in the heat.

  He got his bearings; he knew where he was at least. He slipped his hand inside his pocket and pulled out his switchblade, no reason to advertise he was a target. He forced a wide smile; he hoped he looked too poor or too crazy to be worth the effort.

  Rake kept it up for several blocks. He joined into a market and kept his eyes in front of him and his knife in sight. He drove his fingernails into his palm to take his mind off his headache. His skin ached as if dull spikes hammered through it from the inside out. Every sound too loud, the smells too much. Rake’s world throbbed. He needed to get high fast.

  Rake scanned the crowd, watched how people stayed away from him. He sniffed the air; he needed a bath. He wouldn’t be able to turn a trick in this state, not without getting cleaned up or at least smelling better. He wouldn’t even fuck himself right now.

  His eyes caught on a flashing light, the neon red sign of the joint he was looking for. He hobbled towards it, hoping his legs would get him there before they decided to give out. He fell on the unmarked backdoor. He slammed his forehead against it. “Open!”

  An elderly Asian woman answered. She looked at him and clucked her tongue. She grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. “Rake, you are getting my door and floor filthy.”

  “Sor…sorry. I need...”

  “I know what you need. You have money?”

  Rake fumbled for the bills he had stolen earlier, he shoved the entire wad at her. “Drugs, bath, food. Whatever I don’t have the money for I’ll work off.” He flashed a smile. “You know I can earn it.”

  “Of course, come.” She gestured and he followed. The hall was dark with one solitary bulb at the end. She knocked on the door. A burly man eyed them both. He recognized Rake and let them pass.

  The lowest levels of the gambling house were for those that worked there. Some practiced cards, others made food. The woman took him to the bedrooms. Girls giggled as he passed, some said hello. Rake ignored them, his thoughts locked on one thing. He slumped down on the first bed she led him to.

  The elderly woman held up a syringe. He grabbed for it, she pulled her hand back. “One only, Rake. If you work, you need to be sensible, no blackouts again.”

  “I am the epit—epit—epitome.” He flinched against the pain. “Of sensible.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Then you can shower, you can eat leftovers, and then work the tables.” She handed him the syringe and helped him out of his coat. She raised an eyebrow at the state of his body. “You get in fight again?”

  “Probably.” He managed to smile. “I lived.”

  She tightened a belt around his upper arm. “You should quit, we would hire you fulltime at tables.”

  “What fun would tha—that be?” Rake watched her tap on his vein. “I am fr—free.”

  “Free to die in alley.”

  “My choice.” Rake closed his eyes as she stuck his arm.

  The woman shook her head as his body relaxed. “You remember where showers are?” He nodded, smiling. She got up from the bed. “We open in an hour. They may be occupied, not saving them for you.”

  He nodded. “I’m not shy.”

  “Eh.” She frowned and walked out, her voice trailing after, “See kitchen for food.” She left him to himself.

  Rake saw stars behind his eyelids, space, and the calm silence. He didn’t care about anything else, nothing but this here and now. His hand lifted off the bed, reaching for what would have been controls in his cockpit, his muscle memory perfect from years of training. Where would he soar tonight?

  “Jupiter,” he slurred and smiled. “Or further, into the empty.” He pointed and in his mind, he saw the space between his solar system and everything else. He drifted off to a semi-sleep of euphoria.

  People moved and time passed. Rake stayed still, locked in place. Girls readied themselves, put makeup on, and gossiped. A few checked in on him, washed his brow. One left him a fortune cookie, and another draped a blanket over his body. Life continued as he stayed numb in stasis.

  Rake rested, nestled in a cocoon of soft cotton, of pleasant sensations, an escape from everything that plagued him. But even that safe haven without memories had to end. His eyelids fluttered. His breaths grew deeper and his heartbeat strong. His eyes flicked open.

  Rake rolled off the bed and to his feet in one smooth motion, relaxed and rejuvenated. He yawned and stretched. He snatched up the fortune cookie and grinned. He broke it open and popped both of the pieces in his mouth. He read the handwritten fortune and pocketed the paper. “Thank you, wise cookie.”

  He sauntered out of the basement and followed his nose upstairs to the kitchens. The cooks waved him out. Rake wouldn’t leave. “If the health department ever came to this part of the city they’d shut you down anyways! Gimme a plate of something!” His stomach rumbled to punctuate his point.

  The cooks ha
nded him a tureen of leavings from lunch, and a fork. Rake grabbed a bottle of wine and left them alone. He wolfed the noodles down, a mixture of Thai and Chinese food. He popped the top off his bottle and washed down the grease.

  He hummed and carried the tureen and bottle with him. He walked up a flight of concrete steps towards the top floor. He passed by curtains and hangings, beads hit him in the face but he ignored them, his body still blissfully numb.

  Rake set the tureen down in a hall and headed for the showers. He put his ear to the door and pulled out his knife. He pushed the door open, no reaction. He jumped in and looked around. He dropped to the floor and stared under the toilet stalls. Empty, no one showering, mugging, or fucking.

  The showers were nothing more than a set of three metal hoses that hung from wall hooks. There were no dividers or doors to maintain privacy. Rake stripped off his clothes and threw the pieces near a drain. He flicked on the first shower and set it to wash his things. The other he turned on hot and stepped under the spray. He leaned his forehead on the tile and let the water run across his skin. He drank straight from his bottle.

  ***

  Ravil looped her arm around Calpsan’s. She tripped on the ends of her new pants. She grabbed at the fabric with one hand and followed. Despite his limp and age, Calpsan’s long legs moved him faster than her short ones. She ran to keep up. “You have that little time left, that we must run into this slum?”

  Calpsan stopped and looked at her, his face lined with deep wrinkles. “Speak with a lower voice; you are passing as a boy, Ravil.”

  Ravil blushed and spoke in a whisper instead, “Sorry, Calpsan.”

  He gazed at the market. “It is not safe for you on your own.” He gestured towards the building they neared. “We find your guard there.”

  She eyed the neon light and garish paint. “What is it?”

  Calpsan smiled. “A place of ill repute.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Why do we go there? I don’t want to go in it!”

  “He is there.”

  “He! But you said men here prey on children!”

  He put a finger to her lips. “Your voice, Ravil.” He led her across the street. “Not this one, Ravil, not with one like you. He will guard you as long as you have use for him.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I have locked in on his temperament. He has traits that we will be able to exploit, do not worry. I will see to him before we part ways.”

  “But what if something happens to him, what then?”

  “Then you run. You use your gift and flee. Damn them if anyone sees you, they will never be able to capture you.”

  “We don’t even know that I can.” She frowned and looked to the smog-filled sky. “And where would I go anyways?”

  “Your gift will come naturally when you need it to.” He tugged on her hand. “You’re afraid; do you wish me to calm you?”

  “No.” Ravil shook her head. “I wish my wits about me for this encounter.” She gazed up at him. “No one will replace you, Calpsan.”

  Calpsan spit out a shed tooth. “Your loyalties are fierce. Hold on to that fire, Ravil, you will need it.”

  They eyed the stairs together. Ravil took a deep breath and fixed the hat that covered her ice white hair from view. She pulled her hoodie over it, shadowing her face. “All right, let’s get this over with.”

  “That’s my boy.” Calpsan tapped his nose and winked. He hopped up the stairs with surprising agility. Ravil stumbled after him, banging her knees every other step. She practically swam in her new clothes; too big so as to mask her feminine features. The bulky shirt also hid two knives strapped to her slim hips.

  Calpsan opened the door and smoke poured out of the building, a mixture of grease and cigarettes. Ravil leaned away from the smell. He gave her no chance to complain; he interlaced their fingers and pulled her along. He sensed the premises and found the feelings of the one he looked for.

  A woman stepped in their way. “How can we help you?”

  Calpsan gazed past her. “Towards the back, a cleaning area.”

  She nodded. “The showers.” She held her hand out to collect payment.

  Calpsan glanced at the chalkboard of prices. He paid for both himself and Ravil and she let them pass by unhindered. They walked past tables, men ate or engaged in cards; none looked up at the man and child. Ravil kept her head down, trusting him to lead her.

  Calpsan knew exactly where he headed. He stopped at the bathroom door and listened. Ravil examined the writing on it, but she did not know the language. He pushed open the door and pulled her in.

  Steam filled the room. It was warm, hotter than outside, but it smelled of soap and clean things. Ravil relaxed. Then she saw him, a man wearing nothing but soap bubbles and scars. Her eyes slid down his neck, to his chest, his sculpted stomach. She averted her eyes and turned red.

  Rake assessed them in seconds. He put his hands on his hips, his lips curved into a smile. “Hi.”

  Calpsan nodded to the man. “Good day.”

  Rake nodded back. “Watch or fuck?”

  Calpsan struggled to understand Rake’s accented English. “Watch?”

  Rake shrugged. “You pay for you both.” He turned away and gave his hair a third rinse. He hummed and ignored them.

  Calpsan threw coins at Rake’s clothes. He nudged Ravil to a wooden bench. “Come on then.”

  She sat and stared at her feet, mortified.

  Calpsan squeezed her fingers and spoke softly, though the sound of the water drowned them out. “Stop that.”

  Ravil shook her head. “He’s…he’s...”

  “Naked, yes I know.” Calpsan looked around. “We are in a shower room.”

  “Why can we not wait outside?” She covered her eyes. “Why must we stay here?”

  Calpsan frowned. “I do not have much time left. I need to observe him and so do you.” He pulled her hands away from her face. “Ravil, you are supposed to be a boy, not a shy girl. Pretend you’ve seen men naked before.”

  Ravil swallowed hard. “Is he still facing away?”

  “Yes.”

  Ravil looked back to Rake. She tried to keep her thoughts clinical. He had nice feet, muscular legs, good for running. He moved from foot to foot quickly, good reflexes. He was strong, well built, a fighter.

  She watched soap slide down his calves and into the drain. Her eyes caught on a scar that ended at his ankle. Long and jagged; the scar curved around towards the front of his thigh and she lost track of it. She skipped over his midsection and stared at his back. Bruises covered his skin and shared space with scars and cuts. Some looked new, others old and healed. He had barely a patch of skin free from damage.

  Calpsan followed her gaze. “He fights and lives through it. He is a survivor.”

  Rake moved along with the music that came in from the door. He half turned and noticed them watching. He flashed a disarming smile, his teeth straight and even. “Any requests?” They shook their heads and he turned away. He leaned down and picked up his bottle. He took a pull and resumed his dance.

  Ravil let out the breath she held in, she had been ready to cover her eyes if necessary. Rake scratched his shoulder. The movement drew her gaze to his hand, then what was beneath, a blue tattoo. She gaped and leaned forward. “A star chart.”

  Calpsan squinted. “Where?”

  Ravil cocked her head. “On his shoulder, tattooed, stars from the perspective of this place.”

  “Anywhere important?”

  “No, not tactically.” She frowned. “It is crude though, a two dimensional rendering, it does not have the codes.”

  Calpsan patted her knee. “Ravil, Wasters don’t have those things.”

  She slipped out of her calculations. “Oh, yes.” Rake being naked set in again and Ravil bit her lip. She stared at the back of his head. His black hair and dark skin reminded her of the millions of others outside, but his face set him apart. He spoke in the language of the other empire, the Americans, tho
ugh with an accent she did not recognize. She caught the flash of silver, a thin chain around his neck.

  Rake turned around and looked them over, soap drifted down his chest. He took a shot from his bottle and stared at Ravil, his gaze curious and disapproving. He glanced at Calpsan. “Is the kid here for training or selling?”

  Calpsan spoke slowly, “Training.”

  “Not the best place for it, I can lead you to a better place, for a price. What’re you, a Femi-boy?”

  Ravil translated his words in her head. She gaped as she realized his meaning. “I—I—”

  Calpsan pinched her. “Yes that is what he is.”

  Rake shrugged. “The market is ruthless for your type. I hope you have him chipped or branded, makes others less likely to steal him. You’re not from around here, so that bit of advice was free.” He turned back to the hot water.

  Calpsan shuddered. He stared at the door and turned so that his body blocked Ravil’s. Her chest heaved in fear. “Are they here?”

  He shook his head. “No, not Hunters. It is someone else with violence on their mind.”

  Ravil looked between Rake and Calpsan. “We stay?”

  Calpsan nodded. “Stay and watch.”

  The door opened and two men stepped in. They did not spare the pair a glance, their gazes fixed on Rake. The one closest to the door pulled out a knife. Rake’s casual stance became less relaxed though he kept his back to them.

  Ravil held on to Calpsan. “Why aren’t we warning him?”

  “If he cannot save himself how can he save you?”

  The knife wielder stepped towards Rake, speaking more of the native language Ravil did not understand, but the tone was unmistakable.

  Rake smiled. He turned and leaned against the tile suggestively. He looked the men over. “No freebies, I don’t care what I supposedly owe you. No you’re not getting any money either.”

  The man made gestures towards Rake’s face and body, repeating the same phrases. Rake raised an eyebrow. “No. See, I don’t do free and if you keep up with the gesturing in my face, I am going to break something of yours.”