Nylon Angel

by Marianne de Pierres

  We hung together tightly for the first couple of klicks, a minihurricane of dust and exhilaration. Sweat drenched my black velvet. I concentrated on staying upright, away from other foot pegs and tires, and kept my eyes on the helmet in front of me.

  Before long a shadow flitted across us, and then back, making a low pass. Panic rippled through the pack. The faster riders accelerated; the slower ones fell behind into a splinter group.

  For a minute I faltered between the two, alone, like a straggling bird.

  As the 'copter came back for another pass, I tucked in tight behind the faring and gunned my machine. It answered with the hunger of a racing bike coming off the bend into the home straight.

  The 'copter missed its opportunity and peeled away chasing another target. I risked a quick backward glance as we regrouped. Behind us, zigzagging like hell on wheels, trailed a late starter.

  Nice handling, stupid risk, I thought, tucking down.

  We hammered along the next five klicks without a worry. Just open space and speed.

  With the Trans-line only two klicks away, we'd nearly made it.

  Too easy, I thought, too damn easy.

  Teece would be watching us with his binoculars. I wondered what else he could see. I wished I had a psychic connection with him.

  What's happening, Teece? Tell me what you see.

  Nothing came back.

  Then two Special Forces bats descended from nowhere and exploded a trench in front of us. I hit a hole and took the fall like a true pro.

  Thanks for nothin', Teece!

  The fall winded me but that was all. My overalls and helmet did their job, and I knew how to roll.

  The bike wasn't so lucky.

  Riders lay scattered around, a tangle of noise and confusion in a soup of dust. Some of the back ones rode over the top. To my right a rider lay still, hand trapped jamming the accelerator open, his neck at right angles to his body. I didn't wait to check for a pulse—by the angle of neck, there wouldn't be one.

  I freed his hand and mounted his bike at a dead run. The bike's wheels hit the dirt spinning. My heart sledged against my ribs. Any harder and it would bust right through.

  I wasn't the only one still upright. Maybe ten others pulled out of it. At a glance they all had the same luck as me, to be on the back of enduro bikes.

  We scrambled out of the bunkers and automatically bunched together. The bats had gone but the 'copter was back.

  Had the trailing bike got lucky?

  The 'copter began firing in an arc behind us. Sharp sprays of dirt added to the whirlwind that dogged us. Its speaker blared a warning order, but my helmet muffled the sound. I didn't know what they were saying.

  I sure as heck didn't care.

  The Trans-line was in sight now, with the long snakelike gray of a Trans-train slithering along its tracks. A canopy of illegal aboveground electricity lines crisscrossed the lid of Fishertown beyond. The lines made it too dangerous for the 'copters to try and snare anyone in Fishertown. Once across the Trans-line I was safe.

  Safe?

  As the line got closer, the temptation to peel away from the others and break for it alone had me by the pants. A rider in front of me gave in to the same urge and veered right. The 'copter netted him within a hundred meters and winched him up. His arm dangled through the webbing like a branch broken from a tree.

  Under a klick to go and the rest of us were suddenly cured of doing it alone. We stuck together tighter than a bunch of formation fliers.

  The 'copter sprayed some serious flak in front of us but I was ready for it this time. I hit the first ridge at full throttle and jumped the width of the gully. Yeeha! It was the closest damn thing I'd ever got to flying.

  We lost a couple in the jump, but we were closer to the line and the 'copter was running out of space. On the other side of the Trans-line power poles and humpies wavered in the heat. Call me an optimist; I swear I could taste ocean salt in the back of my throat.

  My heart lightened with hope. Then two 'copters appeared, specks of black in the north sky. In the distance a long thin line stretched between them, like a towrope, only they were flying abreast.

  Alarm damped my jubilation. I circled my fist and pointed, warning the nearest rider. By the time the message had spread through the diminished pack the 'copters were bearing down, bulbous tek insects flexing their tails. Deformed wasps. Pissed-off wasps, connected by some sort of weird birthing cord.

  Then the cord dropped free into the shape of a giant net. They were going to trawl us all!

  With only a hundred meters to go, I swore into my helmet, wishing to the great frigging Wombat that I was still on the racing bike.

  Sometimes there's no substitute for grunt.

  The 'copters veered slightly east over Fishertown and banked to come straight at us.

  I realized I was holding my breath, waiting for everything to slow down so I had time to analyze detail and plot an escape.

  But nothing slowed, no ideas formed in my brain, just the blur of objects on a collision course and a crazy wondering what it was like in a Viva jail.

  Did they feed you pro-subs?

  As the 'copters descended to drop their net, the bike pack exploded apart like fireworks. I arced slightly north, then started to weave frantically. The third 'copter chased me. I managed a spare second to feel sorry for myself.

  Why me?

  I redlined the bike over the last distance, mesmerized by the Trans-train. If I slowed now the 'copter would net me, if I kept my current speed I was going to hit the last carriage.

  Choices! Choices! None of 'em good.

  But I was so close. I just couldn't back off. Couldn't go to jail. Couldn't bear the thought of Jamon's snake smile when he heard.

  Parrish, behind bars?

  Decision made.

  You always like to think you'll see things to their end; use your wits till the last possible moment. Maybe it was reflex, something out of my control, but when the crunch came—those last seconds when the gray carriage blurred into a wall of metal and the net fell to trap me—I closed my eyes.

  Chapter Eleven

  When I opened them, the world was upside down and in fast-forward. I'd made it, but without the bike. I'd missed the Trans carriage and the bike had flipped on the track. It wouldn't have happened if I'd been looking. For the second time today, I hit dirt. This time the world went black.

  * * * *

  When I came to, the first thing I registered was relief. Thank the Wombat my helmet was still on. I'd trashed Teece's bike; his helmet would just about ice it. I'd spend my life paying him off.

  It also meant I hadn't gummed any poisonous dirt.

  Only then did I pay attention to the pounding that hammered the entire length of my backbone and up into the base of my skull. When I tried to move, fingers of pain radiated out and over my shoulders. When I tried to breathe, my lungs burned.

  Anxious images crowded on top of each other. Paralysis. Not being able to run. Not being able to run.

  I forced myself onto my hands and knees, refusing to accept the possibility.

  Someone touched me. It sparked a fire of agony across my back. "Don't," I whispered, "please don't."

  The same someone lifted me gently, as if I weighed nothing, murmuring a muffled reassurance. Part of my brain registered the impossibility of one person carrying me. I weighed ninety kilos.

  The other part of me didn't care what happened as long as the pain stopped.

  My helmet came off. Carefully. So carefully.

  Then the side of my overalls pulled away followed by my black velvet. I heard it tear. I wanted to cry. My best outfit.

  A cold feeling crept up my thigh and then the pain, mercifully, stopped…

  * * * *

  Gradually my vision cleared. I was in the half dark of a Fishertown humpy. I knew that because I could smell smoked fish and see the jagged lines of stitching that held the tent together.

  A voice spoke to me. "The painkiller
s won't last long. But I know a medic in Viva. I'll take you to her. I think you might have broken some ribs and your shoulder is dislocated." The voice laughed. "Spectacular fall, though!"

  With an enormous effort I turned my head a fraction.

  "You!"

  Dark smiled at me. His teeth were toothpaste-commercial white against the gloom. How did he manage that, I wondered, on a diet of pro-subs and cruddy foods?

  He continued, like I was interested, "I've got biz in Viva. Needed to get there in a hurry. Lucky for you."

  Lucky! I had other names for it! "But who's minding the babies?" I whispered.

  "Funny!" He tugged my clothing across my thigh.

  I suddenly realized I was naked from the waist down on one side. Even the string of my G had been torn.

  "Sorry 'bout your clothes. They were badly ripped and I wanted to give you a maximum dose. Seemed the best spot."

  I reached automatically to cover myself, trying to tie a knot in my G with one hand.

  "Don't move," he snapped. "The drugs are masking the pain. You may have broken more than your ribs. I can't be sure."

  I sagged back weakly. "Great!"

  "Promise me you'll lie still and I'll get you to this medic."

  "And how are we going to get there?" I sniped miserably. "Medivac?"

  "Ahuh," was all he said, and left.

  Note to self: Never joke about things you don't know the answer to.

  * * * *

  I lay alone in the humpy, drifting in and out of awareness. Once I opened my eyes and stared into a woman's face. She was gaunt, leather-skinned and unhappy. Her hair was plastered around her sunburnt face in a dark, oily crop. I tried to say thank you for the use of her home, but the words wouldn't form in my mouth.

  I wondered later how I knew this dingy tent was her place. Maybe it was the sour expression she wore. Kept for uninvited guests.

  For a while I dreamt.

  The Angel was back, working feverishly inside me; fighting infection, healing bone and tissue, cauterizing hemorrhages with the tip of its platinum sword. It seemed angry that I'd hurt myself. It needed me. "I'm sorry," I kept saying, "I had to do it. I had no other choice."

  My cheeks were wet with contrite tears when Dark roused me. He looked surprised, and then concerned. "Pain bad?"

  I nodded, embarrassed. It seemed the easiest explanation. But in fact, inexplicably, the pain was less.

  "The 'copters have gone but the ground search is starting. We need to move."

  "But I've got to get the bike and the helmet to Mama's first."

  "Mama?"

  "Fat wrestler with a strap-on automatic."

  Dark's forehead wrinkled with distaste. "We met."

  "What's wrong, Dark?" I rasped. "Didn't your mama look like that?"

  He ignored my jibe. "He's collected them already. Christ, Parrish, your bike was in bits! It could have been you."

  "Least I wasn't crazy enough to ride across by myself. That was you trailing, wasn't it?"

  He smiled this time. "Mama said to tell you you'd lost your insurance and some."

  It hurt to sigh, but I managed it. I also managed a quick prayer to the Wombat that Teece'd be collecting the and some—not Mama.

  "Ready then?"

  "Sure," I lied.

  * * * *

  The woman with the gaunt face helped him carry me out on an old blanket. She was strong for her size and condition. Most Fishertown Slummers were tough from hauling nets and gaunt from their poisoned, mainly fish diet. People said they carried some sort of mutated gene that let them survive the heavy metals in their food. Whatever the truth, it didn't prevent most of them resembling beef jerky.

  This woman looked pretty damn good—for a Slummer. And she wasn't too happy about me.

  "Why are you doing this for her Loyl-Dark?" she hissed. "This your woman?"

  Loyl?

  A scorching, late afternoon sun had burnt away the drizzle. I squinted out at the curious Shimmers crowding a short distance away, and waited for Dark to answer.

  "No, Kiora Bass. Just biz."

  Kiora Bass. I remembered Shimmers named themselves after the fish of their area. Down the coast a bit they were Trevallies and Breams. Sounded stupid, but you didn't want to say that to a Shimmer's face. They were as handy as Muenos with knives, only they used filleting blades.

  A tinge of rage crept into her voice. "Don't believe you, you lie. She your woman, Loyl-Dark? You don't want me!" She followed with an obscenity that curled my toes and broadened my mind.

  "Shut it, Kiora." He leaned over me and slapped her across the jaw. The whole sling sagged, jolting my shoulder.

  "Hey, quit the domestic shit!" I growled at them. "Put me down or stop jerking around." I glared at the woman. "And quit with the insults. He's not my type."

  What a stinking big lie that was, Parrish! Yeah, but look, it made her happy.

  And it had. She bowed her head, a small satisfied smile playing on her lips.

  I didn't look at Dark.

  He'd hit her. I'd never forgive that in a man.

  So much for The Tert town savior!

  They bundled me along in silence, between humpies and past smoking fires, to an open stretch of beach. I could hear the sea lapping—an oily, flat sound. Then the high whine of something mechanical drowned it out.

  A buzz saw?

  When I saw what made the noise, I was damn near right. A buzz saw connected to a metal frame with wings and a pair of seats. A primeval ultralight.

  I'd seen them a lot in the sky above The Tert. They always looked so frail and hesitant. Like they might get tired at any moment.

  Kiora Bass and Dark rolled me onto the frame and strapped me to it in three places. My feet dangled over the end.

  I struggled, gripped by panic. Jumping ditches on motorbikes was one thing. Flying in a mutated power tool was something else.

  "No way am I going anywhere in this. Dark! Listen! Get me off this thing!" I tried to scream, but my lungs hurt too much. "For Womssakes, get me off."

  The Slummers crowded closer, pointing at me. I saw Mama at the back, towering over them, his fat body quaking with laughter.

  High point to his week, no doubt!

  Kiora Bass smirked openly.

  Fish bitch!

  Dark ignored the whole proceedings.

  Craning my neck backward, I saw him strap in, straight-faced, alongside the pilot.

  The ultralight gave a little jerk and we accelerated along the sand. Next it hopped three or four times, like a demented frog. Then the rushing air and the engine drowned my moans. Two or three outrageous swerves cleared us of the power lines, and we were airborne.

  I held my breath for as long as I could. And some more. My stomach turned inside out and then back, and tried to crawl out of my ears and nose.

  As the wind tore at my clothes and blasted my face, I swore if I made it off this thing alive I'd never complain about my life again.

  I followed that up by a string of stupid things you promise yourself when you think you're going to die—which you immediately forget as soon as you realize you're still alive.

  A few minutes after that, my whole body began to shake with terror—great uncontrollable rigors. If I hadn't been belted in, I swear I would have bounced myself straight over the side.

  My leg, where my clothes had torn, turned numb. Fear took me in a way I'd never known. I wanted to get my feet on the ground so badly I would have jumped. I moaned, over and over; no sane part left to tell me I was acting like an idiot.

  I closed my eyes and begged some god—any god—to let me survive it. Just another day of life, another night…

  * * * *

  We put down an age later on a potholed bitumen road on the rural sweep of Viva. Landing was like being stabbed by large steak knives. But my relief, so enormous after the terror, canceled out the pain.

  The ultralight taxied along the road until a building came into sight. There was nothing else close by, apart from a b
unch of trees that partially hid a house, some paddocks studded with dried plant carcasses and in the distance a four-meter-high perimeter fence made of solid ferro. Across the top of the fence a blue security light crackled like lightning in a thunderstorm.

  I couldn't remember how long it was since I'd seen so much open space—apart from The Tert wastelands.

  Dark came round to unstrap me. "OK?" he shouted over the engine.

  My mouth was too dry to reply the way I wanted to.

  He and the pilot hauled me inside a sleek building, through a dustproof door and deposited me onto a hard morguelike slab. Then they disappeared outside and the sound of the buzz saw soon faded into the distance.

  For a moment I thought Dark might have gone with him and I struggled to get free of the blanket that had wound itself around me. It stank of fresh fish guts. No doubt Kiora Bass had lent me her best.

  "Keep still until I've examined you," a cold voice commanded out of the darkness.

  I craned my neck around to locate it, then fixed on a faint glow—the reflection of a screen. The outline of a woman sat behind it, tapping at a keypad.

  "In a moment you'll be scanned. Loyl darling, can you remove her covering? It's imperative she keeps still."

  Darling? Was she talking to Dark? I glanced up, relieved and annoyed. Where the hell was he? Where the hell was I?

  He stepped out of the shadows and bent over me. "Parrish, she's a medic. Let me take the blanket away so she can check you over." He said it carefully, like he was planning to dismantle a bomb. "OK?"

  I nodded slowly, resisting the urge to sink my teeth into his arm—just for the heck of it.

  "Does it hurt much?" He smelled of wind laced with a faint musk, and his concerned tone took the sting out of my anger.

  "I—it's all right," I allowed. Maybe it was a reaction to my first-ever air flight, or maybe I really was losing it. But with his face so close to mine, and me feeling so damn fragile, I suddenly mislaid my reasons for disliking him.

  The gloom softened his face with kindness. Kindness wasn't a thing that featured on my life's highlight reel. I didn't know what to do with it.

  "Stand away," the woman ordered sharply.