Sky City (The Rise of an Orphan)

by RD Hale

  Chapter Five

  'Baileyz Amazin Storr'

  Killow and I travel to a once abandoned lane of slanted walls, oil lamps and jets of steam where dusty windows draw fascinated eyes to the curios on display. Inside one store a mummified doll peers from behind fossilised ammonites and conjoined pig heads. Inside the next a dummy wearing a cape stands proudly amongst grandfather clocks and a rocking horse. And as we continue to peruse this delightfully quaint district, a spookily real mannequin in a feathered head dress causes me to jump when it shuffles through clutter to rearrange lampshades and trinkets.

  'This must be where Oscar comes before his secret nights of cross-dressing,' Killow observes.

  A plank with: Baileyz Amazin Storr scrawled in black paint, sits above a door with bubble-glass windows. A bell rings as Killow and I venture from antiquity into a fantastic exhibition of the future and the frightful oddball is nowhere to be seen.

  'Hellooo.' I wave at the camera above the service desk. 'We could always help ourselves and walk out!'

  'Two seconds, lads!' Bailey yells with the pitch of a garbled siren as I rub fingers over several years' worth of names carved into the bench, admiring my handiwork: AB 44. Behind the service desk lies a realm where the deadliest creations in the known universe are ready for battle. Aliens in robotic suits, axe-wielding orcs, dinosaur-human hybrids and red-eyed spiders poised amongst oh-so-valuable collectables strewn across their battlefield.

  'I wanna live here,' Killow murmurs, his words barely audible as his tongue flops around lips. 'Bailey certainly recognises quality when he sees it.'

  'Compare this stuff to what the gang bring home. If they could combine their kleptomania and hording disorder with a sense of taste, we'd have a viable business model. But that's a big If!'

  As the promised two seconds elapses a model fighter jet swoops by a guitar which is resting against a poster of a samurai. Nearby, a monkey wearing headphones sits amongst an assortment of daggers, next to an android head with loose wires. And all of these items are bathed in the glow of luminescent darts poking from a mirrored wall in concentric circles.

  'Arturo, Killow, haven't seen you two in a while.' Bailey passes through a doorway of dangling beaded ropes. 'Heard you were taken to a work camp, Arturo.'

  A grin emerges from beneath the skull tattoo covering Bailey's entire face with a bull ring complementing his lady killer image. Inked hands rest on the bench with the words: TRUE LOVE written across his knuckles and so little of his original skin is visible that he looks inhuman. Stares tend to result in middle-aged neighbours pissing their knickers, but there is a friendliness hidden under Bailey's painted exterior.

  'Nah, you hear strange rumours. As you can see I'm still free to roam the grey and unpleasant land of Anatolia,' I say.

  'We've come to buy some fuel and inspect your latest toys.' Killow grins like a nerd in a geek shop.

  'Is that all? I've got some in the back, come on through. I'll show you some new stuff while you're here,' Bailey says.

  Raising the bench, Bailey leads us into a grotto which contains everything a teenage lad could ever wish for; well apart from really hot vampire strippers. Still-packaged collectable figurines and original comics wrapped in plastic are saleable even to Citizens and his most valuable of valuables are concealed by sheets. Every time we visit he has another acquisition or another story to tell and this is as much his hobby as his job. Despite tight profit margins his lifestyle appeals and our warehouse could so easily be converted. Bailey reaches up to a shelf to grab an object shaped like an armadillo shell, which he places onto a table covered in paint splashes.

  'Check this out, it's a food materialiser. Place raw ingredients in this part here and it'll turn into any food you like. It will literally reassemble molecules atom by atom. If I place some dirt in like this, a few rotting leaves, even a bit of petrol. Look, it gives a holographic menu of everything that can be assembled from these compounds... I would like a hamburger.'

  Bailey strums his fingers on silver scutes as the device makes a whizzing sound which could either be the product of modern science or the beginning of a cheap magic trick.

  After an intriguing thirty second wait an electronic voice says: 'One hamburger ready to eat.' A puff of steam emerges from the retracting lid and sure enough there is a perfectly formed hamburger inside, complete with sesame seeds. The skullface takes a bite and given the raw ingredients, I can scarcely believe the end result is edible.

  'Could solve world hunger these things, if only they weren't so expensive. Two and a half thousand credits. Not to mention you have to keep topping up the nanites. That's another two hundred credits a week. Cheaper to buy regular food. Here, sit down. I have a new variety of weed, I'll let you have a taster,' Bailey says.

  The three of us sit on leather-cushioned chairs, alongside a finely-polished burgundy vintage car and Bailey lights a joint. A breeze creeps through the garage door which has been left wide open, but knowing Bailey there will be hidden security devices to counteract thieves and quite probably a kill-droid on standby in the cupboard.

  Bailey passes the joint to Killow who takes a few drags before sharing the joy. And as I exhale, green smoke forms the image of a man in burgundy silks with nothing above the frilled collar, because his severed head is being held under his puffy upper-sleeve. Bloody eyeballs fix mine and his mouth gapes open as though he is silently screaming so I turn to Killow who is gawping at the apparition in a state of equal disbelief.

  'What, you can see it too? The headless bloke?' Killow asks.

  'What the f... How can we both be having the same hallucination?' I murmur.

  Bailey is rummaging through a cardboard box in the corner, pulling out polystyrene and bubble wrap. He glances up with a chuckle which sends us into fits of uncontrollable giggling as the spirit dematerialises into a formless cloud. Muscles around my mouth ache as Killow snatches the half-eaten burger from the table, scoffing it in two mouthfuls.

  'This is crazy shit. Hard to decide whether it's psychedelic or magical!' I wipe brow with wrist.

  'Haha! Get this, you weren't hallucinating. The weed contains nano-particles that mix with the smoke, you can programme them to do all sorts of things. Great for messing with people's heads. I can sell some to you for fifty credits,' Bailey offers.

  'Dunno, I'm trying and failing to reduce my drug intake and this stuff'd be used up far too quickly. I'd have a little too much fun…' I reply.

  'The gang'd have nightmares for weeks! They're already convinced the squat is haunted after the poltergeist encounter,' Killow adds.

  Bailey trots across to a steel bench and activates a console, navigating a couple of holographic menus, then he places a controller in my hand. Cursors P1 and P2 sit above floating heads whose unnerving eyes look around as though they are self-aware. Killow wafts his hand through one of them, disrupting lightbeams as I scroll through the characters.

  'Damn voice activation is broke, that's why I had to switch it on manually. Anyway this is Warrior's Code, the latest fighting game for the Ultra Sixty Four. What's cool about this holoscreen is that it's able to dynamically interact with its surroundings. Technically it's not really a holoscreen, it's more of a projector. It scans the walls, ceiling, floors and any obstacles and the fighters manoeuvre around them. Come on, I'll show you.'

  Shadows are cast across the floor as a materialising pair of oriental warriors stand with clenched fists. These avatars are so finely detailed it is difficult to believe their muscle tone, skin blemishes and hair follicles are the product of a computer simulation. It seems plausible they could hurdle the clutter to bludgeon flesh to a pulp as the announcer speaks:

  'Our first combatant is Lei Feng.'

  A shirtless warrior monk with gold wrist bands, a plaited pony tail and red and gold trousers raises his fist, displaying a zen-like calm within rigid eyefolds. I envision torso-supported concrete blocks being smashed by sledgehammers as he lies across a bed of nails.

  '
Our second combatant is Yuki Machima.'

  The other fighter has a bald patch in spiked grey hair and a tiger-print judo suit with ripped sleeves. Yuki snarls to psyche himself up for the bone-breaking action about to commence within this makeshift arena where we are set to witness every impact in grisly detail.

  'Which of these brave warriors will be left standing? Round 1 FIGHT!'

  Bailey and I play Warrior's Code and it takes a few seconds of being pulverised to realise I am controlling the losing fighter as Lei lands a vicious fist on the jaw. Yuki stumbles over a wooden box but I bash buttons to counter with a flurry of punches and a round-house kick.

  Dazed by the onslaught, Lei quickly refocuses and wild punches force a blocking bald man through the garage door. Yuki stumbles into the back street and blows are exchanged between buildings as sunlight reflects off sweat beads. Lei the warrior monk wipes a trickle of blood from his split mouth, then sweeps Yuki's ankles and delivers an elbow to the solar plexus which sends the loser crashing to the ground as the round ends.

  'Pretty impressive, eh? They call this adaptive simulation. Now check this out.'

  During the interlude Bailey rotates a dial on the projector and the fighters shrink to mouse size, causing Killow to snap out of his weed coma. Bounding over to the holograms, he raises his boot like a pitiless colossus about to crush a pixie, but Bailey turns the knob the other way and the warriors grow until the knee-height stoner is reeling in fear of being tread on by monstrous feet.

  'Time to scare the shit out of the neighbours!' Bailey's sniggering sounds like the noise a malfunctioning droid makes. 'Let round two commence.'

  We stand below the upfacing garage door with videogame controllers in our hands as brawling giants somersault between rooftops and I am unclear how the simulation is maintained as laser lines are broken. Air vibrates as Lei throws a booming combination of punches followed by a swift kick, causing his opponent to hurtle off the single-storey building.

  'Watch this.' Killow fiddles with the projector dial and the plummeting Yuki shrinks back to pixie size, letting off a high-pitched squeak until he splats on cobblestones in a puddle of gore.

  'Scrape him up and use him as a pizza topping!' I remark.

  'And the victor is Lei Feng by fatality!' the announcer says.

  The three of us play winner stays on for the next hour or so, occasionally having our game interrupted by a pesky customer. Supposedly passive entertainment becomes fiercely competitive until Killow tosses his controller in a rage after a number of consecutive losses to the reigning champion. Bailey storms across to switch the projector off and his victorious avatar, who is standing over a heap of broken bones, fades to nothing. Most of the real life fights I have experienced do not compare to the virtuality of martial artists inflicting compound fractures and now the action has relented we breathe heavily.

  'If you've broken that, you're paying for it.' Bailey inspects the precious videogame controller, but with no obvious sign of damage he places it beside the all-too-immersive games console, keeping his hunchback turned until his panting settles.

  Having avoided an argument, Bailey removes a sheet from a sizable object to reveal a gleaming black and orange capsule and he pats his space-age masterpiece of engineering. Two polymer wheels form the frame and a sleek shell composed largely of tinted glass reflects Bailey's unsightly visage. The tattooed freak climbs aboard and when he hits a button on the control panel, its wheel-shaped frame glows. Bailey's outburst is quickly forgotten as the machine hovers in the air.

  'This is a Delos Pod. Unlike hovercars this thing can go high, only problem is it maxes out at ten mph. Slow, but fun,' Bailey explains as his skullface pokes from an open window. A personal flying machine was my boyhood fantasy before hormones kicked in and as the vehicle floats through the garage door, I yearn for a ride.

  Bailey waves from the window as we stand in the backstreet and the Delos Pod climbs way above the rooftops, disturbing a flock of birds which pitch and roll in response. I feel jitters on Bailey's behalf due to the expectation of the law of gravity coming into effect, because there is no understandable reason for this thing to be flying. Bailey's descent seems to take an age and when the compact aircraft eventually lands, the skullface grins like it could be about to regain flesh.

  'Brrr, it's windy up there.' Bailey rubs upper arms of his leather jacket. 'Hope a starling didn't shit on my baby!'

  'Wow, a toy that can defy the laws of physics!' I gasp.

  'According to the San Teria science division, all that's required to achieve anti-gravity is a blessing from the bloody goddess. It's a good job real scientists and engineers are not so crazy.' Bailey chuckles.

  'Well, the elites are welcome to give themselves a blessing and take a leap of faith off Mount Neblina if they believe that. So how does this thing really work?' I ask.

  'I think it's something to do with dark energy, whatever the hell that is,' Bailey replies.

  'Impressive, but what happens if it runs out of fuel when you're flying?' Killow asks.

  'Doesn't run on fuel, uses a perpetuator.'

  'What if the perpetuator cells malfunction?' Killow asks.

  'Well there is a backup, but if that also fails you're screwed!'

  'Nevertheless, I'm tempted. With a flying machine, even non-slutty girls won't be able to resist me! How much do you want for it?' I ask.

  'Arturo, you could live a lifetime of thievery and still come up short. We're talking three thousand five hundred credits and at that price it'd be a bargain. Brand new, you'd be looking at nearly double that.'

  'Oh damn. I could have fun with one of those, but not for that price. I have an ungrateful rabble to feed and an increasingly shitty hole to renovate.'

  'I'll be willing to let you rent it for a couple of days for eighty credits,' Bailey says with a suggestive raise of the eyebrows.

  'Deal!'

  'Hold on, I also require a one hundred and fifty credit deposit. Let me know when you have enough.'

  'Actually, I do now.'

  Smirking, I wave my stuffed wallet and Bailey jumps out the Delos Pod with pupils illuminated by the colour of money because it is unusual for me to arrive with anything more than a twenty note. Normally he rebuts my attempts to negotiate for unrealistic amounts of credit and now I have my own funds I intend to keep a clean slate. There will be no such negotiating for the foreseeable future.

  'Wow, Arturo has money. Next you'll be telling me you have a non-inflatable girlfriend! What'd ya do, rob a bank?'

  'No, no. It was way more dangerous than that. And I don't exactly see women falling at your feet, Bailey.'

  'Well anyway, this is what I like to see - a customer with money to spend. Quite the rarity in these parts.'

  I hand over enough cash to feed the gang for weeks and although my deposit back will be returned, my mouth twitches as Bailey stuffs my earnings into his pocket. Entering the Delos Pod, I settle into the pilot seat and Killow shuffles into the passenger side, more than happy to get a free flight. The allocation of my funds could arguably be prioritised elsewhere but this is a unique opportunity and arm hairs tingle at the thought of coming gravity defiance.

  'Don't go just yet, I haven't given you the stuff you ordered.'

  Bailey heads into the garage for the practicalities which were paid for and still so nearly forgotten as a shop owner in a bohemian dress steps from her garage. She scans the road as I observe the assortment of musical instruments she has in storage. An idol dream of forming a band creeps into my mind as Bailey returns with the fuel canister and power cell.

  Bailey places the items in a compartment at the rear of the Delos Pod and approaches the open side window. My brain wrestles with my money holding hand, but he snatches the notes from my grip.

  'Easy come, easy go, eh?' Bailey pockets even more of my money. 'This is the ignition key. This lever controls Ascent – backwards and Descent - forwards. The wheel is to steer, obviously, and you can also push and pull it to go forwa
rds and backwards. Hit this button here to stop mid-air. Couldn't be easier.'

  A New Perspective

  The chimerical escapade we are about to embark upon boggles my senses as I turn the ignition key and the perpetuator hums into life. Our ascent immediately grants the sense of liberation birds take for granted as we rise above litter plastered into dirt, past shuttered windows and settle at twice the height of nearby buildings.

  'So after years of CUS games and out-of-body experiences we're actually flying for real! Okay, number one, where should we go first?'

  'Let's fly up to Sky City,' Killow bashes fists on his lap. 'We could reach the lowest plateau, see the look on their faces when lack of Citizenship fails to stop us from landing!'

  'Can't mate, if we get too close we'll be stopped by a hover patrol and the chances are this thing'll be confiscated.'

  'Alright, let's just explore the red haze and see what we uncover.'

  We drift over steepening slums where drying clothes hang out of glassless windows and lichen-covered shacks are more sturdily constructed than they first appear. They sit above one another like stepping stones on the slope of Auster Hill, which itself sits in the shadow of Neblina mountain where a statue of Samaris overlooks the city to scare the ignorant into obedience.

  A group of lasses are tinged orange by the windscreen as they smoke beside a flimsy mast carrying electricity cables and we cruise down to meet them. 'Hey ladies, how you doing?' Killow bellows as we sneak up to the unsuspecting quintet and when they turn to spot our hovering girl magnet, they clasp hands and press knees together. This excitable reaction betrays the image portrayed by tattoos, torn tights and studded belts. Naive girls posing as wandering street rebels, wasting their days and forever on the lookout for a good time. Untrustworthy opportunists just like us.

  'Whoa, that thing flies!' one of them yells.