by Pearl Foxx
Upstairs, the bar had closed hours ago. The fights kept the regulars here drinking and betting until the sun rose, but those who weren’t in the know had already been given last call and shuffled out to find their way home.
Behind the bar, counting credits out on the long counter in amounts that made Verity’s mind bend stood Garvan. He looked up and gave her a smile that sent shivers through her soul. His slick eel-like presence made her feel dirty and responsible all at once.
“Verity, are you leaving so soon?” he asked returning to his piles.
“Yeah, I, just need to get home.”
“Ahh, first time at the fights, I see. Tonight was an especially brutal showing. Normally it’s not quite so—visceral.”
She quickened her pace, trying to get out of there.
“Should I give the purse to you or Chance?” Garvan asked, interrupting her forward progress.
“What? Oh, they’re Chance’s credits, just give it all to him.”
“So, you don’t need any of it now?” Garvan gestured to a pile of credits that put even what she had borrowed from him to shame. “This is just what he won tonight, the loan money will be returned as well. Chance always pulls a big crowd, and a big cut. It was wonderful to have him back in the ring. Perhaps he’ll consider taking it back up now that he has the taste for it again.”
Verity shivered. The idea that Chance liked what he’d done never occurred to her. But she recalled the smile on his face as he ripped off Markus’ arm and hit him with it. Was this something he could want to keep doing?
“That’s between the two of you. I’m just a waitress.”
“Have a good rest of the night. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Garvan gave his titanium toothed smile and returned to his business. He made her skin crawl but her nerves were out of energy to process everything she’d seen so far tonight.
Outside, numbness crept into Verity’s body, slithering up her spine and silencing her heart. Her mind drifted as she gulped down the cool misting breath of Cyn City.
She walked home slowly, home being Chance’s place. Another difference in a sea of changes she couldn’t be sure were good or not. She wanted to rush into his arms, have him tell her everything would be okay, everything she’d seen was a lie, and he wasn’t the kind of man who could do such things, even if he had done it for her. Guilt weighed her down and discolored her thoughts about Chance. Was it him who made her feel so ill, or herself?
The worst part was she’d known. She’d known, and she’d agreed to let this to happen. She’d tried to convince herself she had justification, that the man in the ring opposite Chance might deserve his fate. Now, facing the consequences, she knew nothing could excuse what they had been a part of.
The man in the ring with Chance had surprised him. Hollywood had said his name was Markus, not Jabbar. She knew nothing about him. Her thin justification ripped away and exposed what she’d been willing to do just to save her own life. She deserved every horrible thing Garvan would have done to her. She deserved to suffer.
At the apartment, she found Imogen curled up in the wingback chair with a blanket over her. She wore Chance’s oversized clothes and had a newly sewn skirt draped across her lap, patched together from various fabrics Verity had brought from her apartment.
How simple it would be to just forget what had happened, to go back to being someone who didn’t know things like cyborg fights existed, someone who could sew in silence and look out the window happily. But she had never been that person, even on the compound. She’d always been restless, resistant to rules, wanting to run and scream, and soak in the toxic air and undrinkable water. She wanted to live life to its rawest. And this is what she’d gotten.
When Verity set down her bag on the counter and poured herself a glass of water, Imogen stirred.
“You home? Imogen asked.
“Nope, this is the Ghost of Summer’s Heat. I climbed in the window and am here to steal your virtue.” Verity took a drink from the glass and sat on the couch next to her friend.
“Very funny. So, things went well? Is everything okay now?”
Verity just drank her water.
Imogen stared at her friend, waiting, but Verity had nothing to say. Violence begat violence. That’s what they’d been taught. How could someone capable of what Chance had done in the ring tonight be anything other than violent to his core? And what did that say about her, the woman who loved him and sat by, giving her permission and even thanks for what he’d done?
“I didn’t want to go to sleep until you got home,” Imogen said, yawning.
“Thanks, how about tonight you and I sleep in the big bed. I know you haven’t been getting enough rest out here. Chance offered to sleep on the couch.”
Imogen raised an eyebrow. “Am I to assume you don’t want me to ask?”
Verity’s throat tightened. “No, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s over, and I can barely think right now. I need some sleep.”
Imogen nodded and folded up her sewing. “I’ll be right there.” She placed a kiss on Verity’s forehead.
Verity sat in the couch staring at the wall in front of her, listening to the water run in the bathroom. She must’ve dozed off, because the next thing she knew Chance was kneeling in front of her, his face cleaned of blood but swollen with a bandage over his right eye.
“Verity,” he said, softly shaking her shoulder. When she opened her eyes, he swooped in and wrapped her up in a tight embrace. He smelled of sweat and soap but fortunately not the blood and death she’d expected.
“I couldn’t find you,” he said. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”
Verity pulled away from his touch and swallowed the sick desperate feeling in her throat. “It got really loud, and I couldn’t think. I had to get out of there. I told Hollywood I was leaving.”
“Shit, can’t trust that kid to do a damn thing.” Chance studied her face for a moment. “You could have waited outside. Or had Hollywood get me. I was terrified something happened to you, that Garvan had taken you even though I did what he asked. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” He reached out to run his hand down her face, but Verity flinched back.
Chance’s face hardened. “Is that it? Now you’re afraid of me?”
Verity sat still, letting her waiting tears fall. “I just can’t believe someone’s dead. What have we done? What have you done?”
Chance leaned back on his heels and stared at her with an open mouth. He gaped at her for so long she started to think maybe he’d lost his voice.
“Now that it’s over, Imogen and I will go back to my apartment. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”
Chance stared at her.
She shouldn’t be taking this out on him. He’d done this horrible thing for her. He’d done something he desperately didn’t want to, all to save her, and how did she repay him? She ran. But she could barely stand the sight of him. It just brought back the burning pain of her guilt. The image of him standing there, holding another cyborg’s dead body like a trophy reappeared in her mind.
“You don’t understand.” Chance sputtered.
“I do. That’s the problem. I know that wasn’t Jabbar but someone else entirely. Who did we kill? Do you even know who he was? Do you know what he did to deserve this? I should have just gone with Garvan. You shouldn’t have tried to save me, now we’re both damned.” Her anger at herself rose, and she pointed it at him. All her pain and fear came barreling out focused on him as its target.
Verity stood, the past few days’ worth of fear and nerves collapsing in on her.
Chance loomed over her, his face an unreadable mask. Cold. Inhuman.
But what did she expect? She deserved his hate as much as she deserved her own.
“I’m going to sleep in your room with Imogen, and then we’ll leave in the morning.” She backed away from him toward the bedroom. Tears gathered in her eyes and her throat threatened to close off completely, suffocating her with regret.
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“Verity—”
“Don’t. Just. Don’t.” She disappeared into his room before collapsing into the bed that still smelled like him, like them. Her tears fell and even in her sleep Imogen wrapped around her back, soothing her with her warmth and familiarity.
Verity cried herself to sleep, unable to believe her life had come to this.
Chapter 20
Verity
The next morning Verity awoke to the utter silence of Chance’s apartment. Unlike her place, there was no road traffic on the 23rd floor, and no screaming neighbors too angry, too high, or more than likely both, to care who heard them.
She rolled over to find the other side of the bed empty, and for a moment, a wave of disappointment washed over her like the incoming tide. But the mud and snails at the sea floor sucked her into their muck, covering her with its filth as she remembered why she hadn’t been sleeping next to Chance. She wanted the comfort of his warm muscular body, but instead, she got the memory of the hard look in his eyes the night before.
“Ahem,” Imogen whispered, pulling Verity’s attention out of the sinkhole her heart was disappearing into. She had on a patchworn skirt made of denim and thick cotton pants and one of Chance’s t-shirts, tucked in primly at the waist.
“What do you think?” Imogen turned in a circle showing off her masterpiece.
“I didn’t think it could be done, but somehow you are the perfect blend of Ecovangelist and Cyn City. You look fabulous, is that more comfortable?”
“Oh yes, so much better. I almost feel presentable again!”
Verity dressed quickly but stopped before reaching the bedroom door. “Is Chance here?”
“He’s still sleeping. Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“No, I will, but—not yet.”
“Okay. Should we wake him?”
Verity shook her head, tears she thought had dried out the night before teetered on the edge of her lashes. “No, I’ll—I’ll talk to him later. Let’s get something to eat, something hot to drink, and a little fresh air.”
“Do they make fresh air here?”
Verity chuckled, “I guess they keep it all in the skycity, but sometimes, if you stand really still, you can smell the ocean over the fumes of alcohol and trash, and that’s kind of wonderful.”
“I’ve never seen the ocean.”
“Me either. One day, we should go.” Verity grabbed her bag and made sure she had the keys to lock up Chance’s apartment when she left. She didn’t plan on coming back.
They tiptoed through the main room past Chance’s giant sleeping body splayed across the too small couch. Verity’s heart speed up. She wanted to wake him, hold him, have him tell her it would all be okay. But it never would be. They’d killed a man, and he’d done it for her. She couldn’t look at him without remembering her shame.
Out on the street, the two women walked arm and arm until they reached the main thoroughfare. Bicyclists and street venders swarmed the old sidewalks and wide street, leaving pathways for shoppers to wander through and still see everything available for purchase.
“Keep your bag over your shoulder and under your arm,” Verity said, spotting one of the many street kids flitting between groups of customers browsing the various wares.
“Why?”
“Imogen, you are my dearest friend, but look around you. These streets are crawling with pickpockets, scammers, and kids looking for handouts. This is how they make their living, and you’re either one of them, or you’re a rube. You have to pick which side of the line you’re gonna be on.”
“Rube?” Imogen stopped walking next to the coffee vender, they’d been heading toward. “Verity, you can’t let yourself think like that. You’re losing yourself here. Not just the clothes and the cyborgs but the way you look at life. You used to always see the possibilities.”
“There aren’t any other possibilities. Not in Cyn City.”
“I think you’re wrong, and I think it’s coloring how you see things. Stop staring down at the puddles and look up. These vender carts are beautiful, covered in bright colors and look, that one has skeins of beautiful fabric we can go pick through, and that one has food and is covered with wind chimes. There’s a magic about this place, but you’ve stopped seeing it. All you see is the darkness.”
Imogen ordered two coffees, paid with some of the credits Chance had given her, and dropped one coin into the tip jar, much to the toothless man who served her’s delight. She was soon surrounded by children, looking for handouts.
“See? You picked rube.”
Imogen laughed and shooed the children away, holding the coffee cups and her purse up in the air where the urchins couldn’t reach. “I chose joy, and I’m none-the-poorer for it.”
Verity chewed on the inside of her cheek before taking her coffee and following her best friend toward the fabric vendor. They touched and oohhed over silk and clonewool they couldn’t afford but found a few nice synthblends that would make the beginning of a nice wardrobe for Imogen, and even some black to help expand Verity’s work attire options. Imogen frowned disapprovingly but kept her mouth shut.
After a few hours of shopping for food for her apartment and other necessities, they ordered Jerk Patties and sat on one of the rusted metal benches near the park.
“Do you really think I’ve changed that much?” Verity asked just as Imogen stuffed the dough covered patty into her mouth.
She coughed at the spicy flavor and shook her head, her eyes watering. “What the hell is this?” She took a deep swig of water from the bottle they’d brought with them.
“Jerk protein patties. The spices cover up the flavor of the protein mash. Trust me, you’re better off burning your tongue off than tasting it without spices, and you need the calories. So do I.”
Imogen took another swig of water. “I don’t think you’ve changed that much. You still took care of me without question, and you care about Chance even though we’ve always been taught not to trust cyborgs.”
“I don’t want to talk about Chance.”
“Ok, you don’t have to, but you know, he’s not going to just let you go. He’s as madly in love with you as you are with him.”
“I’m not in love with him.”
“And I’m Saint Vogel.”
Verity laughed. You do look good with chaff between your teeth!”
The girls giggled and wandered the streets some more, and Verity enjoyed getting to show her friend a little bit more of the parts of the city she loved. The freedom. The choices.
But in the back of her mind nagged the constant question, how could she and Chance ever get past what they’d done?
Chapter 21
Chance
Chance woke drowsy and confused.
The apartment was too vacant without Verity next to him, and this couch, as thrilled as he had been when he found it on the side of the street, was decidedly NOT made for a man his size. He barely fit if he laid on his side and his feet dangled over the edge or up on the arm, twisting him at an impossible angle. His cybernetic arm had dug into his ribs, the gears and sharp edges unforgiving of his flesh and blood body.
Shit.
He stretched, pulled on his jeans, threw a hoodie over his shirt, and walked out of his apartment. After the fight last night, his adrenaline had been through the roof, and now Verity was gone… He should run after her, explain the situation, force her to listen. But she made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him, and he’d seen that look in a woman’s eyes before.
Fuck that, he wasn’t chasing shit.
Outside, the morning air hung thick and heavy. The space between the streets of Cyn City and the shit end of skycity held in the day’s heat. Grime and moisture clogged his airways. Usually he liked this time of day, but his mood couldn’t find the beauty in the shimmering skylanes overhead or the briny scent just beneath the surface smells of poverty.
Chance ran through the streets, working out his frustration by pumping his legs hard. Even aft
er the night he’d had, it his body wanted to move. The moist air blew passed him, as he pushed himself faster. Sweat ran down his chest and back, but he kept going, focusing on the ache in his body instead of the pain in his chest.
He headed out of town, away from the Deluge, the swamplands used for overflow water it couldn’t process into power and pump back into the ocean, away from Garvan, the Ball & Joint, and most importantly away from Verity.
The dropoff at the edge of the city came fast, like a line drawn from above. The shadows from the glass and plasteel buildings in the sky stopped, and suddenly the air became dry. The change was stark. Almost no one went passed this point, but it was the only way out of the city. Going around was impossible thanks to the diverted water from the Deluge which created rivers into the desert, but salt water didn’t irrigate crops. It only further desiccated the already dead land.
Verity must have crossed through here when she came from the commune she grew up on. Nothing but what she carried with her to start a new life in Cyn City. That took serious balls. And look what she got handed, Garvan and a killer cyborg. No wonder she didn’t want to have anything to do with him.
Passed the initial break from the slums and the dropoff, the desert began. You didn’t have to go far to be reminded of just how dead this planet had become. Buildings were coated in dust and dirt, windows so grimed over no one even bothered to wipe them clear anymore. If anyone even lived out here. The few who did were those who hadn’t been able to even make a living in the slums.
Chance ran in the ancient streets, kicking up a plume of dust behind him, t-shirt pulled up over his nose, until he reached Enver’s, an old warehouse that still drew power from the ancient grid charged by the Deluge. Inside, the first floor was covered in glass and sand. Anyone passing by would think the place abandoned, but for those intrepid enough to make their way to the third floor, they would discover the bustling activity of The Ward.
