Prime City: A Science Fiction Thriller (Neon Horizon Book 2)

by Michael Robertson

  The woman from the next shop along—a store selling synthetic alcohol among other items—spread her arms wide and shrugged. “It costs nothing to look.”

  The clouds remained thick and unbroken. A veil of dark grey, it pressed down against the neon glow from the streets. An illuminated blue tube on Marcie’s right blinked before turning off as if finally admitting defeat against the sky’s oppressive weight. The cold air turned her breath into condensation and billowed from beneath her mask. While maintaining her pace, she kept her focus ahead.

  “Some special vegetables from the agricultural lands?”

  “Synth-cigarettes?”

  Like she’d smoke that shit. Six months on those things and she’d need steel lungs like Sal.

  “Lady, over here. I have some wonderful bargains for you.”

  Marcie clenched her jaw and drew a deep breath. All of this had to be easier than travelling the quiet streets as Marcie Hugo. A line of expectant faces hung from doorways farther ahead, all of them readying themselves for her approach. She ducked down an alley on her right.

  So tight, her shoulders nearly scraped the walls on either side. The only light came from the neon glow in the streets at both ends. Marcie switched off her mask and discarded it on the ground. She could get another one. For now, she needed to travel as light as possible.

  Where she would usually jump from one wall to the next, Marcie leaped up and spread her arms and legs out in the shape of a star. The exposed bricks were damp and rough to touch. She climbed the two walls by holding herself still with her arms and dragging her feet up, and then doing the same with her feet to lift her arms higher until she reached the top.

  All of the buildings were two to three storeys tall, each roof at a different and often opposing angle to their neighbour. But at least they gave her a route from one side of the Blind Spot to the other without shopkeepers, dealers, and pimps. At least she could exist up here as Marcie Hugo.

  Marcie’s feet twisted and turned with the pitched angles. The occasional tile snapped, but her eyes had already assessed the structural integrity of the route, picking out a safe run that would support her weight. The gaps between the buildings were no wider than a few metres. She took them in her stride. No need for her flying suit here.

  The collective crimson glow from the red-light district marked it from the rooftops. So bright they probably saw it from Prime City.

  The biggest sign around, this place spared no expense. Large purple neon letters declared the establishment open. The shaped neon green tubing depicted a naked woman with large breasts. She’d arrived at Madame Fiona’s.

  There were more workers on the streets of the red-light district than there had been on the main road. On the roof of a far less swanky brothel, Marcie held back by a few metres. The second she jumped down, they’d see her. Mask or not, she’d attract too much attention.

  Marcie stepped back another pace, closer to the skylight in the building’s roof. While holding the edge of its frame in a tight grip, she snapped it up with a sharp tug. The window broke open with a pop, the ching of something metal landing inside the building below.

  Although she pulled away from sight, she kept the skylight open a crack. Silence inside, backed up by an X-ray sweep of the place.

  Her heart pounding, Marcie lifted the window all the way open until it lay flat against the roof. She sat on the edge, her legs dangling down. A two-storey drop. No one below. She hit the ground with the gentlest of taps.

  Still silent inside, Marcie slipped through the closest door and shut it behind her.

  The room stank of lube and sweat. The old bed in the corner had red velvet sheets, which were hardened and crusty from where they clearly hadn’t been cleaned for weeks. A shower in one corner, dusty shelves beside it with jars lined up along them. Some were filled with yellow liquid, some red, some brown …

  Marcie returned to the corridor. Better to try her luck than spend any more time in there. Whatever people did behind closed doors should remain behind closed doors.

  The room opposite had been cleaned much more recently. It had a bed with purple sheets, and whips, chains, and handcuffs were lined up along one wall. The wardrobe in the corner hung open. Leather and PVC catsuits, masks, tubes … Still not what Marcie needed. But then she found a pink satin nightie at the back. It had white feathered trim, the uniform of an off-duty sex worker. Next to it sat a cat mask and fake claws. Hopefully no one would question it. After pressing her ear to the door and hearing nothing outside, she did another X-ray sweep to be certain.

  Marcie emerged from the brothel opposite Madame Fiona’s. She passed four working girls and two men. None of them paid her any mind.

  The street was cleaner than she’d ever seen it. They’d clearly put their time off to good use. The cold nipped at Marcie’s bare legs, her cybernetics twitching in response. She reached Madame Fiona’s but halted outside. The entrance framed with a large pink glowing heart, it revealed a long corridor alive with pink neon. Like she had with the woman’s brother, she recognised the walk and silhouette approaching her from the end of the corridor. Becky! “Shit.”

  Leaving before Becky saw her, Marcie nipped into the shop next door. The deep bass grooves, the muted purple glow, she’d walked in through the back of a slack den. The man behind the bar watched her every step of the way.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  “Huh?”

  “Look, I don’t care if a working girl wants to come in here on her downtime, but don’t be so blatant. You know the rules. If you’re on the job, even on a break, you don’t come into the dens. It tells me you’re either trying to steal my punters—of which I have none, like everyone else today—or you’re trying to get me shut down. You know the two businesses shouldn’t mix.”

  Marcie only half-listened to the man as she watched Becky leave Madame Fiona’s at a fast march. If the woman didn’t always look so pissed off when she walked, she might have read more into her angry stride.

  “Are you even listening to me?” the owner of the slack den said.

  “What?”

  The man leaped over the counter, squaring up to Marcie. “Don’t make me throw you out.”

  The cybernetics in Marcie’s arms twitched. He could try. But she didn’t need the attention today. She lowered her gaze and left the shop, nipping into the long pink corridor Becky had just vacated.

  The wallpaper and carpet had hearts printed on them. Every one of the internal doors was heart shaped. A mixture of all different perfumes hung in the air, their combined funk like fly spray. It caught on the back of Marcie’s throat, leaving a chemical taste along her tongue.

  Marcie turned right at the end of the long corridor, halting the second she rounded the bend. Her eyes framed the two guards with glowing red targets, but the two large men paid her no mind. They stood on either side of another heart-shaped door. If she had to bet on where to find the Eye, she’d put her future wealth on him being there. Finding him had seemed like the hard part until now. How the fuck would she get past those bodyguards?

  Not even the thick pink carpet muted the approaching steps. The clip of heels slamming down in stereo where someone walked beside her. They entered the place with purpose. A heart-shaped door with the number thirteen on it, Marcie ducked into the room and closed it behind her.

  The heart theme continued into the room. A large heart-shaped bed took centre stage, the red silk bedding catching the light. It shone as if it were wet. A rich and sweet smell of lavender from an oil burner in the corner. A red glass heart door leading to a shower. Twenty or more lights gave off a pink glow that helped Marcie forget the cold winter outside, even with the gunmetal grey clouds visible through the skylight.

  Her face pressed to the door, Marcie listened to the steps. They continued towards her, red pulsing targets tracking their X-ray forms. A tall and slim man approached with a short curvy woman. They drew closer to her room. She stepped away from the door when the woman reached for t
he handle, and it snapped down a second later. Clack!

  Chapter 3

  Were she not able to see through walls, Marcie would still be in the room below, either fighting the pair of them or stammering her way through a feeble excuse for her being there. Instead she lay on her front on the roof of Madam Fiona’s. She’d left the skylight propped open an inch. Enough to hear their conversation.

  “Becky told me you’d help me.”

  Of course she recognised the voice of the man, but she’d not seen the woman before. A curvy lady dressed in red lingerie. She had large breasts, a round bottom, long eyelashes, and red hair. “Just pretend you’re sorting out my washing machine, okay? I can’t have this coming back to me. If it wasn’t for Becky being such a good friend, I wouldn’t touch this.”

  “So Becky was right? He is in this building?”

  “What do you think those guards are there for?”

  A shot of adrenaline pulled Marcie’s muscles tight. If she jumped down now, she could take the pair of them out before they knew what had hit them. Although, could she really get away with attacking Pierre? Wrench’s daughter or not.

  The woman raised her voice, and Marcie peered in again. She had a hold of Pierre’s arm, pulling him away from the door. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to end this now.”

  Marcie balled her fists. She didn’t have to kill him, just knock him unconscious and leave him somewhere for a few hours. That would give her enough time.

  “There will be consequences if you do that.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “It’s not me you want to be scared of.”

  “Wrench?” Pierre snorted a laugh. “Screw him. He should have executed the Eye the second he admitted to killing Horace.”

  “Look, Becky and I have a plan,” the woman continued. “They’ll be giving him his lunch in about an hour. If we wait until then, we can get something into his food.”

  “How will we do that?”

  “I’m the one feeding him.”

  “But I might as well end him now. However he dies, I’ll be the number one suspect.”

  “Of course you will, but you have more chance of getting away with it if they can’t link it to you. The right poison will make it look like he had a heart attack.”

  “You have the right poison?”

  “For the right price.”

  When Pierre didn’t respond, Marcie peered in again. He held his chin in a pinch. “An hour, you say?”

  “Yeah. If you can make the payment not show up on my records.”

  “Of course I can.”

  “You fucking snake,” Marcie muttered. How much had he stolen from the top table over the years?

  “Okay,” the woman said, “meet me back here in one hour.”

  At least it gave Marcie some time.

  As Pierre and the woman left the room, Marcie took off in the direction of her home. An hour made things tight, and she had a lot to do, but at least she had a plan and a time frame in which to execute it.

  Chapter 4

  Marcie jumped down from the rooftop of a grocery store, landing close to her house. The fewer people who saw her dressed in a nightie and cat mask, the better. The timer she’d brought up in her vision said she had a little over forty-five minutes before she had to get back to the Eye at Madame Fiona’s. Hopefully they wouldn’t give him his lunch early. In the time remaining, she had to find a way to get her hands on the credits required to buy some lungs from Prime City, she also had to collect whatever she thought the Eye might need from his workshop, and she had to get the cloaking device so she could say goodbye to Sal. Who knew how long it would take to get the Eye settled in Prime City and find Sal’s new lungs. The only thing she could promise him was that she’d make it happen and she’d return.

  Slowing down as she ascended the steps, Marcie entered her house. Arthur remained in the large kitchen while the rest of the obsoletes scuttled out of her way, busying themselves with their daily chores. “Arthur, I’m looking for Dad. Have you seen him?”

  Arthur shook his head, his expression blank despite her current attire. “He’s been out all day.”

  Good. “Okay, I’m going to get something from my room and then go out and look for him.”

  Arthur’s brow scrunched. He could clearly take her fashion choices, but when did she ever tell him what her plans were for the day?

  “Just in case he comes back, maybe you can tell him I’m looking for him?”

  “Would you like me to put a call out for him?”

  “No!”

  Arthur stepped back at her outburst.

  Marcie shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I don’t want to worry him.”

  The awkward silence pressed in around them, so Marcie slipped from the room, taking the stairs two at a time.

  The gate at the top had been open since her sixteenth birthday. Two steps towards her dad’s room, she turned back and pushed it closed, the groaning hinges an alarm to everyone else in the house. At least it would work both ways. Should anyone come up to the first floor, she’d hear them.

  In spite of Marcie’s will, the cybernetics in her arms questioned her choice. They resisted her closing the gate as if they wanted to give her pause for thought. She pushed through their guidance and forced the gate shut with a click. Eight thick horizontal bars in a steel frame. It would have been nice had her dad made some effort to at least dress up her incarceration. A moment’s pause. If anyone in the house heard her, none of them seemed interested in investigating. She jogged to her dad’s room.

  Minimalist and immaculate, Wrench had a perfectly made bed with fresh white bedding every day. White walls with a cream carpet. A collection of yellow, red, and purple flowers scented the air. They were her mum’s favourites. He’d had some on display since she’d died. It could have been a bedroom from a brochure were it not for the picture of her mum on his bedside table. Photos distorted the memory of someone. How many people didn’t smile when they had a camera turned on them? But with her mum, they gave an accurate representation of the woman. Forever happy. Vibrancy personified. Always overflowing with love. Her death had left a void nothing could even come close to filling.

  Although today, for the first time since her passing, Marcie saw judgement in the photo’s eyes. Her hand on the top drawer’s handle, she said, “You and I both know I need to do this. I owe it to the Eye, and I want to help Sal. You’d give me your blessing for that.”

  Smiling judgement. Unwavering.

  “What? You expect me to tell him? He’s happy for the first time since you left us …” Marcie lost her words for a second. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound like that. Not like you made a choice, was it?” After clearing her throat, she continued, “I miss you, Mum. Every single day. But I can’t talk to Dad about this. It will break his heart. I get why he’s been how he’s been. I can see his neglect and imprisonment were born of fear, but I don’t owe him. I love him, but I don’t owe him. If I talk to him about what I plan to do, I’ll have to watch his heart break all over again. I’m the kid. He should be protecting me. And what if he tries to stop me? What then? Pierre gets to the Eye and kills him? That will happen sooner or later. And Sal needs new lungs. We both know that.”

  The eyes in the picture continued to glisten. The smile as broad as ever.

  “I’m sorry, Mum.”

  After a deep breath, Marcie pulled the drawer open. “Shit!” The card had been there the last time she’d looked. His emergency credit card, always loaded and ready to use should anyone need it. But where had it gone? What did he need it for? It had been there for years. Why had he taken it now? She slammed the drawer before hitting the top of the small table with the heel of her fist. “Shit!”

  Maybe she’d done the right thing locking herself on the top floor of her house, because if Marcie had any chance of getting everything done, she needed to leave via the loft anyway. The rooftops were the only place she could move without fear of
being spotted. Dressed as a punter in a power suit, a hooker in a nightie, or even exposed as herself, she stood out on the Blind Spot’s quiet streets. She’d changed into black leggings and a black jumper. Once she’d slid the final loose tile back into place, she took off in the direction of the Eye’s workshop, her backpack heavy with supplies, her purse empty of credits.

  On her way to the Eye’s workshop, Marcie had to pass over Madame Fiona’s. It had skylights like many of the buildings surrounding it. She could bust one open, slip in, and free him now. It would avoid any chance of him being poisoned. But if things didn’t go to plan, they’d have to fight their way out. If it came to that, they’d have no time to do anything but leave the Blind Spot.

  Marcie passed over Madame Fiona’s and leaped another alleyway in the direction of the Eye’s workshop. She had to get everything ready first. And she needed to visit Sal.

  The timer in Marcie’s vision ticked past twenty minutes as she dropped from a nearby roof into the dark alley by the Eye’s workshop. A drop of over ten metres. Every time she’d visited this place, it had been open. The Eye never went anywhere. Now a large green door barred her way. The neon glow from the street behind lit it well enough to show where the flecks of paint had peeled off, revealing the brushed grey metal beneath. A futile shove of the cold barrier. It held fast.

  The alleyway abandoned, Marcie shoved it again, harder this time. Still nothing.

  He wouldn’t need it to be locked after they left. Surely he’d understand. Marcie clamped her teeth before kicking the door, her leg exploding into it with a deep boom! The brickwork surrounding the door came loose, and the door fell inwards with a clang. Dust and debris fell from the now devastated frame.

  The alleyway remained clear, his workshop dark from where everything had been shut down. The steel popped beneath her steps as she entered.