Nylon Angel

by Marianne de Pierres

I tried a long shot. A deluded sort of idea.

  Canrats had an organized community. A pecking order and a communication network. Maybe they'd heard something about my bout with "the Big One."

  "I killed the Big One!" I shouted into the darkness.

  The growling intensified into a cacophony of terrifying noises. Snarling. Barking. Preparatory to disembowelling and chewing.

  One canrat—according to my olfaugs—had grown quickly to a dozen. I could smell their hunger.

  They could smell their food. Me.

  I shouted above the noise, determined to be heard, "The Big One. I killed the Big One."

  The snarling grew like an earthquake.

  Then it came to me in a flash.

  "Oya. I am Oya!"

  Silence. In one eerie accord.

  To my astonishment I sensed their presence withdraw. Within five minutes my olfaugs told me they'd gone completely.

  I wound myself in knots over their reaction. It gave me something to think about as my back stiffened and my thirst and hunger pangs reached a critical level.

  I took frequent rests. The pipe seemed grainy—or was I near to fainting?

  I wanted to go back to Gwynn, but I figured I'd been crawling for six or eight hours. Way too long to return. Outside it would be night again.

  Endless smaller pipes speared off the main. I began to fear wandering lost until I died.

  Then, like before, in the water pipes under M'Grey Island, something attracted my attention above me. I noticed the tiniest difference. Not an opening as such, merely less fungus and filth. I concentrated on it.

  I rubbed my hand over the area, protecting my eyes from falling debris with the other hand. My fingers traced three sides of a roughly chiseled square. Like someone had started fashioning a way in and stopped.

  Or was it a way out?

  I pushed that thought from my mind and with a surge of energy, scrabbled and scraped and pushed.

  It remained stuck fast.

  I thought about going further on. If others used these passages there had to be an easier way out. But Gwynn hadn't mentioned where and I, stupidly, hadn't asked.

  Sometimes when you're tired, you just get damn pigheaded. I wanted to get out now.

  I am not going to die down here! I told myself.

  Slipping a knife from my case, I gouged and chipped along the unformed side of the square. Then I pushed and shoved until my arms turned leaden and refused to raise above my head.

  Had it loosened? A fraction, maybe? A slight shift?

  Spurred on, I slid down onto my back and pushed my legs upward, planting my feet inside the outline of the square.

  I kicked, using my stronger leg muscles, and rocked repeatedly upward. My neck felt like snapping and my back stung with the imprint of sharp rocks, but I refused to give in.

  Without a warning, the square gave way. My feet disappeared and then rebounded, throwing me on to my side.

  My neck hadn't broken—I could still feel my toes.

  Things were improving!

  Shakily I got to my feet and thrust my head up through the hole into a low, lengthy, foul-smelling space with a set of rough steps at one end. A bug-filled, grime-splattered fluoro gave out wan light. I levered through, hands and knees scraping on a carpet of filth, and crawled past rows of boxes to the steps. Gagging, I tried not to think about what was in them that could smell so bad. It clung to me like hideous cologne.

  At the stop of the steps was a hatchway. Hope flared again. Maybe an empty villa?

  The hatch moved on the third shove. A halo of bright lights and animal noises sent shooting pains through my head.

  Maybe not an empty villa.

  Inhaling the fresher air and blinking crazily, I waved my hand like a white flag. Right now I had no more fight. Wherever I was, I knew I'd have to talk my way out of it.

  "Want no trouble," I croaked into the light.

  No reply.

  I squeezed through the hatchway until my head hit something. It forced me to contort sideways and slide the rest of my body horizontal, keeping my head low. I lay there panting, trying to make sense of the surrounding shape. My eyes took moments to adjust. My brain took longer.

  I was in a cage.

  In a smallish room.

  The noises came from a group of punters caught up in some hardcore torture in the next room. I could see them through the open door.

  I'd crashed a pain party.

  Crap!

  I'm no killjoy on this type of thing—each to his own. But I had my own brand of torment going. I didn't need barbed wire, meat hooks and electric prodders.

  I tried to find a gate to the cage but there wasn't one—only a long chain and a heavy winch mechanism to lift it up. The lever was on the other side of the room.

  "Let me out," I rasped, rattling the cage.

  No one heard.

  I rested for a few seconds, summoning my remaining energy. "Fire," I roared.

  Half a dozen bodies—those who weren't strapped or tied—spilled through the open door toward me. Some glazed-eyed, some drooling, some crying.

  One I knew.

  Stellar, the bodyshop bitch. Alive still. Barely.

  That made two of us.

  I recognized her fingernails and her pasty complexion. The rest of her was bondage-clad bones.

  Unfortunately, her dead eyes ignited with cunning at the sight of me. She took in the open hatch and my filthy state.

  "Bitch," she mouthed in welcome.

  I scanned the crowd wildly for Jamon, but couldn't see him. Major mercy!

  "Who is she?" The whisper spread amongst the audience.

  Stellar saw an opportunity and grabbed it. She wobbled forward on absurd, crippling heels. "She is… Jamon's gift. He hid her in the crypt." Her arm swept toward me with a grand, trembling gesture. "A sacrifice to seal our pact."

  Crypt! Eeuch! My empty stomach twisted.

  "This should have been discussed," frowned a freakishly tall man with bowed shoulders, large hands and a harsh face. "He knows my rules, Stellar."

  "He wanted to surprise you, Master Jayse." She knelt down in front of him, head bowed in a submissive gesture.

  "But she's dirty," complained a blond woman, looking me over. Barbed-wire restraints tracked lines of blood across her body.

  I tried to hold on to my calm, but it deserted at the word "sacrifice."

  "Stellar!" My voice edged to the hysterical. "Over here!"

  She stared at me. Curiosity entered her dull eyes. "May I be excused for a few minutes, Master Jayse? Please?"

  Big Hands cupped his huge ornamental codpiece like it was a trophy. "I suppose so. Sort out how you're going to present her, Stellar. Personally, I prefer her dirty."

  He turned back to his business. In seconds the next room was sick with moans.

  Stellar crawled over to me. It looked prettily submissive, but she obviously had trouble standing. When she got within reach I grabbed her arm, pulling her close to the cage.

  "Get me out of here," I whispered fiercely.

  "Why should I?" I saw the familiar pout, but it lacked life. The same way her breath came in chopped-off gasps. " Jamon will be here soon. He's been looking for you."

  "You're ill, Stellar." I tried for sympathy and fell short.

  She trembled. Sweat appeared on her upper lip. She licked it nervously. "La morte vite. Who told you?"

  I shook my head. "Jamon fed us mercury-poisoned fish that last night I saw you."

  "But you…"

  "I didn't eat mine. Lang warned me."

  Her face crumpled. Something between anger, distress and disbelief.

  "You'd already eaten it," I explained. "I'd have stopped you if I could. Believe me."

  I meant the last. Much as I despised Stellar, she was a Jamon Mondo casualty.

  "Why would he do that to me?"

  I shrugged. "Because it pleases him. Suffering pleases him."

  She might have doubted any other answer—but that she u
nderstood.

  We sat, leaning against the wire of the cage, cheek to cheek, while she digested what I had told her. Her breath was sour.

  "He's changed," she said. "He's making deals with jerks like…" She gestured toward Master Jayse. "And training night after night on fight sims."

  Fight sims were basic battle strategy. "What are the deals about?"

  Her eyes were out of focus. I could see her struggling to think. "He says the Gentes want his turf. So he's going to get them first."

  "Gentes?" I asked the question, but I feared I already knew the answer.

  "Local families. Long-termers." She turned away and vomited bile.

  It had me gagging again. I wanted to close the hatch behind me to stem the other smell, but at the moment it was my only way out.

  "You're dying because of him, Stellar. I can see he pays for it."

  A tremor ran through her.

  Was it the mercury? Or emotion?

  She crawled across to the lever. Tears spilled onto her hands as she worked the handle.

  Emotion.

  It shook me.

  The cage raised on a well-oiled chain, high enough for me to roll underneath.

  She lowered it down again and crawled back.

  "You'd better hurry," she whispered. The tears left dirty stains on her cheeks but her eyes seemed clearer. Sadder. "Before Jamon comes. I'll tell them you beat me when I tried to wash you. Take the other door. It leads to the main corridor."

  "Will they let me out?"

  "Out is easy for you." She smiled weakly.

  I wanted to say thanks, and that I was sorry. I could have helped her walk away from him instead of hating her. I could've…

  But Stellar didn't want thanks. She struggled to her feet and tottered back to join the party.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Big Hands's pain parlor turned out to be midway between Teece's bike biz and Shadoville.

  I backtracked to Teece's on the last dregs of my endurance, well disguised under layers of filth.

  I found him staring miserably at the empty space in his bike shed.

  "Sorry about the bike, Teece," I said, huskily.

  "Parrish," he yelped, turning. "What in the Wombat are you doing here—smelling like that?"

  "Need water." My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth and my legs buckled.

  He crossed the floor in three strides and scooped me over his shoulders.

  "Into the tub," he ordered. "You stink worse than a canrat carcass."

  He carried me to his bathroom, a small, plain two-by-four with one undeniable luxury—a bath—and stripped my clothes, piling the case on the top of the filthy coat and suit ibis and Daac had given me.

  Then he dumped me in the tub, not even waiting for it to fill or test for scalding.

  He disappeared and returned a couple of minutes later with a jug of water. He set it down on the floor within my reach.

  "Drink slowly. Don't drown," he muttered darkly and left me to it.

  Revived a little, I soaped. As quickly as the bath filled, I emptied it and started again, not relaxing till the water lost most of its grimy tinge. Finally I sank down into its salubrious warmth.

  I stayed in it for hours—hoping it would soak away my thoughts of Stellar, the pain parlor, Gwynn and Loyl-me-Daac.

  It didn't. So I climbed out, took the disks from my tank and dropped them in my boot. Then I rinsed the bath clean and staggered into the bedroom.

  Teece was waiting for me, bare-chested on his bed, feet up, in a faded aqua silk robe the same color as his eves. He held a semiauto loosely in his lap.

  "For me?"

  "You're hot property at the moment. I got eyes out along the border. Everyone wants a piece of you."

  I sighed. I had nothing on but a towel and I was too tired to care. I just curled up on the end of his bed like an oversized and bedraggled alley cat.

  "C'n I borrow a piece o' this?" I slurred.

  He nodded.

  "Teece?" I yawned.

  "What?" He leaned forward keenly.

  "When I wake up, could I have something to eat?"

  "Now hang on a little minute, Parrish. You're not going to sleep until we talk…"

  I didn't hear any more.

  I woke sometime later, stiffer than a corpse. The room was dark but not the pitch of night, more the grainy gray of early morning. Teece snored gently at the other end of the bed, the semi still tucked under his arm.

  I lay wondering whether to slip away before he could grill me. Hungry as I was, it seemed like a better option than having to explain myself and atone for the loss of his bike and helmet.

  Quietly, and as fluidly as I could manage under the circumstances, I slid off the bed.

  Got as far as the door.

  "Going somewhere?"

  I stretched, turned and grinned at him in the half-light. "Didn't want to wake you, Teece. But I could eat an army and their boots."

  He pointed to the side table and a tray laden with cold food. Cheese, pro-subs and bread.

  Guilt tweaked my conscience. Teece treated me well. And what had he ever got in return? Trashed bikes!

  I sat back down on the side of the bed and hoed into the food. "Thanks," between mouthfuls, "I really mean it, Teece. Thanks a lot."

  He lay, propped against his pillows watching me eat, curiosity on his face. As the pile on the tray dwindled, he asked softly, "So what's going on, lovely?"

  I steadily chewed every last crumb, playing for time. How much could I trust him? I wondered. He'd talked about love once. Did "love" last more than a few weeks or months for anyone? I didn't think so. Not in this town.

  But I guess I owed him something. "Someone's trying to put me away. For life."

  He laughed. "Tell me something I don't know. Your face is all over the nets." His brow creased. "But what happened? When you left here you told me you had a chance to make things better."

  I shook my head. "Things changed." My voice trembled, just a little bit.

  To make matters worse Teece touched me, lightly on the arm, a comforting pat. The simple gesture was too much. I suddenly found myself spilling the whole story.

  "Lang hired me for a job, said if I got him some files from a certain place in Viva it would put Mondo in jail for life. How could I refuse a gig like that, Teece?"

  He nodded, understanding. Jamon was part of the reason Teece didn't come to Torley's anymore.

  "Turns out Lang set me up to take the rap for Razz Retribution's murder."

  "Why would he want to hang it on you?"

  "Messy story, and I'm not sure I know the answer. Yet. See, Razz Retribution had been financing some research. Genetic immunities to heavy-metal poisons. Apparently the research came up with stuff that could help a lot of Tert people. But someone took her out, which stopped the money supply, so the research stopped."

  Teece opened his mouth, as if he might say something, but my words kept galloping out. I told him everything.

  When I finished he didn't seem all that astonished, more troubled.

  "But you said they got wiped?", he asked.

  I grinned. "Not exactly."

  I got up, went to the san and pulled the disk from my boot. Then I returned, tossing it onto the bed in front of him.

  "When I realized what was happening, I bailed. What I saved is on here. I need to find out what it is. Will you help?" I tried awful hard not to plead.

  He didn't rush me with an answer. "Why does Lang want you pinned for the murder?"

  I shrugged. "Dunno exactly. Seems I was convenient."

  "What would Lang gain from stopping this research?"

  I shrugged again and pointed to the disk. It lay between us on the bed like a grenade. "That's what I want you to tell me. And there's something else you should know. It might help you figure things out. Lang can alter his physical appearance—shape-change. Not with med-tek or cosmetics or anything like that." I snapped my fingers. "He just does it."

  This time his eyes
narrowed in disbelief. Or maybe at the state of my sanity.

  "I've seen it, Teece. I think it's something to do with the side effects of this research. They've done trials using Tert people."

  Teece gave a low whistle. "Heavy shite, Parrish."

  We stared at the disk for a while, contemplating it.

  "So how'd you manage to get so dirty?" he asked eventually.

  I told him about Gwynn, and Stellar and the pain parlor.

  He laughed.

  "What's so funny?" I hiccuped.

  "You. How do you find such dirty sandpits to play in?"

  He leaned forward and spread his fingers across my shoulders where the muscles were taut and sore. The warmth soothed them and involuntarily I groaned.

  "It takes talent," I murmured. "Mmm, that's good."

  He tugged at my towel, loosening it and slid his hands around my stomach.

  "Parrish?"

  It was a question that didn't need words as an answer. It might even clear my head of Loyl-me-Daac.

  But a frantic hammering at the door took the decision out of my hands.

  "What?" he called gruffly.

  "Sorry, Teece." The voice was seriously apologetic. "It's important."

  "Coming."

  I grabbed his hand. "Will you do this for me, Teece?"

  I was asking a lot. Too much! But then, just coming here was that.

  He picked up the disk and put it in his pocket. His faded blue eyes filled with longing. "This time you'll really owe me," he said softly. "And I'm collecting."

  "Sure." I smiled brightly. Bravado.

  * * * *

  When he left I scrounged through his closet for something to wear and found an oversized T-shirt printed with a faded 3-D holo of the Beach Boys.

  I took my tank top from the side of the bath and slipped it on. Then I donned the T. It covered my backside—just. But there was no point in trying to wear any of his pants. We weren't even close to being the same shape. I retrieved the wiper disk and forced my swollen feet into my boots.

  Uggh! Not a good look. Or a good feel.

  Pushing vanity aside, I smoothed my hair, picked up my case and went to find Teece.

  He was sitting in his comm cache looking tetchy.

  The face on the screen wore an expression easily as pissed off, and twice as scary.

  Shit and double shit.

  Loyl-me-Daac.