Street Freaks

by Terry Brooks

  Jenny Cruz is reluctant to agree. She would prefer they all stay right where they are, out of the way, avoiding any chance of something bad happening. But she has learned by now she is in the minority on this sort of thing. She understands that Holly and T.J., in particular, need to find a release for some of their excess energy. So she only shrugs and say it’s fine so long as they remember how the Shoe will react if anything goes wrong.

  Ash, too, is anxious to do something besides sit around waiting for race day. It will be fun to mingle with others from the Zone who are involved in this event. He has listened to his friends talk about the race for three days, and he is as excited as they are to witness it. His look has changed again, so he is less concerned about being discovered than he was a few days back. Holly and Jenny have given him another makeover. They have left his spiky hair intact but dyed it red. They have added a patch-on tattoo to his neck on the right side, a dragon coiled around a racing vehicle. They have changed out his facial hardware. He has let the beginnings of a beard show, a scruffy shadowing of his jawline that they have dyed to match his hair.

  Overall, he is more buff than before. His work at Street Freaks and his active lifestyle have slimmed him down and tightened him up. He will never be as sculpted as T.J., but he is more fit than when he arrived.

  He still thinks about that last day. About Faulkner, Willis4, and Beattie. About his father. The images still haunt him. His father calling him on the vidview with his warning to run. The deaths of his house bots. His flight into the Red Zone. He still wonders how much of what he believed about his old life was real. He knows his immune deficiency condition may never have existed. He knows his father may have lied to him. To protect him or to deceive him—which is it? He can’t stop wondering.

  But the pain lessens with the passing of every day. Somehow it doesn’t hurt so much anymore. The past is over and done. What lies ahead is what matters.

  They leave Street Freaks in lockdown and pile into the boxy Barrier Ram that Ash saw in the underground work space the previous night. T.J. takes the AV around to the front and through the gates. Ash glances over his shoulder as they drive away, watching the gates close and lock. He hopes that this time when he returns, he won’t find the compound flooded with members of Achilles Pod.

  The drive is a short one. Winners Circle sits near the end of the Straightaway where the finish line is positioned for the races. Ash realizes he glimpsed it that first day when he rode out with T.J., but he didn’t realize what he was looking at. The building is low, squat, and sprawling. It occupies several thousand square feet of space. The walls are stone block, and there appears to be a glass dome at the center of the flat roof, the glass opaque and nonreflective.

  The sign over the entrance—an arch with lots of neon that reads WINNERS CIRCLE—flashes on and off in an intense red glare.

  The parking lot is already full of vehicles, but T.J. ignores this, pulls up to the door, and lets his passengers off, trying to make things easier for Woodrow. Holly, without asking, climbs out first, reaches back inside, and removes the bot boy effortlessly. She sets him down on the walkway and rubs his head fondly.

  “See you inside,” T.J. calls to them just before he triggers the doors to close.

  Ash glances over at Holly as the Ram roars off for parts unknown. “Think he’s coming back?” he deadpans.

  Holly smirks. “With T.J., you never know.”

  They enter the building and another world. The interior is essentially one huge room, a cavernous chamber lit by a combination of streaming neon and throbbing strobes. Reflectors fragment and scatter shards of both. The effect is dramatic. The air seems filled with bits and pieces of color, as if confetti had been thrown into it. The room is crowded and hot. People are everywhere, many of them clustered in a broad open area where they dance to music blasting from giant speakers with such force that the floor is shaking. Most of the many tables surrounding the dancers are occupied. Once again, containers of Sparx are all over the place, available to anyone who wants one.

  The dome that from the outside was nonreflective is alive with color inside. Intricate patterns wash across its surface in stunning images that suggest rather than reveal. The images seem to float, drawn by lasers that lance out from apertures cut into the dome’s wide base.

  In the very back of the room, a bar runs the entire length of the wall. Its chrome and glass surfaces reflect a mixture of brilliant colors that permeate the spaces given over to dancing and table talk. Dozens of stools front the bar, most occupied by couples with their heads bent close.

  Everywhere, there is activity.

  Ash notices the diversity of those around him. He sees everything from expensive sheaths to common work coveralls stained with fluids and dirt. Some patrons have faces that are clean and fresh. Others look to have come directly from beneath the chassis of the vehicles they work on. Some are tattooed and pierced with pieces of metal jewelry. Others have allowed nothing to mark their skin.

  More than a few are part human and part machine. Everything has a slightly surreal look.

  Holly, as usual, takes the lead, heading for a table deep into the room, one that seats six but is occupied by a single person. As before at Checkered Flag, she intimidates through sheer size and presence, and the table’s solitary occupant is quick to get up and leave. Beckoning the others over, she flags down a server and places a drinks order.

  “Just once I wish she’d let us order our own,” Jenny complains over the noise engulfing them.

  Woodrow snorts. “Doesn’t matter. You always order the same thing anyway.”

  Soon they are seated, Woodrow rolled up to the table’s edge, Jenny hunched over uncomfortably in her usual dissatisfied fashion, Holly sprawled all over the place, and Ash sitting up straight and looking around eagerly. He’s never been anywhere like this before. Winners Circle has a decidedly different look and feel from Checkered Flag. There is no gaming, only dancing. The noise from the sound system permeates his body, the vibrations causing his insides to tingle. The lights are overpowering. Their flashes and changes of color cause him to blink constantly. People are vague shapes in the gloom and shadows, drifting ghosts. Everything melts and reforms, shifts and resettles, always moving from place to place.

  “Back when everyone had street machines, before there were elevated traffic lanes and robo-taxis, they used to have clubs like this everywhere,” Holly says. “This is where you went in the old United States if you were our age. Now clubs like these are mostly banned outside the Red Zone. Those that aren’t banned, like in the Metro, are closely regulated. You have to buy memberships and pay bribes. I wouldn’t step foot in one of those pretentious dumps for all the yuan in China.”

  T.J. returns and takes a seat. “Found parking right away. Got the magic touch. Hey, where’s my drink?”

  It arrives with the others moments later. Jenny pays. Ash sips at the cold blue liquid and feels it burn all the way down his throat and into his stomach. It makes him gasp in surprise.

  “Strong stuff,” Jenny observes archly. He feels a flush creeping up his neck to his face.

  Woodrow touches his arm. “Sip slowly. That’s Strojen.”

  “Strojen?”

  “What you’re drinking. The alcohol content is very high. Be careful.”

  He finds himself grinning at the thought of being cautioned by a fourteen-year-old boy who doesn’t drink anything. But he remembers the morning after his night at Checkered Flag when he could barely lift his head without pain. So he pays attention to Woodrow’s warning anyway.

  Dozens of people come by their table to offer greetings and best wishes on the upcoming race. They clasp hands with T.J., tell him to watch himself, joke about the dangers of speed, and make light of the whole business. Some are competitors, other drivers and mechanics working for other companies. Some are friends. Many are strangers. T.J. is flushed and happy.

  “Hey, T.J.!” Holly shouts suddenly. She stands and begins to shimmy to the beat o
f the music. “Come on! Get up! Dance with me!”

  T.J. hesitates, shrugs, and then rises. The pair moves out onto the dance floor, joining the wild mix of swaying bodies and thumping music. Soon, they can’t be seen at all.

  Ash takes another sip of Strojen before setting it aside. He takes a moment to look around some more. Sparx, of course, are everywhere. But they’re like chewing gum these days; no one thinks anything about it. Mostly, people dance or talk. But back in the shadows, there are couples kissing and touching. Even farther back, money and small packets change hands. In one instance, he sees a shoving match break out. But everything is over and done with quickly. There are security guards everywhere, positioned to make certain nothing gets out of hand. This is the Red Zone, and if order needs to be restored, it will be handled from within the club. L.A. Preventatives avoid this section of the city. For them to show, something terrible would have to happen. The owners of Winners Circle do not intend to let anything go that far, so they use their own people. They are strict about good behavior. Cross the line, and you are out on the street and likely banned from a return appearance.

  Woodrow explains all this, apparently thinking from the look on Ash’s face he’s worried about what he sees. But Ash isn’t worried; he is merely curious. He is taking it in and committing it to memory. This is all new to him. It is fresh and exciting. He is hoping he will have a chance to come back, not only to Winners Circle but to Checkered Flag too. But he can’t take anything for granted. It is difficult to predict what the Shoe will and will not allow. Especially once he finds out that Jenny has decided to let Ash in on their secret activities.

  Seconds later, as if to shatter any illusions he might have about the way his night is going, Ponce and his Razor Boys surround the table.

  “What have we here?” Ponce sneers, bending so close Ash can smell his breath. “A bunch of freaks? Frickin’ throwaways?”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Jenny deadpans.

  “Just here to wish you luck in the race. Where’s the wonder boy?”

  Jenny shrugs. “What do you care? Shove off, Ponce.”

  “Hiding, is he? A frightened little T.J.? Afraid he might lose? To a girrrllll?”

  He draws the last word out in a deliberate taunt.

  She gives him a look. “The only loser around here is you.”

  “Oh, aren’t you clever, Jenny Juice Box.” He reaches down, grabs her head in both huge hands, and fastens his fingers around one of the tubes that connect to the ports in her neck. “Wonder what would happen if I yanked out your umbilical cord? How smart would that mouth of yours be then?”

  Jenny is struggling to break free, her eyes wide with fear.

  “Leave her alone!” Woodrow snaps suddenly. “Why do you always have to be so mean?”

  Everyone turns. Woodrow is so small and helpless compared to Ponce that they all just stare at him in disbelief.

  “What did you just say?” Ponce manages finally, his pierced features tightening. His eyes are dilated, unfocused. His words are slurred.

  “Don’t hurt her,” Woodrow answers.

  Ponce releases Jenny and reaches over for Woodrow, placing both hands about the boy’s head and tightening his grip. “How about I hurt you instead?”

  “Do it, Ponce! Hurt him!” The boy who danced on the hood of the street machine when Ponce was threatening Ash is dancing here too. His eyes are wild, his face flushed. “Do it!” he repeats, his mouth twisting eagerly. “I want to see him hurt!”

  The girl called Penny-Bird steps forward. “Leave it, Ponce. This is pointless. Let’s go.”

  But Ponce is not about to let anything go. “Shut up,” he hisses at her. “You don’t tell me what to do.”

  Woodrow is grimacing with pain. Ash stands suddenly and faces Ponce. He doesn’t think about it; he just does it. “Why don’t you stop picking on people smaller than you?”

  He can’t believe it when he says this, but the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. It is a challenge the other boy will answer, but he doesn’t care. He hates Ponce and his big mouth and cruel behavior.

  Ponce looks at him without recognition. Lights from the overhead lamps reflect off the metal plate embedded in his head. “Who are you?”

  Penny-Bird grabs him by the arm. “Come on, Ponce. That’s enough. We’re wasting time. Let’s . . .”

  Without bothering to look, Ponce backhands her so hard she flies into the other Razor Boys like a rag doll and collapses in a heap. Ponce ignores her. “I asked you a question,” he says to Ash, letting go of Woodrow and taking a threatening step toward his new target.

  Ash braces himself. One good punch, he thinks. That might be enough. If he lives long enough to land it, of course. “You like hitting girls, do you?” He shifts his weight, moving away from the table.

  “I’ll like hitting you a whole lot more, you frickin’ . . .”

  He charges Ash without warning, fists swinging. But Ash sideslips the worst of the blows and uses his attacker’s weight against him to throw him to the floor. Ponce lies stunned.

  But only for an instant, and then he is back on his feet.

  “I’m gonna’ do things to you that will change your life!” he hisses.

  Abruptly, Holly Priest appears, tossing Razor Boys aside like cardboard cutouts. She seizes Ponce by his shoulders and whips him around.

  “You coward!” she screams in his face.

  Ponce is big and strong and mean looking, but he shrinks to nothing in the face of Holly’s wrath. He tries to break free, but she snatches him off his feet with what seems no effort at all and throws him a dozen feet. He lands atop a table that buckles and collapses, scattering the occupants in all directions.

  Holly is not finished. She goes after Ponce at once, pulls him to his feet, and shakes him so hard Ash fears his neck will snap.

  “I warned you,” she hisses at him.

  “Frickin’ slag!” he screams.

  He tries to fight back, but she slaps aside his feeble attempts. T.J. appears, rushes over, and grabs her, trying to pull her away, but she is beyond reason. She puts a hand—the one that is formed of metal coated with synthetic skin—about Ponce’s neck and begins to squeeze.

  “Stop it, Holly!” T.J. screams in her ear, throwing himself on top of her and yanking violently at her arms.

  Then security guards flood in from all sides, knocking everyone out of the way, bearing T.J. and Holly to the floor on top of Ponce, a tangle of arms and legs and bodies. Weighted saps rise and fall, and Ash hears the sickening sound of leather striking flesh. The guards peel them off one another, haul them to the front of the building, and throw them through the door.

  The other Razor Boys have Penny-Bird back on her feet. She is bleeding from her nose and mouth where Ponce struck her but seems all right otherwise. She gives Ash an indecipherable look as her companions lead her away.

  Jenny Cruz shakes her head, a look of disgust on her face. “Well, that was entertaining. I can’t wait to see what happens when the Shoe hears about it.”

  “Maybe he won’t find out,” Ash says hopefully.

  “Sure, Ash. Maybe he won’t. Maybe the sun won’t rise tomorrow either.” She gives him a scathing look. “Don’t be stupid.” She turns away, heading for the door. “Let’s just go home.”

  - 18 -

  They ride back to Street Freaks in silence, barely looking at one another. The discomfort and regret is so strong Ash can feel it against his skin, an itch that can’t be scratched. Ash drives because T.J. claims to still be woozy from the fight, and Jenny doesn’t object. The big Barrier Ram hums along the Straightaway, and Ash can tell it is taking everything Jenny has to keep her anger in check.

  She loses it completely when they pull through the gates and park behind the building. “What were you thinking!” she shrieks at Holly. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

  Holly doesn’t bother to answer. No answer she could give at this point would satisfy Jenny. I
nstead, she just looks away, ignoring the other. She is battered and bruised, her clothes are rumpled and torn, and there is blood on her face and arms. She is clearly in no mood to talk to anyone. This makes Jenny even more furious, however, and she stomps off without another word, enters the building well ahead of the rest of them, and slams the door behind her.

  Ash and the others trudge after her, their shared if unspoken intentions by now to find their beds and climb into them. Maybe all this will be a little more manageable in the morning. But not if the Shoe hears of it. Not if he finds out what happened. He will keep them penned up for the rest of their lives. He might do even more than that to Ash, once he finds out that the others have told him so much about their covert activities. But he won’t hide from what happens if the Shoe confronts him. He won’t try to distance himself from the others.

  This is his family now.

  When he gets inside, T.J. is waiting. He is standing back in the shadows and only appears when the others have passed by.

  “Ash,” he says quietly. “I have a problem. You’ve got to help me.”

  Ash follows him into the supply room. T.J. presses the pad that triggers the lights and closes and locks the door. Then he turns and holds out his left hand. Several of his fingers are deeply discolored and twisted into positions that make Ash cringe. This is why T.J. didn’t drive them home. He couldn’t. Not with that kind of damage.

  “I need you to set them,” T.J. says. “Get them back into place. Then bind them up for me. I can’t do it with only one hand.”

  Ash shakes his head. “I don’t know if I can. I’ve never set dislocated fingers.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll talk you through it. Besides, it’s going to hurt me more than you, after all.”

  “Maybe one of the others would be better at . . .”

  T.J. seizes him by the front of his sheath with his good hand and yanks him close. “Don’t be stupid, Ash! I can’t let the others know about this! What if one of them tells the Shoe? If he finds out, I won’t be allowed to drive in the race! Look, I helped you when you needed it. Now you help me!”