Nylon Angel

by Marianne de Pierres

  I stalked off into the bedroom without a word to either of them.

  * * * *

  Later, when Ibis finally tempted me out, Daac had gone.

  I checked the condo city map and began plotting a route home. My new kit was packed up by my feet. I considered leaving it behind and then thought better. Daac owed me that much at least.

  Realizing my intention to cut out, Ibis clucked around me. "You have to stay. There are too many people looking for us—for you. We'll get you out, but you have to be patient. Loyl's calling in some favors."

  Patient? He had the wrong bod.

  "What favors?" I raised a cynical eyebrow. "Grrl?"

  "Tolly's not a girl," he objected. "She's a system and strategist tek. Anyway, there's a citywide search on. He's trading with her—a copy of the police search pattern model for—"

  "Don't tell me!" I put my hand up.

  Ibis gave a quick, semiapologetic smile.

  I flicked out of the map and marched into the bedroom, glancing through all the net broadcasts. Ibis was right. Teknicolor Parrish. If I poked my nose out of the door, I'd be quod bait.

  The knowledge depressed me. So did the fact that I was reliant on Mr. Tall, Dark and Certifiable.

  Ibis pottered around the flat, tidying while I sat sullenly on the couch watching him. Eventually curiosity got to me. "How do you know him?"

  Ibis poured two teas and brought me one. He sat opposite. "We're related, actually."

  My eyes widened. "You?" He had to be joking. Ibis was medium height, soft-bellied, fair-skinned and playful while Daac was a strange, intense, dusky, humorless giant.

  "Distant," Ibis acknowledged. "Loyl is obsessed with family. If you're blood then you're a brother. He is rather divine, don't you think?" He sighed heavily. "But straight."

  "How did he meet Razz Retribution? Don't tell me she was related too?"

  Ibis raised an eyebrow. "He told you about her?"

  I nodded, lying. "Sure."

  Ibis's eyes misted over and I couldn't tell if he was for real. "Loyl was devastated when she was murdered."

  "You'd never know it," I bitched.

  "She was a darling. But she was still media. She thought the world of Loyl. He persuaded her to keep investing in Anna's research. Even after the death threats."

  "Death threats?"

  Ibis stopped guiltily. "I'm talking too much."

  Yes, you are, I thought, and it had opened a tiny window into Daac's mind.

  Call me a cynic, but I've yet to meet anybody who wasn't motivated first at a personal level—even those with the grandest ideals. Everything else comes second to personal cost. Daac might believe in family and his "task," but I reckoned that right now he was working off gut reaction—guilt and anger.

  His lover dead, his life's work smashed. Those, at least, were things I could understand.

  This "higher purpose" gig, on the other hand, gave me nausea.

  Or maybe it was those annoying creatures that had taken root in my stomach, flipping and fluttering every time Daac looked at me.

  Eventually Ibis left to meet Pat. Or so he said. His worried look told me he'd gone searching for Loyl.

  To keep my mind focused, I unsealed the neck of my body armor and fumbled for the Zip disk. Then I shoved the couch against the door and sat down at the PC.

  It came up with a scribble of symbols. Information was there, but I'd need help to retrieve it.

  Teece!

  I shut down the PC, tucked both the disks away, put the couch back and rummaged in the kitchen for some bread. Then I went and lay on the bed. One-World flickered on the wall screen but I didn't much feel like seeing myself in cross section. Instead I curled up in a ball with the Glock under my pillow, three knives strapped on, and the case with the grenades in easy reach. I drowsed, not really sleeping deeply, in case I dreamt something stupid—and blew myself up.

  "Parrish." A deep, insistent growl in my ear.

  "Mmm?" I muttered languorously to the familiar voice. Maybe I had been dreaming of Daac, a little.

  It warned, "We've got company."

  I sat bolt upright snapping the Glock into a draw. All I saw was my own mussed-up reflection in the mirror.

  Daac was at my side, crouched, peering through a crack in the door.

  Ibis's voice drifted through from the living area, flirtatious and calm.

  "Oh my," the plump man cooed. "My lucky day. A big hard man."

  "Military 43971A, Spirelle. This building is being searched. We suspect you may be harboring a dangerous criminal. Step aside."

  Daac and I exchanged eloquent glances. The corny, tin voice was a "roustie." Mechanoid military. They were called rousties because they got to clean up the mess, the daggs, the deaders, like the roustabouts in shearing teams back when raw materials were still harvested from live animals.

  That was a good and bad sign. Rousties were thorough and uncompromising—no humor at all. Ibis was wasting his time flirting. On the other hand they could be damn stupid if you knew how to mess with their logic.

  Daac eased the door shut and crawled over to me.

  "Pack up your gear," he whispered.

  I was already doing it.

  My mind raced through possibilities. The window wasn't one. Fifty-five storys down and anyway it didn't open. The laundry chute? At a pinch I might fit down it, but Daac had no chance. That left the contents of my case as my only hope. I could blow the whole unit off the side of the condo.

  To my surprise, Daac was busy stripping off.

  I smacked him silently on the bare shoulder. "What the—"

  "They must have followed me back here. Tie me up," he whispered fiercely.

  I stared at him. By this time he was down to his underwear.

  Sweat collected on my brow. A weird mixture of fear and excitement coddled in my stomach. I wondered if he'd been with another woman. Tolly, was it?

  "Quit sweating," he hissed, "they can detect it. After you've tied me, get into the chute. Slide to the first junction. No farther, or you'll end up going all the way. The fall will kill you, or the steam cleaners will blister your skin off. I'll drop this down when it's safe to come back." He held up a length of black nylon cord. "Now tie me up, but loosely near my hands."

  My eyes stayed riveted to his body, as he peeled the last of his clothes off.

  He tore the bedclothes down and lay spread-eagled on the bed, naked. Sculpted muscle and the finest matt of dark hair. His nipples were black.

  Desire flooded me and my feet were rooted to the spot.

  "Parrish," he whispered again, the barest hint of humor. "Later."

  His soft sarcasm ripped me from the jaws of my libido. I had him trussed like a rolled roast in about thirty seconds.

  "Promise me something," he whispered as I picked up my case and scrambled into the chute.

  I glanced back at him, questioning.

  "Promise me we can do this again."

  I pulled a face.

  Ibis raised his voice. "But I'm entertaining. You can't go in there. Don't you understand?"

  The roustie would be online to the human-manned command module. Boy, were they in for a treat! I looped the case over my wrist and shimmied into the chute.

  I reckon I did it with about a minute to spare. As I slid round the bend, Ibis squealed in mock outrage, then I couldn't hear any more.

  The first branch was about five meters down and though I wedged myself to slow the slide, the Y-bend nearly cut me in two. I rubbed my offended parts and balanced there clumsily.

  A load of clothes dumped down the left branch caught me by surprise and I nearly slipped. I wound up wearing underwear on my head and having to stuff towels and suits down either side of my legs.

  A girl could get a disease in a place like this!

  With the case protecting my head, I scrunched over to one side of the chute and siphoned things past. It worked, mostly, except for one very big drop that shortened my neck.

  While I waited, I t
hought about Daac, tied up and naked on the bed. And me, stuck in a laundry chute, raining dirty washing.

  The universe was a complete bastard!

  An hour or more ticked by. Either there was a problem, or they'd forgotten me. How long can it take for a roustie to search an apartment?

  I wiggled around in the chute and started experimenting. The sides were smooth and slippery and, unless I grew suckers, impossible to climb very far. I could probably puncture holes in the sides and use them as finger holds. But would the damage set off an alarm?

  I filed that idea as a last resort.

  At this stage going down was a lot more attractive than going up. But I needed something to slow me. Especially if a load dropped through at the same time.

  The actual laundry was probably in the basement, which made the length of the tubes something that didn't bear thinking about. Fifty-plus tiers down.

  Whew! Maybe I'd sit and wait a bit longer.

  Then a humming noise started up below me. It grew louder by the minute. Service drone? Had to be! The chute had probably reported a blockage.

  Me.

  I'd never seen a chute drone before but my imagination did a great job. No doubt it had pincers to loose tangled garments. I pictured myself being skewered by claws and dragged down into the steam vats.

  What seemed like the tame alternative to facing the roustie suddenly sent ripples of fear through me.

  Hurry up, Loyl!

  The chute vibrated as the drone got closer. I racked my brains for ideas.

  Maybe I could confuse it, mislead it up the other chute. With any luck it'd have to go right to the top before it could come down again.

  Carefully I opened my suitcase and checked over the contents. Rifle, knives, grenades.

  Tempting!

  I pulled open the velcro pouch. My new set of fatigues.

  With a pang of regret, I pulled the pants free and undipped the SOG. A more basic model than the one I'd had—but fine in a pinch.

  Then I searched for a seam in the left branch of the chute. The nearest one—apart from the one I was sitting on… was just out of reach. Naturally!

  With a steadying breath I dropped my knees carefully onto the narrow ledge I was perched on and stretched. The case was the problem. If I held it on my left arm it affected my balance. If I hooked it on my right, it was too heavy to use the tool. In the end I settled for clutching it between my thighs.

  After a few minutes of scraping with the SOG, a sliver of aluminium ruptured and I snagged the pants firmly onto it.

  Sweat poured off me.

  The drone had shifted from a hum to a dull roar. Close. But judgment was everything. If I tried to wedge up the right chute too early I'd get tired and slip. Last minute only.

  I breathed deeply and focused.

  I can do this. I do not want to spend my life in a Viva jail. Survive! I told myself. SURVIVE.

  I felt the vibration in my teeth. It must be only a few meters away.

  I forced myself up into the right tube, higher than the first seam, and braced. But my wet palms slipped and I immediately slid back down half the distance.

  As I scrabbled back up, I wondered abstractly how much it would cost for Doll to edit out my sweat response? Add it to the list. If I was going to keep this kind of stuff up I needed to take a serious look at my profile. A natural, pretty much unmodified girl could only do so much!

  The drone roared to the junction and stopped, its bearded sensors flickering like long tongues up either chute. I held my breath while it sniffed the fatigues. It shot out an articulated hand to free the obstruction. The snag turned it into a tug of war, which threw the machine into confusion. I hoped it was programmed not to tear things.

  Then I wondered if that would include me.

  Eventually the drone won but it ripped the clothing in the attempt. It stopped still in its tracks and set off an alarm like a cold-blooded yowl. So much for my plan! My legs began to shake with the strain and I knew in a few seconds I'd slide right down onto those creepy sensors and drop my butt into the clutches of that articulated hand.

  I'd already begun to slide, when a black cord slapped me across the cheek. I snaked it around my wrist and began a frantic, scrambling climb.

  Muscles screamed.

  Daac pulled me out of the chute at the other end.

  "What kept you?" I snarled.

  He didn't reply.

  Then I noticed his eyes. Shot to hell. His back and chest, still naked, were a raw mass of bleeding flesh. He trembled like a tortured animal.

  Ibis was flaked on the bed, out cold.

  "Jee-sus! What?"

  "Boys in the command module thought they'd have some fun. Seems they were homophobic," he whispered.

  I reached out a tentative hand to his chest. They weren't ordinary whip marks. They were burns.

  "Bastards!" I cried.

  He flinched. His eyes glazed over in pain.

  How had he ever pulled me up that chute?

  "There's a stinger in your case. Wake Ibis."

  I nodded and snapped the case open. "What about you. Any opiates?"

  He shook his head. "Can't. They gave me a derm of Crear. Can't combine it with opiates. Anna will have something to help." He stumbled over to near the bed and slumped down.

  I whacked Ibis with the wake-up derm and he surfaced in a couple of minutes. Apart from having eyes as bloodshot as Daac's, he seemed OK.

  Daac on the other hand was starting to shock.

  Ibis helped me lay him on the bed. "It's too dangerous to bring Anna here. We'll have to get him to her."

  "How long will that take?" I asked, worry gnawing in my gut.

  "With a 'pede, only thirty minutes. If nothing stops us."

  "Get one," I said.

  But he was already gone.

  * * * *

  Ibis wasn't long yet it seemed like a year. Daac tossed restlessly on the bed, complaining of thirst and moaning quietly as his wounds bled onto the sheets.

  I tore the top sheet up and tried to wrap it around some of the worst burns, but he wouldn't keep still. Blood and a watery, yellow fluid stained everything.

  Eventually he fell into unconsciousness. My worry blossomed into prickles of pure panic. Did people die from this?

  I noticed his fingers had a bluish, bruised look. I crawled next to him and cradled his head in my arms, whispering to him, "Come on Loyl, we're taking you to Anna. You're the one who said she could fix anyone. Just hang on."

  * * * *

  I don't remember how Ibis, Pat and I managed to get him to the basement 'pede bays. I do remember that strength wasn't an issue. If it was going to save his carcass, I reckon I could have carried him across a continent—ten continents—over hot lava. Aside from the mixed up feelings I had about him, he was too damn beautiful to waste.

  We laid him in the back and Ibis and I stuffed ourselves in around him. Pat leapt into the driver's seat and set out for Anna's with all the finesse of an overdosed speed freak.

  With the windows opaqued I couldn't see much outside. We sat tense, breathing each other's oxygen, waiting for the whine of an intercept 'pede or the slub of a police 'copter.

  Either way I was in the mood for a fight. I broke the silence. "Why haven't they stopped us yet?"

  "I'm using the search pattern coordinates Loyl got from Tolly—and I'm skirting them. Seems most available mobile units are on the search for you, but they can't cover everything," said Pat. "Besides, once they start something full-scale like this, they get a lot of distraction. People who think they've seen you. And then there's all the ones they bust accidentally. Slows the whole thing down."

  He pointed to the screen on the dashboard. I strained forward from where I sat, squeezed behind Loyl. The dashboard's virt map looked like a bunch of pissed-off ants deserting the nest. "But what about the rousties?"

  "Could have been bad luck they followed him. Anyway, nothing linked him to you in the end. They were just having fun," Ibis finished
grimly.

  I sank back, sick with confusion and fear. How did I get into this?

  * * * *

  Forever later, the 'burbs bled into the green-gray of the farmlets of the Outer Gyro.

  Daac's moans tapered off, and as soon as he quieted I wished he hadn't. Anything to let me know he was still alive. I fixed my eyes on the quick heaves of his naked, bloodied chest and breathed every breath in time.

  As Pat hurled the 'pede the last distance I could hear him on the comm. "Anna, track us in and drop the security domain at twenty meters. I'm not braking for pleasantries."

  "How bad is he?" Static broke up the distress in her voice.

  "Bad," confirmed Pat. "See you in the shed."

  The shed?

  I thought of her warehouse and its medical facilities. I hoped she had the right gear to treat him. Scientists weren't usually paramedics. But then Daac had brought me to her when he thought I was seriously injured.

  Ibis must have read my thoughts. He squeezed my hand. "Anna knows what she's doing. She spent ten years in a combat clinic in the Territory."

  I stared at him in surprise. His eyes were ruined, inflamed and heavy-lidded, but his smile was comforting and sincere.

  "You're kidding me?" Maybe Dr. Schaum had some redeeming points. If she could save Daac, I might even cut her some slack.

  Ibis turned his head toward me and dropped a kiss lightly on my cheek. I didn't smile back as I returned to my vigil of counting Daac's breaths—but ever so gently, I laid my head on his shoulder.

  * * * *

  It took hours for Daac to stabilize.

  The first couple of hours Pat, Ibis and I hovered, while Anna worked on rehydrating his body. Silent tears streamed down her face. My own emotions—raked raw already—were thrown by her distress.

  "He'll be all right, now, won't he?" I begged for her reassurance as we all shared a late-night meal.

  She shot me a look of pure hatred. "This is your fault. And you didn't even get what we wanted."

  "Anna!" Ibis intervened. "You're upset. Please…"

  She swallowed hard, like she was trying to catch hold of something, then got up and returned to her patient.

  I should have left the compound then, but something stopped me. I had to know Daac would make it before I did.