by Weston Ochse
“What does that mean? Are you saying that the blood rapes aren’t to find a cure?” he asked, his eyes screwed around the question.
Leb shook his head. “Not connected. Sorry, Pali friend, but I can say no more.”
Kavika sat back as the idea spread across what he knew of his own world like a fast moving cancer, covering it, devouring it, eating it whole. He’d always connected the two, because everyone else had. It was common knowledge. Blood rapes, monkey-backing and a cure for Minimata had all been intrinsically linked things, no matter how terrible they seemed. If this Sky Winker was to be believed, none of it was connected at all. And if the blood rapes didn’t exist to find a cure, then what were they good for? Who were they good for?
Now that he’d begun thinking about it, Kavika couldn’t get the thoughts of his mind. Knowledge is like pain. There’s only so much that can be done to conceal it. Once you have it you have it.
And Kavika had it in spades.
If only he could get rid of it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THERE’D BEEN A moment when Kaja had thought the boy lost. Then the youth had surprised everyone by dropping his best friend into the drink. The Boxers didn’t know how to take that. Then again, they weren’t used to dealing with too much outside the Freedom Ship. Neither were they familiar with the idea of someone, anyone, getting the best of them.
But as Donnie Wu often liked to say, the Boxers were a shadow of the people they’d once been. They’d named themselves ‘the Society of Righteous and Harmonious Fists’ after the Chinese who rebelled against English colonial rule in 1900, fighting for individuality and national identity. The old Pali Boy couldn’t understand how representatives of the longest surviving culture on the planet could lay at the feet of the residue of a Japanese Empire that had peaked with Samurai movies and the Kawasaki motorcycle.
But then, Donnie Wu had always been a little too proud.
Kaja shadowed the remainder of the chase. It gave him pause when the boy slid into the hold of the Sky Winkers. An odd collection of nutcases who believed that the sky promised them salvation. Kaja gave the white-hot sun a wall-eyed look. On one level he was aware of his past; that his people worshiped the sun, water, wind and volcano, each taking on an Earth-given name. But that was superstition, not science. And in this modern age, it was science which had scoured the world. The Sky Winkers claimed to have a higher knowledge, but Kaja doubted it was any higher than his own relationship with Pele, or Ivanov’s dedication to the old Roman god, Neptune.
A movement several ships over caught his attention—a man with a red bandana.
Kaja checked the package strapped to his waist, then took to the rigging, leaping and swinging until he leaned from a mast, staring down at the solitary man. He was definitely alone, as they’d arranged. About fifty and fat, his skin burned the color of a red snapper. As Kaja watched, he looked around, twitching like a bird, wiping his broad forehead. With the exception of the Sky Winkers, most people never looked up.
Kaja slid down the mast and alighted onto the deck.
The man gave an eep and backpedaled.
Kaja held up his hands. “It’s only me.”
His terrified expression faded, giving way to a sneer. “You could have warned me.”
Kaja shrugged.
“Do you have it?” The man licked his lips.
“I do.”
“Then let’s do this.”
Kaja removed the package he’d liberated from Akamu’s body. He’d known what it was immediately. He handed it to the Mga Tao, who produced a small device with a LCD screen, attached to a water-filled glass vial. He sliced open a corner of the package, removed some of the white substance with a small metal spoon and added it to the vial, then stoppered the container, shook it for a moment, and pressed a button. It only took a few moments for the results to come through. When the machine beeped, the man let out a long low whistle.
“This is some intriguing stuff.”
“So then we’re good?” Kaja asked.
The man grinned greedily. “Yeah. We’re good.” He passed Kaja a bag full of chits.
SPIKE SPUTTERED LIKE a wet cat. She stood in the middle of the morgue ship, dripping. Her dress was ruined, she’d need hours to fix her hair, and she’d broken six nails. What had that ever-loving Pali Boy been thinking? One minute she was racing beside him, the next she was taking a club to the side of the head for him, and the next he was snatching her into the air and tossing her into the sea. She had had his back. What the fuck?
She stripped off her dress and tossed it into a corner. Nothing to do but make it into rags at this point. When she got her hands on that boy, she was going to turn him inside out.
“Take this,” said her brother, tossing her a towel.
She snatched it out of mid-air, dried her hair and wrapped it up.
“He did the smart thing, you know.”
She stripped down to her underwear, and in a fit of frustration, removed that too.
Her brother’s eyes shifted away as her true form was revealed. He examined the floor for a moment, then turned around.
“The Dogs followed the action,” her brother told her. “They watched what happened and said that he probably saved you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Of course you can. Those Boxers are usually pretty well trained, though.”
“I’m trained, too. Weren’t you the one who said I was the best student you ever had?”
“I did. And you are. It’s just that I worry about you.”
“Save it.” But even as she said it, she felt her anger waning. Her brother had been both mother and father to her.
He was silent for a moment, then he cleared his throat. “Is there anything else you need?”
“No,” she snapped.
He started to walk away.
“Brother,” she whispered.
He stopped, but didn’t turn around.
“Thank you.”
Although the words were barely above a whisper, he nodded. Then he continued to the other end of the morgue, opened the door, stepped out and closed it behind him. After a moment, she heard a splash.
She shook her head. There was no way she could stay mad at her brother, not after everything he’d done to help her. But Kavika, on the other hand... him she could stay pissed off at for an age. Make him pay for it. She counted to ten as she itemized what she’d do to him if he ever returned. Several of her ideas gave her a moment’s pause.
She headed towards the back of the long room, past the bodies laid out on the slabs, and came to a stop in front of one of the wall lockers. She opened it and began picking through the clothes on the hangers, her lips pursed, her left foot tapping impatiently, eventually selecting capris and a sky blue blouse. She dressed, and found a pair of flats that suited and slipped them on.
Now to get down to serious business. A small mirror had been affixed to the door long before the plague, back when these lockers were used by boat hands out for a week of fishing. A sticker in the shape of a peace sign took up the lower half of the mirror. The upper half was clear. By moving her head around she was normally able to apply the right amount of makeup so it didn’t look like she’d escaped from the circus.
Spike began brushing at the tangles in her hair, urging her way through the knots. She’d just managed to subdue the left side of her head when she noticed something out of place in the view behind her. She should have been looking at a pair of wall lockers with a rack of shark skin hanging between them. But suddenly it looked as if the shark skin had grown a pair of legs... a woman’s legs.
Appropriate for Los Tiburones, thought Spike.
She contemplated fighting and found herself smiling and grinding her teeth. Maybe this was just what the doctor ordered.
“You can come out now.”
The other gave no response.
“Seriously. Unless sharks are able to grow human legs, you are definitely discovered, so you might as well sh
ow yourself.”
The legs shifted.
Spike’s left hand slid slowly to a length of rattan. She wrapped her hand around it and let it hang loosely against her leg.
“I don’t know what you’ve been looking for, but it’s not cool to mess with the dead.”
“Isn’t that what you Water Dogs do? Mess with the dead?” The voice came first, followed by the figure of the same girl they’d chased earlier. She wore shorts and enough material to cover her chest this time.
“We do it as a service. If you haven’t noticed, the plague didn’t leave us with much. We have to use everything we have, including the dead.”
“How philanthropic of you to do all of this for free.”
Spike wanted to scrape the smirk off the girl’s face with the end of her rattan, but she held back. “Nothing’s for free anymore. We all need to get paid.”
“I’m glad you agree. I need to be paid as well.”
“What do you need to be paid for? Someone running drugs for you?” Spike regarded the other girl’s Spanish features, a small-boned face framed by sun-bleached brown hair, and something clicked into place. “Akamu?”
“He owes me.”
“He’s dead.”
“Then someone owes me.”
“That’s not how it works.”
The Tiburón girl paused. Spike saw the frustration in the other’s eyes. Frustration, and something else.
Fear.
“You’re in trouble, aren’t you?” Spike asked, working it out as she said it. “Either the drugs weren’t yours or you owe someone who you’re afraid of. Is that right?”
“None of your business.”
Spike laughed. “It is right.”
The girl balled her hands into fists. She wore fingerless gloves with what looked like metal bands over the knuckles. She took a step forward and held her hands ready, looking like she knew exactly how to use them.
“Easy now.” Spike held up the length of rattan in her left hand and the hair brush in her right. “If that’s what you want, we can go at it. In fact, I wish you would.”
The girl stepped forward and swung lightly, testing the distance. Spike struck the tips of her fingers with the end of her brush. Just a gentle tap really, but hard enough to sting the other girl’s fingers and make her put the tips into her mouth.
“Your hair...” the girl began.
“What about my hair?” Spike felt heat burn her face and was distracted just enough so that she was unable to block the lightning fast punch that sunk into her stomach and sent the air woofing from her lungs. As she turned away, she whipped the rattan against the outside of the girl’s knee, and the girl went down. Spike has been struck in much the same way by her brother; it was like a jolt of electric bee stings. “Keep your comments to yourself.”
The girl got back to her feet slowly, and her own hair fell over much of her face. She cracked a feral grin. “Why talk about your hair when I can talk about your face?”
Spike grunted like a struck animal and attacked.
KAVIKA SWUNG ACROSS a gap between boats and hooked onto a mast line. Several boats ahead, a dozen Pali Boys played at flying. A broken antenna array made it possible for them to run along it as fast as they could and hurl themselves out, swan-diving in mid-air while they embraced the wind and left their fates to Pele, only to be yanked back by their feet as the bungees engaged. A needle buried deep in Kavika’s chest jammed itself into his heart as each Pali Boy leapt free. He found himself holding his breath as he envisioned each of them crashing to their deaths, folding into broken bones and pools of body fluids.
The part of being a Pali Boy that allowed him to travel the skyways was no problem, but the part of being a Pali Boy that made it necessary for him test fate terrified him. How was it that he could battle the Boxers and overcome his fear, yet even watching the full-time Pali Boys getting their sport on sent shivers through his spine? He knew he wasn’t a coward. He just couldn’t come to terms with the dichotomy. Was it as simple as necessity? During the battle with the Boxers, he’d had little chance to feel his fear, much less dwell upon it. He’d been forced to act or die. But this other thing, the sport of being Pali, didn’t seem as serious, accomplished as it was with hoopla and bravado to spare.
Donnie Wu had once told him that it was time that had become his enemy. The more time he had to think about it, the more terrified he became. Like the Pali Jump. They were in the middle of the summer gloom, but soon it would be swept aside and the rain would come, and with the rain, the wind. New Pali Boys would be made. No one had died or been injured in more than six years. One argument would be that the odds were in his favor because it hadn’t happened in such a long time. But a more cynical dark argument begged the question, wasn’t it about time for an accident?
And the next death?
Kavika shook his head. He hated himself for his hesitation, for the fear that grew unmanly inside of him.
“Hey, Brah. Whatchu doing up here on Pali Highway?”
Kavika snapped back to the present. While he’d been dowsing for impossible answers, the Pali Boys had come his way.
“Hey, Akani. What’s up?”
“You up. You need go get down,” said Kai, a stout Pali with arms like anchor cables.
Kavika smiled, but didn’t see it reciprocated on any of the other’s faces. Kai, Akani, Mikana, Mano, and Bane all stared back at him with a seriousness that stripped from it any semblance of brotherhood.
“Kaja told you. No Pali until you prove yourself.”
“Ha. I know, but he’ll be okay with it.” Kavika tried to will the others to smile, to return the friendship he so eagerly wanted to share, but they were as implacable as a slate grey sky.
Kai and Bane swung around behind him.
Kavika held his hands out in front of him to show that he meant no disrespect, and that he wasn’t going to try anything.
“The Boxers were after me. I was afraid they’d do the same thing to me that they did to Akamu. I had to use the highway.”
Mano shouted, “Don’t say that name, Wannabe.”
“Yeah. Don’t use his death as an excuse.” Mikana stepped in close and smacked the back of Kavika’s head. His skin burned, but he didn’t make a move. Still, he wanted to make sure they knew he wasn’t just making things up.
“No, really. I had to toss Spike into the water to save her.”
“You threw someone over?” Kai asked. “Holy Pele, Kavika. What happened to you?”
“Nothing, Kai. I’m the same as I was.”
“Then I was wrong to ever like you.”
Kai kicked him behind the legs. Kavika fell to one knee, now balanced precariously on the cable. He looked imploringly at Akani and held out his hand, but he saw no love there. It was as if he were a hoalie transgressing on the skyward turf instead of a part-time Pali Boy on a mission. He’d once seen a young blond man swinging from one of the nets. He’d seemed so thrilled with the idea of being above the city; his face was cut from ear-to-ear by a crazy smile. Then the Pali Boys found him and kicked him back to earth.
The outrage on the Pali Boys’ faces then was mimicked in the faces of his friends now. Kavika saw it coming and there was nothing he could do to stop them.
“Please—”
They fell on him, punching, kicking and gouging. Fists found his face, even as he tried to block them. A foot found his kidney and drove it into his spine. He felt a finger twist and snap. An elbow dug into his ear, rendering the world into a dull, hollow place.
Everywhere feet and fists and elbows found his soft places. The blows were too many to block. Soon he found himself swooning, the blows just too much for his body. He felt them strip him of his sharkskin forearm and palm guards. Then he felt the rubber removed from his feet.
“Only Palis need this. You’re no Pali.”
He never knew who said it. Nor did he care. He’d been transported to a universe of pain.
He felt himself lowered roughly, hand to hand
, until he was on the deck. Someone kicked him between the legs, then he was alone. No longer Pali. No longer skyward. No longer a boy who could follow in the footsteps of his father.
Alone.
He curled into a ball and lay there until he was kicked awake by a passing fire guard.
Then he slunk off into the twilight.
He heard them chattering above him, but refused to look. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. He limped and dragged himself from one boat to the other, inexorably heading towards the ships that made up his everyday life. The wind had come up with the falling sun. The coolness felt good against his skin, the only respite he’d had thus far. But where to go? He didn’t want to go back to his mother and sister. He didn’t need that sort of drama right now. He could go and see Donnie Wu, but that meant going past Pali Boy central. He could also go and see Ivanov. God knows he could use some vodka right now. What he needed first was some medical attention. His left little finger was pointed in the completely wrong direction. He couldn’t see at all from his right eye. His left ear rang like he’d swallowed an alarm clock.
He managed to make it to the morgue ship. It looked deserted. The lights inside were off. He tried the handle twice before he managed to turn it. He slouched inside, then leaned against the door, using his weight to close it. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw that everything wasn’t right. Boxes and plastic containers littered the floor, along with a body from one of the slabs. Farther down, another body lay half on, half off the slab, an elderly Chinese woman by the looks of it. Her head lolled, allowing her long gray hair to fall straight towards the floor. The knuckle of her left hand kissed the floor’s surface. Across from her one of the wall lockers leaned drunkenly into another.
Then he heard the laughter. Low, from deep in a throat, someone was laughing down at the other end of the morgue.
“Hey.”
He took a wobbly step into the room and had to reach out to the empty slab nearest him for balance. A pair of scissors large enough to cut a sail or an abdomen lay at his feet. He leaned down and grabbed them. When he stood, he swooned. Blood had shot to his head and didn’t want to leave.
