Nylon Angel

by Marianne de Pierres

  "Oya?"

  "Oya is their female orisa—spirit power. They have a long-tell story. Whoever the Feather Crown chooses will protect their futuretime. Sto said a bunch of chicken feathers fell onto her head while they were trying to leave a Mueno's place, sprayed blood on her. Now they want to follow her into a battle."

  Styro made a gargling noise. "They just might get what they want. Does she know who you are?"

  "Not yet."

  Dark! I knew the voice, not the tone. This tone was confident and sharp. Nothing like the slow-speaking giant I'd encountered in Hein's.

  Suckered. When would I ever learn?

  "The fewer people that know you're back the better," said the dealer, Styro.

  "Sure. That's why I let her take Sto. Thought she'd attract less attention than me." He sighed. "That was the plan anyway. Keep a check on Sto, will you? I'll wait for a while. I want to be here when she comes round, otherwise someone might get killed."

  "That girlie is out of control."

  Girlie! I wished I'd tossed him farther.

  "I wouldn't call her that." Dark laughed. "At least not to her face."

  Styro shut the door on us and I lay there seething.

  "It's all right, Parrish. You can sit up now."

  I opened an eyelid; the merest crack. Dark was seated on a chair about ten feet away, propped against the wall of a small room, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. His wired hand rested in his lap.

  I thought about ignoring him, but cramping muscles urged me to move.

  I swung my body up and my feet down, pivoting, so I faced in the opposite direction. Call it vanity but he'd scammed me and had me drugged; he sure wasn't going to get first peek at me with a queen-sized narc hangover.

  I scrubbed my face with my hands. "Hick trades leather disguise for casual gang leader look," I croaked nastily with a mouth like glue.

  "You're the one who added two and two and came up with a minus, Parrish. I'm not a country boy, never have been."

  "Sto?" was all I managed in reply.

  "Fine. When his feet recover. You should have got him some boots, you know."

  "I should have got him some boots…" I spluttered, swiveling on the bed. "What do you think I've been doing for the last two days? Catching a few rays on Cable Beach?"

  Dark laughed. "At least I got you to look at me."

  Well if that's what he wanted… I stood and wobbled over to him, slapping my hands down onto his knees so his chair crashed to the floor. Then I eyeballed him, so closely our noses touched.

  "Is—this—better?" I spat the words, hoping my breath was as bad as it tasted.

  He put his hand up automatically for protection. There was no dumb look in those 'zine eyes. Just amusement. And a shadow of uncertainty.

  I liked it when people weren't sure how far they'd pushed me.

  He took a deep breath and blew it out in my face. It was pleasant and musky. "Would you like to use the san unit? There's one here. It's a bit crude but…"

  I stepped back and stood upright.

  It's one thing wishing your halitosis on someone. It's another when they politely offer you the san to rectify the matter. My desire to wallop him in his clean-skinned mug escalated by the second, but I held on to it. First I needed some answers.

  "I'm fine the way I am. It helps keep assholes away."

  He nodded like he agreed with me. Then he shot me a piercing glance.

  "What deal has Lang offered you? I know you met him at Mondo's. What does he want you to do? What's Jamon got to do with it?"

  I stared at him in astonishment. "Who are you? I've just spent two days lugging your sweet little buddy around The Tert, while you played me for a sucker. And you're acting like you've got a right to ask me questions."

  He tapped the tip of one of his real fingers to his lips. In jeans and a crumpled T-shirt he looked like he'd been snipped clean from a centerfold. I could practically smell the aftershave. Stubble shadowed his ebony skull and I wondered what he'd look like with hair.

  "Did Stolowski tell you where he came from?" he asked.

  "Yeah. Sure. Him I believe."

  "Well believe this. I was there too. Press-ganged."

  "And you think it was Lang or Jamon?"

  "Three years in the Dead Heart. Friends I made there died next to me. At work, in their sleep, one or two, every day. It taught me some things. Like what's important. Like how you need to look after your own. Before that I didn't really understand." His expression seemed haunted. "Let's just say Jamon Mondo and Io Lang don't look after their own."

  "Cryptic!" I sniped. Too cryptic for me.

  If Dark had scores to settle, then bully for him.

  I just wanted to do my deal with Lang to get Jamon Mondo off my back. Then if the 'Terro hadn't found me, I'd go pick a fight with a Prier, till it did. Maybe Bras was already dead. But something made me think she wasn't. Either way a 'Terro was going to pay for using a helpless kid as a ratings hook.

  "So you're from here. Before?" I asked.

  A smile touched his lips. "You mean, 'before Parrish'?"

  "I guess. Whatever."

  He stood in one easy motion; not ungainly, the way he had at Hein's and then at my place. An energy burned in him that I hadn't seen before. At full height he had centimeters on me and a rangy, wide body. The Tert wasn't built for people like us; he could easily have touched the ceiling. I heard the faint echo of Mei's catcall as he'd stripped off his shirt.

  OK, OK, so he was downright gorgeous. And not as naive as I thought.

  That was good. He didn't need my help and nor did Sto while he was with him. It made my life a lot simpler already. I could really hate people I didn't owe or need to help.

  "I want to see Sto."

  He frowned at me. "Sto needs some rest."

  "I kept my part of the deal and you lied through your pretty white teeth. Now I want to talk to Sto, and then I'm going."

  "You're not going to tell me what you're doing for Lang?"

  "Hole in one, baby."

  He reached out and put his real hand on my arm. He might as well have jabbed me with an electric prodder. I jumped like a rabbit.

  "I'm sorry about misleading you, Parrish. But things moved quickly when I got back. You gave me a way to hide Sto, temporarily, while I sorted out biz. I'd heard you were smart and tough." He shrugged almost apologetically. "You sort of fell into my lap. It was perfect."

  I closed my hand on his wrist. His forearm was thick and strong and his skin was warm. His face wore an expression I recognized from his hick image of a few days ago, earnestness—the look that had suckered me totally.

  Not this time.

  "I want to see Sto." I could feel my jaw set.

  For one long moment I thought he was going to refuse. Then he prised my fingers from his arm, stood and left the room.

  I followed him out and into a long corridor. Light filtered down in chessboard squares from the high, barred windows. A warren of rooms led off the hallway. As we walked, the view from the high windows told me we were in one of the long rows of units that had been melded together like everything else in The Tert. My compass implant told me it was slightly north of where Styro had drugged me.

  Eventually Dark stopped and entered a room. Inside, I was surprised to see an infirmary decked out with some quality med-tek. The interior walls had been knocked out and it stretched for a distance.

  "Nice place."

  "Just the beginning," he said, vaguely.

  Sto lay propped by pillows on a clean bed, wearing shades. His feet were bandaged and a lump under the sheet indicated he wasn't alone.

  I marched over and ripped the shades off. "Feeling better?"

  His face lit with a grin. "Parrish? You're awake."

  "Yeah. And pissed off," I confirmed.

  With a tinge of embarrassment he slipped his hand under and tugged at the lump. "Parrish's here."

  Mei stuck her head out and snuggled her pink hair under Sto's armpit.
/>   "Hi!" she said.

  "You little piece of—"

  I lunged across the bed to strangle her, but she moved quicker than I anticipated, flicking a knife in my face.

  The knife itself didn't deter me; only the movement as Dark came into my peripheral vision. His arms hung loosely at his sides like he was ready to step in.

  "Don't hurt her, Parrish," Sto pleaded. "She only did it to help me."

  I spared him a glance. "Talk. Quick."

  "We grew up together on the edge of the three deserts. Her mum traded food and women to us dust farmers. We were—she was… my grrl. When I got co-opted to the Dead Heart, she ran away. Ended up here. She was helping me. I Hove her, Parrish. Please?"

  Mei wrinkled her nose at his declaration, and I wondered how her version of the story would sound. Somehow I couldn't see Mei as anyone's grrl.

  I used her distraction to twist the knife out of her hand, spraining her wrist. It was the least I could do.

  "Right," I ordered, "everyone out, except Sto."

  Mei stumbled angrily from the bed, nursing her wrist, and over to Dark. He put an arm around her. "Don't do anything stupid, Parrish," he warned.

  "Get out," I spat.

  He backed to the door, dragging Mei, his eyes fixed on me. "Ten minutes or I'll come and get you myself."

  I waited till the door closed then I sat on the end of the bed. For whatever reason, I figured I'd get the truth from Sto.

  I put the knife down. We both knew I wouldn't use it. I'd protected him for the last few days and for the moment he was still safe.

  "Start at the beginning. And don't leave anything out."

  He relaxed a little, leaning back on his pillow. "Never figured to see Mei again when I got co-opted. But she ran away. Waited for me here. More 'n a year ago, Dark got 'ganged there as well. He told me he knew her. Promised to get me out."

  "What did he want in return?"

  Sto shook his head, smiling slightly. "That's the thing about Dark, Parrish. He don't want nothing in return. He used to be a mover here; a turk. His family is old Tert. Look at this place."

  I'd never been into Tower Town before. You didn't visit strange gang territories unless you had good reason. I had to admit, though, the med-tek was impressive. But I didn't tell Sto that.

  "So what was he doing out at Dead Heart?"

  "Something happened." He lowered his voice. "Someone got him done over by a miners' press gang. Next thing he's in the co-op. Just more meat, like me."

  "But he got out."

  "His family bribed the gangers. Same ones as put him there busted him out. Me as well."

  You gotta love biz! "Then you came here?"

  "Not straight away. He's got friends. Lots of 'em. We hid out in Viva until he could set things up to come back. He wanted to slide back in here real quiet—"

  "—but you went and hitched a ride with a hit man," I finished.

  He managed a rueful grin and a shrug. "Dark's got enemies here, still. Maybe it was one of them. Maybe it was just bad luck."

  I had my cred on the enemies. "So then I blundered in and took some heat off while he settled in."

  His head dropped. "Somethin' like that."

  We sat in silence for a moment.

  "He's got plans, y'know, Parrish."

  I knitted my brows. How much did Sto know of Dark's real ambitions? Zip, I'd warrant.

  "He says his time in Dead Heart taught him to look after his own. Like his old ones used to. He's taken care of Mei and me real well. Now he's come home to take care of the rest."

  He stopped then, exhausted.

  "You don't owe him everything, Sto," I said. "Just because he helped you get out."

  He shook his head, eyes watery again. "You should know, Parrish. People like Mei and me got no real chance in life. Well, maybe Mei, she's smart and pretty. But Dark's gonna care for us. No bad shit, regular food, medic when we need it."

  I sighed. People like Sto did need someone. Up until pretty recently so had I. But now I'd crossed sides and I was giving some serious consideration to the motivations of the "Darks" in the world.

  Jamon Mondo at least I understood. Understood and wanted to kill.

  "You're carting some serious heat right now," I said.

  His lip trembled in acknowledgment.

  "I hope he keeps his promises to you."

  He gave me a look of resignation. "It don't matter if he don't, Parrish. Leastways, now, we got someone to believe in."

  "Yeah, well, we could all do with that," I said quietly.

  He reached across and touched my hand; told me something I didn't want to hear.

  "You're like him, you know. People believe in you."

  * * * *

  Dark pointed northeast. He was standing in a foothold among the ridges of sleeper cocoons glued to the roof. Some of them were occupied, others padlocked as though the owners didn't care for the neighborhood.

  "Follow your compass north, and you'll wind up back at Torley's."

  I'd already figured that, but I let him bring me up top anyway. The view was amazing. Sometimes you forgot about the sky when you were in The Tert. Sometimes the only time you saw it was on the net. But up here it hurt your eyes with its bigness.

  It also scared me a little, the sea of roofs, patterned like an endless, chipped mosaic floor. If you looked closer it fractured into millions of cocoons, spindly mic dishes and dirty plascrete. Like putting a microscope on skin.

  It was a pink and gray early-morning sky. I'd wasted a whole day here. But in some ways it had been worth it, just to see this.

  "Where's Dis from here?" I asked.

  Dark turned to the south. You could glimpse the ocean on the horizon, the merest strip of tarnished silver.

  "In between," he said. "No one goes there now. Our heartland ails."

  Grand words, maybe, but they made me shudder.

  Halfway up into the sky, in all directions, a haze drifted carrying the scent of The Tert. I had the urge to fly right out there and scoop the muck away. Like my dream where the Angel had swept the narcotics from my blood.

  I'd barely given the dream any thought, but now the memory twisted in my stomach. What had Dark said about Oya and the Muenos? "Whoever the Feather Crown chooses will protect their futuretime."

  Well, that was a gig I could live without!

  Whatever they believed, I hoped Pas was taking care of the feral kids. And I hoped Bras was alive.

  I must have had a strange look on my face. Dark had turned back and was staring at me.

  "Be careful of Lang and Jamon Mondo, Parrish," he said.

  "And that's all you're going to say about it, I suppose. No explanations."

  He smiled. A force-twenty, devastating grin. "Would you believe me anyway?"

  "Probably not," I agreed. But if you keep smiling at me like that, I might line up in the devotional queue behind Sto and Mel

  He handed me a comm spike.

  "What's this?" I asked, surprised.

  "In case you need me," he said casually. "Call."

  A flick of my fingers would have sent it over the edge, into oblivion. I wanted to do that more than anything in the whole goddamn world. Instead my left hand tucked the clip safely into a pin slot in the tank top of my suit.

  "Thanks."

  Note to self: Cut off left hand, it's a tart.

  Part Two

  Chapter Nine

  The landlord had left an overdue rental jingle embedded in the door of my room. When I opened it, the damn thing sang Abba at ninety decibels. Personally, I'd rather six goons with semiautos waiting for me. But Abba!

  They were touring Vivacity at the moment. Or, should I say, their clones were. The real Abba were long dead. This lot were about the sixth set of DNA replicas.

  They weren't the only repros running around, either. The Rolling Stones had been and gone, the Beatles, Nirvana, and of course, the big "E." Something wasn't quite right with the teknology yet. Most of them committed suicide or
died young.

  Come to think of it, maybe they had got it right.

  There was a constant stink about the ethics of it, but while it was selling music the performers' "estates" seemed to be in two minds.

  Inside my room I stripped and cross-legged it in the san unit, letting the water blast over me till my skin wrinkled.

  Then I got out and sat naked on the edge of my bed. I rifled through my dirty nylons for the disk Lang had given me. It had caught in the seam.

  I cracked the casing and tried to recall his exact words.

  Here's an address. Bring me the contents of their computer files. If anyone sees you, kill them…

  The address printed on the outside of the disk was unfamiliar, the location—freaking impossible! Eighteen Circe Crescent, M'Grey Island, Viva.

  Shite! How was I going to get there? I chewed on the problem till Merry 3# mouthed a drum roll and wiggled her latest dance routine.

  I waited impatiently. The see-through girl was getting to be a serious show-off.

  "You got mail, Parrish."

  "Get on with it!"

  I half expected it to be the landlord, who was one of Jamon's aging 'goboys. But the first was Jamon. His pale snake's face was livid and twisted.

  "I don't like unexplained absences, Parrish. Be with me for the weekend or I'll set the dogs loose."

  The second had no traceable sender and was a synth. "The goods are still required by Monday."

  Lang!

  A heavy weight found my shoulders. It was Friday. Jamon wanted me in his rooms tonight. Lang wanted me on a B and E in Viva.

  Jeez, I always get the best choice of dates!

  In this case, though, there was no choice. To be rid of Jamon, I had to steal for Lang.

  I rummaged in my cupboard and found some dried food. Then I set about kitting up. I planned to be outta here before Jamon decided he'd waited long enough. No doubt 'goboys were already watching my door.

  Into my pack went my 7.62 mm sniper rifle and the Glock copy. Two fresh pins slotted into my tank top. Then my pride and joy, my charm bracelet—payment from my most lucrative ever minder's job, an Equatorial trader with serious munitions connections who wanted protection while he surfed Torley's for suitable rough trade. The charms doubled as small stun explosives, apart from one, a cute mushroom, which sprayed a short blast of hallucinogenic gas. Worked well in small spaces.