CHAPTER 4
Slanglish
Steo took an elevator down with Governor. The carriage was big enough to hold 40 people and it was full that day. It pressurized gradually as they descended thousands of feet. Steo’s ears popped several times. He was used to this. It wasn’t his first time on Nibs. His tension was turning into excitement.
When the carriage stopped and the doors opened, the passengers’ senses were assaulted. The ground floor was a galleria of shops and food vendors, open to the street outside. The noise overwhelmed them. Aromas competed for attention. The lights and movement both caught the eye and boggled the mind.
He walked through the galleria with a determined stride, his step light due to the lower gravity. Governor pulled the suitcases in closer and followed right behind.
Several times voices shouted in Steo’s direction, seeking to draw his attention. Unlike people new to Nibs, he didn’t need time to adjust to the appeals for his attention (and credits). He knew they didn’t have what he needed. When he got to the edge of the street, he gestured to Governor. The robot lifted to see over the crowd, then settled back down, leaned over and spoke to Steo. They headed through the bustling crowds.
A block later they came to a platform raised ten feet in the air. Yellow and black arrows on the ground pointed to steps, which they ascended. Governor held both suitcases with one hand, and punched a well-worn button on a pole. In a moment a shadow appeared over the empty space. A taxi descended.
Taxis on Nibs were circular hover cars. The pilot sat in the center, operating it with holograms. They entered. When the door closed, the clear dome cut down the noise.
“Welcome to Nibs, ruby,” said the bald pilot. The taxi rose.
Steo waved his arm over the credit-reader. It confirmed payment with a bleep.
Steo winked. “I’m not a newbie.”
Steo was one of the few off-worlders who understood Nibs slang. Standard language was called Glish. People on Nibs would substitute words that rhymed, called Slanglish. “Ruby” was used instead of “newbie,” a reference to a newcomer on the planetoid.
Startled, the pilot began to apologize but Steo said, “It’s okay. Look, I’ve got a cold bum, and need to mind them.”
The pilot understood. Steo was looking for an old chum and needed to find them. The slang meant his customer needed discretion.
“Nowhere?” the pilot asked as the taxi climbed higher.
“Not yet, I don’t. Hub loner, used to be down by passion fleet.”
The pilot pulled up a hologram of the city and scrolled to a street with fashion shops. He tapped a few buildings, all dance clubs, and rotated the image to Steo.
“Any of these?” the pilot asked.
Steo surveyed the names. None looked familiar. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for.
Where are you, he thought. “Keep scrolling, pop them up when you find them.”
The person he was looking for used once owned a dance club, and wasn’t expecting him. Steo had kept a low profile coming to Nibs and didn’t want anyone knowing of his arrival.
“What’s the big nouveau hub with the in-set here on Nibs?” Steo asked.
The pilot swung the taxi out over the city. Daylight lit the cabin. Even though far from other people, conversations could be recorded. The friend he was looking for wasn’t someone who liked being talked about either.
The pilot pointed at a club and tapped it for example.
Steo leaned closer and saw it was an energy club. These were megaclubs with multiple levels, several lounges and themed rooms. The dance floors had high ceilings, where gravity was lightened so people could dance longer. The most prestigious energy clubs had such powerful gravity controls that you could fly through the air.
Thinking this a promising lead, Steo brought up his own lee and read more about energy clubs.
Energy clubs offered sensory awareness – sight, touch, smell, sound and taste. They could influence your equilibrium (in pleasant and safe ways) or even confuse your internal senses so that you couldn’t tell where your limbs were. Some customers would have tongue, teeth or cheek receptors implanted to receive taste signals, much like ancient radios with sound signals.
In some energy clubs, low-powered spot lasers targeted people’s skin, increasing body heat. Invisible gusts of cool air surprised guests without mussing their hair.
Freedancing was the latest trend, dancing in low-gravity environments. With light control and holograms, dance floors were multifaceted, inundating dancers’ senses.
Steo nodded. His friend was in the city and would be in on something like this. He thought back to the messages he’d received. He nodded as he recognized similarities.
“The biggest one of these e-hubs?”
“That one moved,” the pilot said. “It’s on the northwest side. Here,” he pointed to a spot on the map. Up popped an energy club named “Eroteme?” with the question mark as part of the name.
“No, that’s not it,” Steo said, switching to standard Glish. “Thanks, though. I’ll do some searching on my own. Can you take us to the New Caithness Wick hotel please?”
“Aye NCW, hoss.” The pilot moved the craft over the towering skyscrapers.
Steo was happy that the pilot called him boss instead of newbie, but was surprised the pilot didn’t catch his lie. As soon as Steo saw the Eroteme? sign and description, he knew that was where she was. His contact had a wry sense of humor and the odd word play would appeal to her. Eroteme looked like the word erotic but it was just an archaic word that meant to ask a question. It was a tip-off.
CHAPTER 5
Door Reader
Governor checked them into the room on the 93rd floor of the high-end hotel. By now Steo knew he had to sleep. Governor turned off the wall panels, darkening the room considerably, while he gently hummed to himself and put away his master’s things.
Nibs was a small planetoid and rotated quicker than average. Days and nights weren’t very long.
Steo woke after a few hours’ sleep, as the sun was going down.
“Master, you’re doing it again,” Governor said.
“What,” he mumbled.
“You’re not getting enough rest. If you don’t mind me saying, you’re unemployed at the moment. Please do listen to me and take things easy.”
Steo got out of bed and settled into a chair. Governor had set out a wholesome meal for him.
“Maybe you’re right.” He took his time eating and reading while Governor set out his clothes. His past was rapidly receding and the future held very bright things. He wanted to get on with his new venture.
Steo turned on a large panel and checked the interstellar news relays. News from systems close in galactic terms was days old. News from the inner Crux spiral arm was much older. Rumors that sectarian violence verging on holy war in the Crux arm was months old. A planetary siege and two violent uprisings also fueled Crux news relays.
Soon he ran into news of pirate raids in the outer Percaic spiral arm, but the stories were more rumor than fact. Violence and anarchy were popular topics when they were about somewhere far away. The vast distance between the spiral arms discouraged travel, but didn’t prevent it. There hadn’t been a serious pirate attack on the Navo system in three hundred years.
News of space battles and massacres made the recent secessions from the Petid Republic seem tame by comparison. If he hadn’t been involved, he would have found the stories interesting. Steo shut off the panel.
The clothes that Governor set out weren’t the blue suit and black shirt so common among business people. They were baggy gray pants with lots of pockets, a simple white collarless shirt and a black jacket. Brown boots completed it.
“This attire should fit the environment and venue, master, as well as your age for once,” Governor said. “Don’t wash up. Your hair should be disheveled. It’s the proper style.”
“Proper? Where I’m going?” He pulled on the pants. The surface texture was rough but the in
side was soft. Steo approved of the new clothes.
“My goal tonight is to avoid being beaten bloody.”
Governor mused over this. “Punctures would be bad for the design of this jacket, master. And blood would be deucedly difficult to get out of these pants, so you’ll understand my concern.”
Fully dressed, Steo looked at himself in the full-length mirror. He turned and shuffled, as if a beat went with it.
“Master please … either take dance lessons as I’ve suggested, or stop whatever that is you’re doing,” Governor admonished.
He scowled at the robot. He patted his jacket pockets to make sure he had what he needed as he left the hotel room.
The city of Nuzdak could be painful to the eyes at night. When Steo got to the ground floor, he hit the pavement and walked. It was nice to be light on his feet again. Holograms danced in front of every shop, sometimes getting in his face. Music rippled out of every doorway.
He didn’t plan to cover the whole distance by foot. The city of tens of millions of people spread out over tens of miles. He wanted to get his business done during the short six-hour night, but he wanted to acclimate a bit too.
As he walked he observed how people dressed and talked, mostly Glish but an occasional smattering of Slanglish. Usually he guessed the words were rhymes for names of drugs or other adult entertainment. He didn’t understand alien tongues.
People often noted how skinny Steo was. Considering how short he was, his lean frame made him look even smaller. He was always too busy to indulge in giant meals like people with jobs. Street vendors with their questionable foods often made him lose his appetite. Why is “off-world meat” equated with “exotic cuisine,” he wondered.
Having caught a bit of the city, he climbed a platform’s steps and hailed a taxi. Steo gave clear directions to Eroteme?, and waved his arm over the credit reader. The taxi pilot complained about the zone they were headed to. Steo handed him a small card as a tip, and they were off, flying 30 feet above the streets, between buildings that towered out of sight in the night sky.
Nuzdak got denser and dirtier as they headed northwest. There was more trash and fewer potted plants on balconies or gardens on rooftops. Every street in Nuzdak had pedestrians, but those in the northwest zone swayed and staggered. They stayed together in groups, too.
This zone probably had a name, but that didn’t matter since he didn’t plan on being there long. It had lots of bars, shops and casinos. Most everything was legal in Nuzdak in one zone or another. If it wasn’t fully legal it was decriminalized. There were shops selling most every consumable substance. Detox clinics offered to speedily cleaned your blood and repair chemical damage. People are kidding themselves, he thought. He wondered if people didn’t have better things to do.
The glowing icon on the pilot’s lee that represented the energy club drew nearer. Steo asked the pilot to set down a block away. The moment his feet hit the ground, the taxi shot up and sped away.
The massive display for Eroteme? was seven floors high and lit the whole street. He walked down the street, and gauged that hundreds of people were trying to look good enough to get in. He wasn’t going to do that the way he looked, though. He passed the mob and rounded the corner.
A side entrance had a red awning covering a set of rising steps. There were no lines, just six heavy-set men in black suits. Steo approached. He was practiced at looking calm. Even though he was clearly headed to the entrance, they didn’t look at him.
He stopped at the bottom of the stairs in his street clothes. One of the big men blocked his path. The bass from the club was audible outside.
“Step off you,” the man growled.
Steo didn’t take a hostile pose or tone. “I’m not here to squawk with you hustle. This tall isn’t subjected. I’m not on any twist you have, but the hoss knows me.”
The burly man kept his arms crossed and showed no sign of recognition or surprise. Steo knew he understood. Eventually the guard made a disgusted face and uncrossed his arms.
That seemed to be a sign. Three more came over and stood close to Steo, looming over him.
“What’s this?”
“Who you?”
“What you about?”
“You looking for a wood greeting?”
Steo didn’t answer. Up close he could see augmentations that could deliver a good beating. He was sure they had boosted muscles, since their shoulders were enormous. Silver lines on the neck were probably for communication. Unusual bulges on their knuckles were probably hand-to-hand melee weapons, like spikes that popped out. Or worse, LBDs built to deliver impossibly hard blows. That would require skeletal support to protect against g-strain, the tissue damage that comes from long-term use of graviton weapons. He didn’t plan on finding out. These were thugs, muscle, not paid to make decisions.
“Like I broke, I’m here to squawk with the hoss. No tassel, just not for your gears,” Steo said fast.
“You’re spittle, no scratch for us.” They towered over him.
“No hustle, just ninny.” The muscular men noted how skinny Steo was.
Steo played a card. “Bawl for red hustle then. Cause I need heating with the red hoss.”
“There’s no need for them to call for me, I’m here,” a sarcastic voice said from behind the wall of muscle.
The guards stepped back. Steo tried not to react to the alien.
Dressed in a painfully bright chartreuse suit, the head guard was a novorian. Even the shock of the bright suit didn’t prepare him for looking at a novorian’s face for the first time. They seemed to keep growing skin long after they had enough. This one’s skin was thick, stiff and deeply wrinkled. Bags hung under his eyes and he had more chins than were worth counting. Even his forehead wasn’t smooth. Novorians looked ancient to humans.
“Nove,” Steo said with a nod.
“You’re so good with the street Slanglish, it sounds too good,” the nove said. “Which sounds like you’re trying. Not born on Nibs, were you?”
Novorians were called Readers because they had powerful intuition. By listening and watching body language, they had an instinctive ability to gather information from people, even alien species. It was rumored they could smell emotions. Novorian culture valued truth to the exclusion of all else but noves were notoriously humorless. They talked a lot to get information. Many other species reviled Readers for tearing away the veil of social convenience. There were stories that a nove overhearing a conversation could break up a young couple, bring low a promising leader or ruin a peace agreement.
Steo had his own causes for concern. He was experienced with looking like he belonged. That’s a good skill for a gearjacker discovered where he shouldn’t be, but he couldn’t control how he smelled.
“Hoss will want to squawk me,” he said.
The nove walked forward and looked him over. “Untidy hair but recently shaved? Tsk, tsk. Boots unscuffed. Cuffs of pants unfrayed. It’s such wasted effort.”
Steo felt read like a book, but he waited patiently.
“Too small to be police and too clear-headed to be a user. Too stiff so you didn’t come to dance. Frankly they wouldn’t let you in on looks alone.”
Steo let him continue, even if the truth hurt. The nove was pleased with himself.
“Probably no augmentations, no weapons, so not a killer. I got all that just from looking at you. This is really a pathetic attempt to get in.”
The nove pondered the short human. Steo thought he saw the alien’s nostrils flare.
“You’re not afraid, are you,” the nove said uneasily. He looked around the street. “No robot bodyguard. No fancy car. No entourage or arm candy.”
When Steo didn’t react, the nove asked, “Why do you need to see the boss of this club?”
“That’s my business,” Steo said in plain Glish, with a matter-of-fact tone.
“Why don’t I take your offer in and see if she’s interested? Because that’s why you’re here.” The nove cocked his wrinkly
head. “No, you won’t allow that. Could I take your name? No. That’s why you act like this; you don’t want people to hear it. Oh I see, you don’t want me to hear it. Us lowlifes on the outside of the door. Why didn’t you just use her name? Any fool with connections knows it. So you sound mysterious and maybe dangerous by implying you know more. The ‘old friend’ routine. That’s why you didn’t offer a bribe too.”
There was no such thing as psychic powers, Steo knew, but Readers came damned close. He just needed the nove to come to the right conclusion without knowing the facts. Steo raised his eyebrows like he was waiting for an answer from an underling.
The nove didn’t need to vocalize the rest. To him, the young man seemed slightly out of place yet clearly fearless. The aura of projected confidence worked on his imagination. Could he afford to turn this human away? He had to make a decision.
A minute passed. The novorian and Steo kept eye contact. The guards were starting to get itchy.
Finally the nove said, “I’ll let you in, but you’ll have two guards with you at all times.”
The guards parted. Steo didn’t move. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“What?” the nove shouted. “Fine! Go in. Just go. I assume you can find your own way,” he sneered.
CHAPTER 6
Eroteme?
Steo walked up the carpeted steps, and the guards opened the door for him. Inside the darkened backrooms and halls of the energy club, he had no idea where to turn.
The repetitive beat of the music vibrated throughout the building. Robots washed dishes and delivered bottles to the bars. Two employees argued about whose fault it was that the spot lasers in the Blue Lounge were orange. A technician adjusted the pheromone levels in the rooms Diphthong, Tittles and Sinology. Steo walked like he belonged.
The general vibe of the club reinforced his belief he was in the right place. He could have bought the location of his contact, but his instincts led him here. Following his instincts avoided warning people of his presence.
The Eye of Orion_Book 1_Gearjackers Page 3