The Song of Phaid the Gambler

by Mick Farren

  'Count off enough to see us through the night in style and give me the rest.'

  'What if someone steals the flipper?'

  'Just stop arguing and give me the money. I know what I'm doing.'

  Streetlife held out his hand. Phaid hesitated for a moment. It wasn't only casual thieves he was worrying about. He realised how easy it would be for Streetlife to take off with it all if he wanted to. Then Phaid made up his mind. He half shrugged, extracted five hundred and handed over the wallet. Streetlife stowed it in the safe and locked the trap. Then he pulled three logic plates out of the flipper's control matrix.

  'Nobody's going to be taking this baby anywhere with­out these.'

  He offered one of the plates to Phaid.

  'You maybe want to hold this, just so I don't absent-mindedly take off with the flipper and the mutual funds?'

  Phaid felt a little ashamed of his earlier doubts. Then he grinned.

  'Maybe I will, at that.'

  He took the plate and slipped it inside his coat.

  'Okay, partner, let's go and bid Chrystianaville the fondest farewell we can.'

  The farewell became blurred and loose. Phaid knew he was on his way out of the mad city. For the first time in a long time he relaxed. He let himself be caught up in the dance of the spangled, hedonist crowd. Some were in court finery, elegant evening clothes that flounced and swirled, others were in scarcely more than rags but still arrogant and intense. Hard studded leather rubbed shoul­ders with gosamer silk. Sly decadent velvet purred and rubbed up against dark practical broadcloth on a night away from home. Lizard skin snaked across sensitively bared flesh. Broken veins stretched out to scarcely touched softness. Bloodshot stared into baby blue. All became one in the dancing, circling lights.

  Voices were overloud and faces were over-animated. Everyone was hustling, hassling, moving in to sell their act. It was the way of the world, but, so much more amplified, it was the way of the Wospan.

  Phaid had forgotten the name of the place. It was big and barnlike with a bar in the back and a gallery running all the way around where spectators could pause and look down at the laughing, leaping throng.

  In fact, the spectators did more than just look, the revellers in the gallery were showering the crowds below with the purple sparkling wine that seemed to be the speciality of the house. It wrought disaster on many a rococo hair creation and irrevocably stained some dan­dies' ice cream suits. Nobody seemed to mind very much. It was that kind of night. The people on the floor were too absorbed in their own enjoyment to notice the irregular spattering of purple rain.

  In a roped off section of the gallery a quintet of real live human musicians sweated over instruments that Phaid suspected must have been hundreds of years old. Phaid had been quite prepared to believe that music was an art lost to all but androids within the borders of the Republic. The bright jump music that these four men and one woman were putting out proved beyond doubt that it still lived and flourished in the Wospan.

  The dancing on the floor produced many strange cou­plings. A huge warrior who looked like Makartur vigor­ously swung a tiny woman, scarcely more than a child, at the full stretch of his oak tree arm. It seemed that, at any moment, her own delicate limb would be wrenched from its socket and the rest of her sent flying across the crowded room. It didn't happen. Instead, the girl made little shrieks of exhilaration, patently enjoying every minute of the huge man's violent and energetic stomping.

  Others were more sedate. A tall willowy model of perfection was propelled around the floor by a small, hunched, incredibly evil faced dwarf whose pawing hands traced patterns on her thighs and vanished inside the long slit down the side of her grey silk gown.

  Some didn't need a partner. A young girl was up on a table, most of her clothes gone, shaking herself-to solitary ecstasy in a blur of jiggling breasts and pumping, thrusting hips. Her hands constantly moved over her body, strok­ing, caressing, part in invitation and part in total self absorption. Another, older woman whose clinging, cut away suit revealed almost the same amount of flesh, stood watching the dancing girl with a not quite believable look of disdain.

  The girl on the table reminded Phaid of Mariba. The memory of the night with her on the line train flashed on to his inner vision; in particular, the moment when he had secured her wrists behind her back with a strip of blue chiffon torn from her dress.

  Through a door, open to the courtyard, Phaid could see two burly youths endeavouring to pummel each other insensible while a small, vociferous crowd looked on. In that instant, Phaid decided that he had been too long in a world of fear and violence. It was time to relax and enjoy himself.

  His eye was drawn to a dark haired woman with slanting eyes, very pale, almost white skin and blood red lips. A full cloak made from some heavy black material that actually seemed to absorb light was thrown back to show off her handsome, statuesque figure, revealed to total advantage in a flaming scarlet body stocking.

  Through the crowd, she saw that Phaid was watching her. She tossed her straight waist-length hair back with a haughty gesture and frankly returned his gaze. She took a drink from a long stemmed glass of wine. A tiny bead of the dark liquid ran down her chin. Still staring fixedly into his eyes, she slowly wiped her mouth in a deliberately teasing gesture.

  Phaid smiled and she smiled back at him, revealing a set of small pointed vampire teeth. There was something wild and maybe not quite sane about the woman. Phaid had noticed that there was something not quite sane about a lot of people in the Wospan. He assumed that in this man-made anthill, where individuality was an inflexible rule, the not quite sane found it easier to survive.

  She was still looking at him. In fact, looking was an understatement. She was staring. She was staring, but she wasn't moving. Phaid felt that he was on to something. What that something was, he wasn't quite sure, but he decided to find out. He started edging his way through the crowd.

  'Hi!'

  Phaid put on his best charming smile, but the woman regarded him coldly.

  'I haven't seen you around here before.'

  'I don't come round here very often.'

  'Most outsiders who come here come here looking for something. Are you looking for something?'

  'I'm leaving the city tomorrow. My partner and I came here to have some fun before we left town.'

  'So you've come here looking for fun?'

  'I suppose you could say that.'

  'Fun is a very nebulous term. One person's pleasure can be torture for the other.

  Phaid smiled.

  'That could be taken a lot of ways.'

  The woman's lips parted as though she was sighing.

  'I take it every way you could imagine.' Her expression snapped from dreamy to intent. 'What are you leaving the city for? Are you another one who's afraid of the revolu­tion?'

  Phaid shrugged.

  'It seems like a good idea to be somewhere else when Chrystiana-Nex finally falls.'

  'You're a fool.' She almost spat at him. 'It will be wonderful. Just think . . .' Whatever she was thinking about caused the vampire woman to go into a transport of ecstasy. She closed her eyes and hugged herself. '. . . the violence, the lifeforce that will be wasted on the streets and vibrating through the air, the glory, the horror. There will be the smell of blood, the excitement of change.'

  Phaid swallowed. Her eyes were tight shut and she was trembling slightly. He couldn't think exactly how to slide himself out of the situation. Any attraction that he had felt for the woman had burst like a soap bubble. Totally at a loss, he came as close as he'd come to stammering in years.

  'Uh . . . which side are you on?'

  Her eyes flashed open and Phaid knew that she wasn't just a little insane, she was, in fact, genuine article mad.

  'Side? I'm not on any side. I'm an observer, you might almost call me a parasite. Did you know that most people use the word parasite in a derogatory context? They're fools. They don't understand the real direction in which the world mo
ves. The parasite is the one for whom it was all created.'

  Phaid took a step back.

  'That must be real nice.'

  Vampire woman seemed to be drifting back into crazy rapture.

  'Oh . . .it is. It is.'

  Phaid took another step back.

  'Yeah.'

  He was about to turn on his heel and make a run for it when a hand grasped his elbow. Phaid actually jumped. Every nerve jangled. He spun around, his hand going halfway to his fuse tube. He found himself staring wild eyed into Streetlife's smiling face.

  'Hey, partner, I lost you there for a moment. I want you to meet my new found friend. Her name's Fabrica.'

  It was the girl who'd been dancing on the table, the one who looked like Mariba. Bemusedly, Phaid took her rather drunkenly proffered hand.

  'The name is Fabrina.'

  'You look very much like someone I know.'

  A bored expression spread over her face and she nodded somewhat wearily.

  'My well known cousin Mariba. I take it you've made . . . contact with her.'

  Phaid grinned.

  'On the line train from Fennella.'

  'Oh . . . yes. I understand that she's now given up bondage and turned to sodomy. She's developed this peculiar walk from keeping her ass stuck out all the time.'

  'Why is everyone so down on Mariba?'

  'Men always ask that.'

  Vampire woman was still standing there and starting to look a little miffed that no one was taking any notice of her. She put an arm around Phaid's neck and breathed into his ear.

  'What do men always ask, sweetheart?'

  Phaid flinched and tried to disengage himself. Street-life, totally misunderstanding the situation, winked at him.

  'Looks like you scored there, partner.'

  He grabbed vampire woman by the hand and greeted her enthusiastically.

  'Glad to see you and my partner are getting so friendly. He worries a lot and he needs a friend.'

  'A friend or a mother?'

  'Huh?'

  'I can be all things to all men.'

  Streetlife seemed to be having a little trouble keeping up with vampire woman, but he didn't let it phase him.

  'I like versatility in a woman. What say you and me and Phaid and Fabrica. . . '

  'Fabrina!'

  '. . . and Fabrina all get out of this crowd and go somewhere a bit quieter?'

  Phaid leaned into Streetlife's field of vision.

  'Uh . . . you want to hold up here a minute? This crowd looks pretty good to me.'

  'Huh?' Streetlife looked from Phaid to vampire woman and back to Phaid again. 'But I thought . . .'

  'You've been thinking a bit ahead of things.'

  Light dawned in Streetlife's eyes. He moved away from vampire woman and put a hand on Phaid's shoulder.

  'Listen, I'm sorry. I thought you were going after the broad. I was trying to help you out. I got this Fabrica . . .'

  'Her name's Fabrina.'

  'Right. I got the Fabrina and I like to see my partner set up.'

  'I was going after the broad, as you put it, but it turned out that she's insane.'

  'Insane?'

  'Psycho.'

  Vampire woman loomed up beside them.

  'Are you talking about me?' Phaid vigorously shook his head.

  'Hell no, we were just trying to get a bet down.' Before she could say anything else, there was a loud roar of applause as three young men climbed on to a makeshift stage. They were dressed in jackboots, leather trunks, some jewellery and very little else. The band struck up a brisk but grating oompah beat and the young men turned their backs on the crowd and wiggled their leather covered asses at them, then they spun around and went into their song.

  'Backdoor passion Peepshow pain You got To find the spot Somewhere in your brain A jolt to make you happy A jolt to make you sad A jolt to help remember The fun of being bad.'

  Phaid began to edge away from the group made up of Streetlife, Fabrina and vampire woman. The young men were now doing precision timed bumps and grinds in unison while the hard drinking crowd hollered encourage­ment.

  'Nude boys don't argue Nude boys don't cry Nude boys don't ask questions They have tattoos on their thighs.' With some judicious use of his elbows and knees, Phaid made it right up to the bar where the wine was being served. He threw one of the serving girls a tab and a jug of foaming purple wine was thrust into his hand. He noticed that the jars from which it was being served bore vintage seals. He pointed and yelled at the girl. 'Where did you get this stuff from?'

  'Liberated. A courtier took it on the lam but he couldn't run with his wine cellar. Some of the guys broke in and . . .' She pointed to fifty or more jars stacked up against the wall. 'It's a great revolution.'

  'Ain't it just.'

  He tossed back the whole jug in three rather rash gulps and threw another tab to the woman. 'You better fill it up again.'

  'You got the revolutionary spirit!'

  'I got something.'

  Up on the stage the young men were about to start a new song.

  'We'd like to do this song before the Day Oners cut all our throats for being happy.'

  The remark drew a resounding cheer. The people of the Wospan weren't afraid to laugh at the future.

  'One-two-three-four!

  Kiss my finger

  Kiss my toe

  Kiss my ass

  And I'll let you know

  Kiss my ring

  Kiss me any place

  Kiss my lips

  Or I'll rip your face.'

  Phaid was now a little drunker than he wanted to be. Even so, he had one more jug of wine. He had made up his mind that he was in love with the serving woman. The only way that he could communicate with her was by buying more booze. The singing boys started to annoy him. He didn't find them cute or amusing. He didn't even find them funny. He also noticed that there seemed to be a shortage of air in the place. He was sweating and it was difficult to breathe. Then the crowd parted and he thought he saw Dreen way over on the other side of the room. The sinister little man seemed to be standing and watching him.

  That was enough for Phaid. In something near to drunken panic, he forced his way through the crowd to the exit. Once he was outside in the cool night air he took a deep breath. It was supposed to make him feel better. In fact, it made him feel worse. He was dimly aware that he was on a small terrace, separated from the main one by the building he had just come out of. Feeling slightly queasy, he staggered over to the safety wall, narrowly avoiding falling into the gusher of flame in the middle of the open space.

  Phaid leaned on the safety wall and was immediately violently sick. When he finally straightened up, the thought crossed his mind that his vomit must have fallen on the people on the lower levels. He suddenly felt incredibly sad. The lights of Chrystianaville were spread out all around him. They looked so innocent in the night and yet they covered a multitude of sins. Beneath the soft sparkle, the city was being ravaged and torn into pieces. As it was with the city, so it was with the world. Everything was falling apart. He had hustled so hard to get back to the city and now he was leaving all over again. It was terrible; t'he city, the planet, the whole human race, everything was winding down, ceasing to work, preparing to die. The great achievement and the great adventures had passed and gone thousands of years earlier. All that was left behind was the aftermath. An insignificant time of fragmentation and decay. Only the cheap and petty remained in these sorry times. Everything that was noble had become a fading memory. Life was a bummer. Poor Chrystianaville, poor humanity, poor Phaid. A large tear welled up in his eye and trickled down his cheek. While he'd been playing cards he'd felt in control of his own life, destiny and the events going on around him. Away from the table though, he was once again getting the feeling of helplessness. It was almost as though he was some sort of unwitting catalyst. Every time he arrived in a new place, it would go to pieces around him. He was drunk enough to suspect that there was something
wrong with him. Lately his luck seemed to consist of little more than surviving against the odds. He felt he was being tossed around like a cork on an ocean. It was so damned unfair. What was he? Was he the carrier of some psychic plague, a carrier who only had to walk into a city to have it torn apart by violent revolution? Gradually drunken anguish gave way to drunken anger. Okay, so he was a cork on an ocean. He'd give the ocean best. He'd ride the waves and damn the consequences. What else could they do to him? He was feeling no pain.

  The rest of the night became a kaleidoscopic blur of unrelated images and incidents. There had been a con­versation with a contemptuous marmalade cat but he couldn't quite remember the outcome. Streetlife had appeared and vanished. Pursued by the vampire woman, Phaid had fled through the back door of a public steam bath. The world was filled with sweating faces and oily naked bodies. It came in waves of damp heat. There was a woman named Pearl with large pendulous breasts. There had been some less than successful oral sex that had left him embarrassed and her querulous.

  He vaguely recalled that there was some kind of alterca­tion between Pearl and the vampire woman, but later he also remembered pressing his face between Pearl's ample breasts, so he assumed that Pearl must have come out on top. Later still there had been a transport bed and a wild erratic journey through the night-time city that involved clinging on for dear life to the body of the machine as it careened through the dark streets. Phaid had incomplete recollections of a fist fight, police armour, breaking glass and then it seemed that they were off again. A street sign that read Yard Prospect was one of the few things that found its way through to his badly warped consciousness.

  'Hey! I know where I am.'

  'Great.'

  'No, really. I know where I am.'

  He grabbed the driver by the arm.

  'Pull up! Pull up!'

  The driver, who was as drunk as Phaid, immediately slammed down on every brake. The transport bed slewed sideways and came to an abrupt halt, throwing the passen­gers into a tangled heap.

  Phaid crawled out of the confusion of arms and legs.

  'I gotta get off here.'

  He half fell off the back of the transport and lay in the road calculating his next move.