Why should we suffer because of them? He hoped it was coming to a head, as Everett said. The sooner all this bullshit is over, the better. He turned into the pedestrian subway and descended the steps into graffiti daubed darkness, fluorescents a-flicker. A group of teens wearing denim with embroidered patches and colourfully spiked hair reclined against the walls, facing each other and leaving an intimidating gap between them. Something heavy and indistinguishable bubbled through the veil and into his free ear; music they bobbed heads to. One of them recognised him and gave him a curt salute. Envious, he passed by untroubled. They were all surface without depth, many with parents who would be in service to the authority in one way or another. Rebels without a cause.
At the other end he rose into the copy-paste version of Ad Strait, without the advertising holo-strip. More bars and restaurants and shops. It was said the population was at an all-time high, and yet many of these establishments were never full. Each passing through the latest trend – or hoping to become the latest trend – before the novelty wore off.
He reached Sleeze and entered, paying the entrance fee to a girl in a black tank-top sat behind a booth, bubblegum on her tongue. The windowless stairs lead down to a windowless bar and a row of barstools. A zigzag motif of multicoloured neon stretched across the ceiling, lighting booths, tables and the central stage and dancing pole where a nude woman danced, pale with large brown nipples. She was Asian, with straight black hair that flicked with her head movements. Dancing to music he could not hear.
He disconnected from his in-ear and ordered a Low-cal Syn, and then moved to the stage. There were other patrons all sat alone and not a little bored, while equally bored women moved between them. His eyes were fixed, however, on the dancer’s feline movements. She purred across the wooden boards, stalking him on hands and knees. She had aug diamond cat’s-eyes with a sideways blink, iris purple. He loved the women of the underground aug scene, and even when he was with Catherine had peered towards windows from the corner of his eye at the tri-breasted and twin-tongued prostitutes. The few who passed by his desk, usually on some mild drug-abuse charge, allowed him to see them up close; these women who had altered themselves willingly for the pleasure of others. They had a look in their eye that made him hard as he stood there behind the desk, or sat here before this dancer.
She smiled at him and turned her back, leaning forward with her legs tucked beneath her. A tail emerged from the base of her spine and grew long, flicking from side to side. Asir rubbed his eyes. Who is this girl? He hadn’t seen her before, but she was something else. He reached out, and her tail, all warm soft skin with no discernible cartilage, wrapped around his wrist. Then she uncoiled and used the end of the tail against herself.
“You want a room?” she mouthed.
He nodded.
She rose from her crouch and stepped down from the stage, taking his hand and leading him towards the back. A naked man stepped up to replace her, not a muscle left undefined, or appended.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Poussey. And you?” Her tail swayed with every step.
“Asir. You’re quite the sight.” Please don’t call me back in now.
She opened the door and pointed towards a reader on the wall. “You can pay there.” She pointed towards a basin. “And you can wash there.” Then she knelt on the bed with her backside in the air, swinging that tail.
“Where do you get an augment like that?” he asked as he scanned his wrist against the reader. It flashed green to show that he was clean of STDs.
“Down low. Do you like it?”
“I love it. Why have I never seen you here before?”
“I’ve just moved in. Sleeze recruited me, you could say.”
He turned on the water and soaped up a dry washcloth, then dropped his trousers. She watched him clean himself, and then approached to remove the rest of his clothes. His heart raced; it was this moment that he was becoming addicted to. This sense of the new. Nothing beat the first touch, the proximity of a new body to touch, new lips to kiss. New skin. Her breath was sweet. Her touch soft against his chest as they pushed through his hairs.
She side-blinked those eyelids and he could take no more. He picked her up and turned her around on the bed, entering her an reaching his hands forward across her back, reeling towards her tail. He felt it coil around him, between his cheeks, and pull with every thrust.
This is so fucking weird and hot. She inserted the tail-end into him and he thought he was just about falling in love.
After they were done, he lay back on the bed and watched her clean up at the basis, washing her face and applying new makeup. She’d retracted the tail, or whatever she did with it, and looked normal from behind once more.
“Seriously, how many of you girls have that aug?”
“There’s a few of us in low town, and I hear there’s a few below too. Siren, who runs this place, saw me performing up on Garth’s blimp and hired me. Can’t say I was too disappointed to get outta there.”
“Low town, eh? Must’ve paid a premium to get you across the perimeter.”
“Ain’t I worth it, though?” her smile reflected back at him.
“I don’t usually revisit the same girls, but for you I may have to make an exception.”
“Well don’t that just make me feel special.”
He leaned up on his elbows. “Are you mocking me?”
“Asir. I’m not in the mocking business, dear. I fuck, remember?” She applied fresh lipstick to her lips. “So is it true what they say?”
“What who say?”
“About Slay?”
He sighed. “So you recognise me.”
“I thought you looked familiar, and then as I stuck my tail up your arse it all came back to me. I guess you must be feeling pretty lonely, without her. That’s why you’re here?”
“I’d rather not talk about it with you,” he said, suddenly in a hurry to escape. He swung out of bed and began to redress. Sake, why’d she have to spoil it? Now I can’t fuck her again.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I’m just new, you know. Looking for friends.”
“Friends? Shake that tail enough and you’ll have all the friends you need.” He peeked towards her face in the mirror, and there it was – that look. There was no wink – it wasn’t necessary. Her eyes did more talking than her lips ever could. “What kind of friend are you looking for?”
As he drew his shirt across his shoulders, he veiled his hand movement across his wrist to begin recording. There were others like her – she said so herself. He’d just have to visit low town when this was all over and find another sexy feline.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, with a shake of the head. “Girl like me, in this kind of work, ain’t short of friends, just like you said.” She stared at the mirror, her social links scrolling down by the look of it. “Here, let me help you.”
He pulled his trousers to his waist and she held his shirt up behind him, into which he shrugged. “If you’re looking for a particular kind of friend, perhaps that’s me.”
“Come visit me again. I’m here every day.”
“Are you sure there was nothing else?” He swivelled to face her. She side-blinked and smiled and tilted her head, reaching around the back of his head.
“Nothing else, sweetie.” Her fingers stroked his ear, then pulled on the in-ear connector. “I bet you have good music taste,” she said as she inserted the link connection to the base of his skull.
He felt a tingle as she stepped back, as though her fingers themselves had inserted themselves as her tail had inserted him, and she was probing around back there. He looked down. No, her hands were right there, limp against the flesh of her thighs. So what was that tickling sensation?
“You okay?”
“I’m…” he tried to move. “What…?” And found he couldn’t. His feet were cement blocks. His hands were anvils. “What have you done?”
Fear spread across her
perfect face, her skin turning somehow whiter, her eyes pinpointing. “Nothing. Nothing.” She retreated back towards the basin. “I’ve done nothing.” The back of her head appeared in the mirror, and beyond that, another face appeared within it. Catherine’s ghost. Unsmiling and staring and shaking her head. As Poussey reached the basin, Catherine had to tilt her head to continue her stare past Poussey’s head. Then Catherine’s face melted into another, more serene face, with long hair and pale eyes with tears in them.
Painlessly, he fell, losing consciousness before his face even hit the floor.
Poussey
Sweat clamoured on her skin and her heart knocked against her lungs, mouth and throat dry.
“Don’t worry,” said a female voice from the mirror. “You’re safe.”
She looked over her shoulder into the mirror. “Who are you? Is he dead?” She felt foolish, talking to her own reflection. Or perhaps it was the body lying immobile on the carpet she was talking to.
“He’s dead of a brain aneurism. Natural causes. Call it in and continue as normal. And be careful who you speak to. Be careful what you say. There are people who would see you imprisoned as a traitor, and we don’t want that.”
“How did you know?”
Silence.
“Are you there?”
The voice was gone. Yet somehow she knew the voice was still there. Was always there. Quickly, she grabbed a gown from the built-in wardrobe stocked with all manner of outfits to suit all manner of desires, and wrapped it around her. She stood over him, trying to imagine where her friendship with him might have lead. She’d recognised him and then the mirror had confirmed it. As someone so close to someone so anti-authority, surely he had to have been sympathetic? Well, whoever was looking out for her knew otherwise. She wandered if it was the same person who had got her name on the guest list for the blimp. She wondered about a lot of things from the past few months. That mysterious conversation in the bar with that short-haired woman who wanted nothing more than to talk, even after she’d pulled out her tail and set it wagging. That normally piqued some interest. This woman had none of it, though. Was she part of this? Part of the series of coincidences and lucky breaks that had got her inside the perimeter?
Poussey turned back to the mirror. “I want to help.”
The mirror turned black, and then drone camera footage appeared split into eight sections. Each section seemed to show a portion of the perimeter; guards were stacked up in multiple rows and crossing the cement-block walls with their rifles pointed out towards the protestors. Muzzles flashed silently. Fire streamed through the air. Bodies swarmed against each other. Drones circled the air, some with turrets and some with airdrops, and what they dropped was nothing pleasant. The soldiers with their gasmasks advanced.
“It has begun. There is nothing more you can do.”
Nuke
CS gas swept down the avenue in a tsunami of cloud as the drones swooped down. An agent added to the mix gave it the look of soup, thick and cloying, and people ran from it. Boy, did they run, hundreds swarming towards him in a weird kind of silence, breath and energy being saved, voices perhaps too torn to scream. He turned too, wondering where the support was. Why had the drones been allowed to drop their poison? Why were there bodies with bullet holes clogged with gas lying – right now – inches from the perimeter?
“What’s happening, Uldous?”
“I have no idea,” he replied, panting next to him. “Run!”
Nuke darted towards the overhanging edge of the tower, riot gear wearing heavy on his back and feet, boots clomping. Short distances were his deal. Over a short distance he could smash anything out of his way, shoulder anyone from his route. Anything further and his fitness and weight told. He puffed as he put a hand against the tower to take a breath, the smashed up innards of a grocers on the other side. Protestors swept by in a wave.
“You fucking bastards!” someone screamed in the middle of the avenue. The cloud had slowed its breaking wake, thinning, dissipating at the edges in a fuzzy wall. The protestor was male, hood thrown forward almost covering his face, and he leaned down towards a firebomb, lighting it. “Have this!” he shouted, throwing it blindly. No way he’d be able to throw it far enough to reach the perimeter, thought Nuke, before having that thought blown away.
“Shit.” Uldous yanked on his shoulder. “It’s been laced with Napalm gas.”
Nuke turned away but could not miss the protestor as he melted in a shower of flame as the whole wall lit up, catching like the end of a match in a flash of instant white-hot heat. It seared the back of his exposed neck and threw him forward metres through the air. He landed on his front and slid along the hardtop in his protective ablative armour, knees knocking and scraping. He thanked his kneepads as he lay there, heart pounding, sweat dripping from his brow.
“GET UP!” he shouted to Uldous. His friend didn’t move for a few agonising moments, and then finally groaned and lifted his head. Uldous’s helmet had flown away somewhere, and his right cheek had torn against the ground, a mix of blood and dirt swept up among the hair of his wiry, unkempt beard. “Get up!” he repeated, standing himself and helping Uldous.
“Around the side. Quick!”
Nuke followed towards the side perimeter, bringing his rifle to bear. Uldous reached back and drew his own rifle from his back holster, and together they prowled forwards. Dozens of other protestors had had the same idea.
“Come on, come on. A little help,” said Uldous.
This was too exposed, thought Nuke. Annora should have taken control of the drones, making this a walk in the park, relatively speaking. Nash’s team had meant to stand their ground, picking off anyone who didn’t die from the back-firing turret drones. Instead, the frontline had fired upon them, starting a gunfight that had ended with the gas. As they approached the side perimeter he could see the authority’s gunmen stationed atop the wall, heads poised with rifles pointed in their direction. What were they doing? he thought. Death had not been on his mind today. Death had rarely been on his mind since meeting Annora and Calix and knowing that they had his back. Well, where were they?
“I don’t like this,” he shouted.
“You and me, both. Hold up, let the others approach.”
Nash, a grey bandana tied across her brow with a long end that fell across her shoulders, halted beside them. “Where’s this backup of yours? We were slaughtered just then. So much for the plan.”
“We can still break the ranks,” said Uldous. “We have men and women sympathetic to the cause – thanks to your help!”
Nuke’s nostrils flared. Burning flesh.
“And where are they?” Nash had a look that screamed ready to kill.
Around them, people coughing and streaming sweat, some sporting riot gear and others wearing nothing but shorts and T-shirt, fled back down the avenue.
“Hey!” shouted Nash, reaching out and grabbing arms and shoulders, pulling at any limb she could grasp. “Stop! Where are you going?”
“It’s useless!” shouted one man, someone’s blood – or his own – streaked down his cheek. That reminded Nuke of his own and it started to sting.
“No! Come on! This way!” Nash hoisted her rifle and started to march.
This is not what I signed up for. He missed so much about his previous life, he was beginning to doubt it would ever return. Missed the gaming nights and working out alone in the early mornings. Missed not worrying about whether or not someone recognised his face.
Rifle blasts erupted from the perimeter. He looked across and could hardly believe his eyes; the guards were firing on each other. Muzzles flashed and the loud claps ricocheted back up the avenue towards them, sonic explosions bouncing off glinting windows to the tower tops. Smoke and dust rose and swirled from imperceptible gusts of wind. A wave of fire-suppressing drones approached and swept by overhead to extinguish the flames behind, oblivious of the mutiny beneath.
“What’s going on?” Nash asked.
Fina
lly. Annora must have given a signal.
“Look,” said Uldous. “They’ve raised their rifles.” Along the perimeter, men and women held their rifles aloft with one arm. “What do you think? Is it safe?”
“Only one way to find out.” Nuke marched towards them and others followed in his wake. People who had been running stopped and turned, and together they formed an arrow, aiming for the central column blocked in with armoured vehicles. One of the vehicles reversed away, opening the entrance, and they filed within. Nuke tongued the inside of his cheek and tasted blood. It was everywhere; pooling on the cement gangways and dribbling down the walls. Lives lay ended atop them, traitorous bullets wedged in flesh or else the cement behind and below. Nuke’s ears rang with the memory of it.
Wary eyes watched them, just a few rifles directed towards them.
“Friends,” Uldous called out. “You have done us a great service. Please – can anyone escort us to the central tower? And the rest of you – join us in decimating the authority’s numbers from within.”
It’d be a slaughter. From behind, they could catch any unsuspecting guards by surprise, and give them a choice: surrender or die. And most would sooner die, he would bet his life on it.
“There’s too many,” shouted one man. “And too few of us.”
“More will come,” said Nash. “We just have to make sure this access remains open.”
“You think they don’t already know? You think they’re not already sending reinforcements?”
Uldous stepped forward. “No, my friend. The authority are unaware. All the camera feeds will be altered to show business as normal.”
“How?”
“The same way you had your help.”
The alarm on Nuke’s wristpad beeped. The words ‘Leave them and retreat’ flashed up on the screen. He looked up, catching the eye of Uldous who had just read the same thing. Was this Annora? Or Caia or Rylan from the second checkpoint? What was going on?
Tides of Hysteria Page 10
