He liked women as a rule, but the Gultur were more than that. Rulers of the seven islands, they controlled all resources and proclaimed themselves goddesses. Goddesses who, as rumor went, lived in beautiful cities of their own in the mountains. They kept mostly apart, controlling any uprising and forcing taxes on the population of mortals — letting them live in squalor and poverty and not giving a damn.
The robed figures carried lit dakron lamps and, the offerings for the daily feast laid on large trays — raw meat and unwashed greens — to renew the connection to their goddess, the parasite they all carried, the one who had changed them in so many ways; Regina.
“Regina, all merciful, all plentiful.” Their voices rose in a strident hymn. A struggling group of naked men followed, surrounded by a group of Gultur in black uniforms. Elei leaned forward, trying to make out details, and wondered what was going on. As he watched, one of the naked men broke from the group and ran away from the temple toward one of the side streets.
Two uniformed, visored Gultur lifted huge machine guns and aimed. The boom of the gunshots set Elei’s ears ringing. The running man dropped and sprawled. A pool of blood spread around him. Another man screamed and broke away from the group. Again the Gultur turned and gunned him down.
Pissing hells. Elei’s legs began to shake and he leaned against the info-pole. The Gultur policewomen kept their guns at the ready as the group of mortals struggled toward the temple and the chant to Regina rose once more, implacable and shrill.
He backed away, his knees weak, when a deafening roar came from above and his pulse rose in his throat, constricting his breath. He struggled to draw air as he drew his Rasmus. A heavy helicopter passed low overhead, hovering there for a moment before darting off to the north.
Dammit, pull yourself together. He was lowering his Rasmus, his back drenched in sweat, when a young male voice said low, close to his left ear, “Drop it, fe.”
A hand pulled back his hood and a gun pressed on Elei’s neck. The cold metal mouth kissed his skin, promised more pain. His legs finally buckled and he went down on his knees, gripping his gun with numb fingers. Darkness splotched his vision.
A girl’s high-pitched voice echoed strangely in his ears. “Hey there, what are you doing, Tau?”
The male voice said, indignant, “He drew his gun! What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Did you shoot him?”
“I shot nobody.”
“Well, he’s bleeding. You know Kesh said not to draw attention.”
A face swam into view and Elei blinked at large, gemstone eyes, a wide grin and black, rotten teeth. If this was a nightmare, then it was a kind he’d never had before. Who knew even nightmares could evolve? As he stared, he realized the girl's face reminded him of someone, a little girl he once knew.
Small hands drove into his pockets, hard and vicious, and he shoved them away, coming back to the present.
“Don’t… even think… about it,” he ground out. He tightened his fingers around the handle of his Rasmus and managed to raise it, but his vision was still blurry. Fresh blood ran down his hip.
The girl huffed. “Who shot you?”
No clue. A blank in his memories.
Bony fingers jabbed into his side and he hissed in pain. “Did you dig out the bullet, man?”
Yeah, right. When and where? He drew his jacket closed with a shaky hand and turned his gun on her, sighting down the narrowing tunnel of his vision. “Piss off.”
The girl took a step back and raised her hands. “Relax. Just checking.”
Something glinted in the palm of her hand. “The bullet,” he croaked. “Did you get it?”
“Shof, look at his eyes!” The light-haired boy, about Elei’s age, stumbled back, distracting him. “They’re two-colored. He’s infected with cronion. Shit.”
“What are you talking about?” The girl’s voice wavered.
“It’s cronion, I’m telling you.”
They backed away, eyes wide, more afraid of the parasite than his gun pointed at them. Stupid kids. You couldn’t get cronion like that, not by touching. The protozoan parasites had to go through a maturing cycle inside a fly who’d then lay eggs inside a wound.
Unless of course the eggs were injected directly into the bloodstream on purpose. Like Albi had done for him. She’d explained it to him once. Elei remembered the lines of her face, the deep wrinkles around her smile. He hadn’t thought of her in some time — his first family, long dead. She’d given him the parasite out of kindness, to save his life.
The children left, their steps light like rolling pebbles. The world made no sense as Elei faded in and out of consciousness, struggling to draw breath.
Get up!
He climbed back to his feet, hand pressed against the wound, and the shop fronts wavered in his eyes. The Gultur temple had closed its doors and stood again faceless and gray. Flies buzzed over the pools of black blood in the square. The bodies had been taken away.
With a shake of his head to clear his eyes, gun clenched in his hand, he shuffled down the avenue, not quite knowing where he was going. The paper with the address burned a hole in his pocket. He had to find Aerica, had to ask someone for the way.
“Your gun and your money, boy,” a male voice grated behind him, and Elei whipped around so fast the world pitched. Colors jumped and flashed as he raised his gun. But the man was faster. He closed in and pressed a blade to Elei’s neck, at the juncture where it met his shoulder. Red pulsed rapidly in the man’s chest.
“Drop the gun,” he said. “Now.”
Elei set his jaw, teeth grinding together. If he did, he’d stand no chance in the five hells of getting out of this alive. The blade scraped soft skin, but only a little farther down it would encounter the light gray snakeskin covering his back; a veritable armor. Elei knew from experience that if he turned, the blade would glance off.
The man bared his teeth, showing dark gaps and bloody gums, and pressed the blade till it bit into Elei’s flesh. “I don’t have all day.”
Biting back a retort, Elei took a deep breath and twisted from the knees, turning against the blade, cursing as pain exploded in his wounded side. The knife screeched against the hard skin covering his shoulder blade and upper back.
“Hey, what’s this new trick?” The man moved in, just as Elei expected, to see better. Elei elbowed him in the stomach and then lurched sideways until his shoulder hit the door of a store. It opened with his shove and he stumbled into a warm, brightly-lit room with a long counter.
A diner. Turning about, Elei raised his gun and aimed at the door.
The man followed him in, lips twisted in a sneer and a revolver in his hand, trained on Elei. “Where do you think you’re going?” He clucked his tongue.
A shriek pierced the air and they both jumped. They whirled toward its source. A tiny, dark-haired woman scowled at them from behind the counter. She held a machine-gun pointed at them.
Oh great, more guns.
“Get out of my diner.” Her voice was clipped and high-pitched. Elei took a step back and she spared him a stern look. “Not you, boy. Stay put.” She motioned with her gun at the man. “You there. If I ever see you again in the neighborhood, I’ll tell Aji.”
The man glared, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Damn you, Dima. Stop interfering, or you’ll get hurt.”
She just pointed and squinted over the gun barrel. The man held her gaze for a long moment. Then, tipping up his gun, he threw Elei one last angry glance and left, slamming the door behind him.
Relief weakened Elei’s knees. He glanced around and saw no other customers. “Listen—“
“How about you leave as well.” She swung her weapon on him. “I want no shooting in my diner.”
He shook his head. “Wait—”
“Put your gun away,” she snapped.
He sheathed his Rasmus. “Okay.” A shiver wracked his body. “Listen, I need water. I can pay for it.” He fingered an old scar that curled around hi
s upper left arm, ending where the hard tel-marks began. Twisting and running had saved his life before. He could barely stand now, let alone run, not without eating and drinking something.
The tiny woman sucked in her cheeks and let out a hissing breath. “Is that blood on your hip?”
“Yeah.” He licked his dry lips.
“Get out!” She raised her gun. “Now.”
He swallowed hard and dared a step toward her. “At least tell me how to go to Aerica.”
She grimaced. “Go away or I’ll shoot!”
The world erupted into dazzling colors and outlines and his pulse went into overdrive. He banged his fist on the bar leaving a bloody smear, then pressed his forehead to the cool surface, the flare of cronion inside his head worse than the pain in his side. Damned parasite. “Tell me!”
“Go away. If they find you here, I’ll lose my permit and they’ll close down the diner.” Her voice cracked. “Listen, Aerica is near Artemisia. I don’t know how to get there, all right?”
When he looked up, her chest glowed a deep red. His hands began to shake. “And who does?” he ground out, fighting to calm his heart.
“Oh, for all the gods’ sakes! Do you want me to shoot you, or don’t you even care?” She lowered the machine gun, a banner of fear rippling through her dark eyes. Then she hunched her shoulders and sighed. “Go out into the avenue, walk two blocks down, then turn right. It’s the red door. Timmy. Ask him. He knows. He’s got a transport business.”
“Thanks.” He pushed off the bar, staggering just a little, and headed to the door. Blood oozed down his hip, and he stopped, figuring he’d never reach Aerica if he didn’t do something about it. Under Dima’s glare, he ripped the hem off his t-shirt and wound it around his waist as tightly as he could in a makeshift bandage.
With his Rasmus held loosely at his side, expecting the man to jump out at him, he stepped out into the street. Watching the shadows for any movement, he stalked down the avenue. Quiet. Nobody lurked there. He began to relax as he turned the corner into the side street. Almost there.
Rough hands grabbed his right shoulder and pulled, and white-hot pain erupted in his gut. He cried out, a hoarse animal sound, and the sounds faded and returned with a roar.
“Tau was right, look at his eye. Cronion-touched.” A woman approached from his side and shoved a knife under his chin, lifting it with the cold tip. “I’ll get the gun, you check his pockets.”
“You’re not the boss,” said a male voice. Then the hands jerked Elei’s arms back until his elbows brushed together, and this time the pain was like a blade twisting in his insides, cutting his breath short. “I’ll have the gun and you check his pockets.”
A few feet away, a passerby stopped and then slunk back. Nobody would help him; nobody would risk their neck to save him. Elei knew that and he’d have done exactly the same.
But Pelia had given him an address, had wanted him to get there, and he would, if it was the last thing he ever did. Think! Timmy operated a business, so he must have guards.
He took a deep breath.
“Timmy!” he shouted. “Help! I’m a customer! Help me!”
“Shut up!” The man released his arms, grabbed Elei’s throat and pressed deep with his fingers. “Shut your mouth.”
Oh hells. Elei clawed at the man’s hands, but couldn’t pry them off. The passage of air to his lungs slowed to a trickle. The world spun and darkened while he elbowed and kicked back at his attacker again and again, but to no effect. Reality splintered. He struggled harder, panicking.
A kick finally connected and the man loosened his hold, cursing. Not losing a beat, he seized Elei’s arms again. Immobilized, hanging in that unrelenting grasp, Elei coughed and hacked, fighting to draw air. His lungs burned.
The woman jabbed the tip of the knife into Elei’s ribs. “Don’t you dare shout again.”
She needn’t worry; he had no more breath to spare.
“You two, put away your weapons.” A black-clad giant of a man stepped out of a doorway and pointed his gun at the woman. “He’s here for Timmy. Back off.”
The woman hissed and stepped away. When another guard came out, weapon drawn, his assailants glanced at each other, released Elei and scuttled off.
Wheezing, Elei took a faltering step before his knees gave way and the sidewalk rushed up to meet him.
Hands grabbed him just in time. Still blinking at the cracked cement, he was lifted by the armpits and dragged into the building. Disconnected images teased his vision — doors opening into squalid interiors, red-rimmed eyes curiously staring as they passed, and then he was pushed through a double door. Elei tripped on the step, but the guards’ momentum carried him inside into a dark lobby.
“Customer, Mr. Timmy,” announced one of them and Elei was deposited on a metal bench. The world blurred and pitched, and he gripped the edge of the bench.
“Gods in the deep!” Timmy stood behind a scratched counter — a well-fed young man with rounded cheeks and belly. A lit ama cigarette hung from his lips. He wore a white, button-down shirt that looked expensive, despite the yellow stains on the collar. Business was good. “Damned brigands, shooting my customers on my own doorstep. Very bad for the image.”
Elei looked down at his blood-drenched pants and didn’t bother to correct him. Let him think he’d just been shot. A moment of respite, of safety, that was all Elei wanted. His pulse beat in his head, in his throat, in his fingertips. If he felt safe, cronion would relax too and release its iron claws from inside his skull.
“Be sure to keep pressure on that wound.” Timmy sniffed. “Is it serious?”
Elei shook his head.
Timmy brightened immediately. “Excellent. So, to business. Where to?”
“I need to go,” Elei had to stop and cough, “to Artemisia.” Coming through his bruised airways, his voice was a raucous whisper. He raised a hand to his throat and watched in fascination as his fingers shook like an old man’s. He clenched them hard.
“Listen.” Timmy puffed sweet smoke into Elei’s face. “A friend of mine has an aircar. For the right fee, she can take you anywhere you want. Do you have money?”
Elei coughed again. “Isn’t there a streetcar going that way?”
“No streetcars; the Gultur stopped the service. Rent the aircar or go walking.”
“Shit.” No wonder business was good.
“Artemisia center or suburbs?”
“Aerica.”
Timmy took out his cigarette and flicked the ashes to the floor. “Aerica? That’s technically outside Artemisia. It’s toward the old mines.”
“Your point?”
“Hey, no problem, my friend can take you there.” Timmy smiled, his eyes narrowing. “It’s three hundred dils, though, up front. You need to book the entire aircar just for you, see.”
Elei stared, unblinking. Three hundred. A month’s salary. But he had to get there, and his body wasn’t likely to co-operate much longer. Screw it.
The problem was he wasn’t even sure he had that kind of money with him. He dug into his pocket, took out his last bills and scrounged for all the loose dils. Timmy reached over the counter to take them and then heaped them on the top like some sort of mythic treasure. His eyes glinted while his lips moved, calculating.
“This is two hundred seventy,” he said eventually, looking up.
Elei fished into his back pockets. “It’s all I have left,” he said stonily and waited, because there was nothing else he could pissing do.
“Tell you what.” Timmy leaned toward him, his voice low, and Elei could smell something rotten coming. “I could buy the Rasmus off you. It’s in good shape for such an antique gun. I’ll give you five hundred and you can ride for free. It’s a bargain. What do you say?”
Pelia had given him that gun. It was her gift. Elei’s right eye twitched and Timmy’s shape wavered. The colors changed, flaring into bright red and yellow, centered on the man’s heart. Trust cronion to suggest a direct and final soluti
on. “No way.”
Timmy must have seen something in Elei’s expression because he backed off and sucked on his cigarette, his face going sour. “Fine, don’t get all worked up. I have another idea. Plenty of ideas, see. So, why don’t you give me the two hundred and seventy, and my friend can drive you to Ponds, not so far from Aerica. You can walk to Aerica, not four miles away, and she can take the heavenway from there. How about that?”
Elei clenched his teeth. “Just give me a discount. It’s not a big difference.” He wouldn’t beg, dammit.
“Sorry, my friend, but I can’t. The cost of dakron has skyrocketed and the taxes for this business…” Timmy tsked.
Elei bowed his head. Screw you. Four miles. He wondered if he’d make it. He took some deep breaths, willing his heart to slow. Too much adrenaline could kill you eventually, even if you didn’t bleed to death. “Fine.”
“Hey, man. Sure you’re all right?” Timmy frowned as he strewed ash from his ama cigarette on the counter. “All that blood on your pants… You’re not going to pass out on my friend, are you?”
“I said I’m fine,” Elei bit off the words. Cronion’s jabs inside his skull finally settled into the usual, constant throb. The colors faded to a lower intensity. “Where’s your friend?”
Timmy picked an old-fashioned telespeak, a nepheline square box, lifted the receiver and hit the connect button. “Fia, call.” He sucked on the cigarette, waiting for the call to go through, and then straightened. “Fia? Move your arse over here right now, I’ve found you a customer. Yes. Now.”
He put the receiver back into its cradle and grinned. One of his canines was missing. The smoke swirled. “Net’s down again. Gultur control policy. When that happens, we’re back to the ancient methods, nothing else is reliable.”
Elei didn’t even blink.
Timmy stared at Elei with open curiosity. “Not from around here, are you? You’ll see a lot of this on Dakru, everyone’s been digging out their old gadgets. It’s been like that ever since the Undercurrent started their attacks, oh, three years back.”
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