“Aye. I can do that. Fastest trike this side of the Sludge. Show me your goods first, ol’ man.”
“What’s ya name?”
“What the hell is it to you?”
“I like to know who I’m dealing with, is all.”
She flicked her hair and flared her nostrils. “Cheska.”
“Okay, Cheska.” Gabe reached into the interior pocket of his jacket and pulled out a ten-centimetre-long DigiCard with three small holes in a triangle formation at one edge.
“This card is loaded with three thousand bins. It’s yours if we move right now. If not, ya gonna have to find this kinda cash elsewhere.”
Gabe stared her down. She stepped casually from one foot to the other, weighing up her decision. While she was deciding, the man crawling on the ground holding his ribs moaned as Gabe prodded him with a boot.
Gerry turned to Petal and whispered, “What’s the deal with that guy?”
Petal cupped her hand around his ear and whispered in turn. “Last time we were here, he tried to catch Gabe in a viral net.”
“What does that do?” Gerry asked.
“Uploads malicious code direct to the cortex interface via the Meshwork. It’d put Gabe out of action for good. Look, being a Techxorcist is a precious commodity around these parts, and some nefarious hackers would rather there weren’t one for hire. You’re gonna need to learn to use that gun and protect yourself. This is the Wild West, Doc.”
“You’re a weird one, you know that?” Gerry said, smiling in spite of himself.
There was something about her, something fragile, wise. In some situations she reminded him of his eldest daughter, or his wife when he first met her. He pushed the thought away, not wanting to go there just yet. It was too raw. The tension was high enough already without him reminiscing.
Everyone waited in silence for the sword-woman to make up her mind.
She looked down at the writhing man. His skin was caked with red-brown dust. With a single stab, she drove the sword through his neck, slicing his carotid artery. Blood spurted a few feet in the air and covered her chest and shoulders. She turned to the stunned onlookers. “This is my operation now, you understand?”
To a woman and man, they nodded.
“Good,” she said with a smirk. “I hated that piece of filth anyway, with his greasy little grabby hands and bent cock. You’ve done me a bit of a favour there, ol’ man. You lot, come with me. You’ve got some cash to deliver, and I know where Bilanko’s holing up. I’ll warn you now. She ain’t in no good mood. Damned drones been attacking all weekend long.”
“Drones?” Gerry asked.
Cheska stepped to the side of Gabe and regarded Gerry with a ‘who the hell are you’ look.
“Got yourselves a new baby?”
“Mind your own damned business,” Petal replied as she stepped forward, shoulders wide, legs planted.
Cheska laughed, turned her back, and beckoned them to follow.
Petal turned to Gerry.
“City Earth occasionally sends out UAV drones to keep places like these under control. Like flocks of birds, but with hi-res cameras, integrated VPNs, and weaponry.”
“What kind of weaponry?” Gerry scanned the dark skyline, expecting to see dark assassins flitting between the clouds.
“Lasers, particle beams, graphene-tipped ammunition… there’s a bunch of different models.”
Gerry shook his head. “Great. This place just gets better and better.”
Gabe sat with Cheska in her vehicle. He turned to regard Petal. “Okay to drive you and Gez?”
“Sure,” she said, grabbing Gerry’s hand and pulling him to the now-vacant buggy.
Gerry hopped in and sat next to Petal as she took the wheel and stomped the throttle. The vehicle lurched forward with a roar of internal combustion, sending a plume of red dust in its wake. Gerry whooped and laughed at the madness of the situation. He felt free and alive, and for a brief moment he forgot who he was. But with all things that are forgotten, the memories have a habit of coming back.
His family, his life, his job—everything gone. But for that short moment it didn’t matter.
The journey to the ramshackle town lasted just a few minutes as they powered on through the scrap metal gates. Following the lead of the woman, Petal pulled the buggy up at a slightly less battered building with a sign on the front: The Spider’s Byte.
The leader of the gang jumped off her trike and strode towards the door. Gabe followed.
She whispered something, and Gabe passed her the card.
“Okay, suckers, Bilanko’s in the back room. Good luck. I hope you come out alive. Mama always needs more bins.” She winked at Gabe and headed off.
Gabe looked at Gerry. “Arm up, man. This place is volatile.”
***
The bar’s palpable darkness shrouded the three of them as they entered the building. The bright, dry atmosphere of the desertlike exterior seemed so far away now, as if in another dimension altogether. Gerry didn’t know what the rules were here. Didn’t know if physics were the same. What was the right etiquette? A feeling of being on that razor’s edge of doing or saying something extremely dumb overwhelmed him entirely.
“What are we looking for, exactly?” Gerry said to Gabe, trying to calm his nerves.
“Bilanko, of course. You don’t listen very well, do ya, man?”
“I know that. I mean, what or who is she? I can’t see anything in here.”
“Just chill ya bones, man. Take it easy and follow my lead.”
To see Gabe and Petal shrink into themselves, become as non-threatening as possible, wasn’t a sign that this place was a safe haven filled with people full of bon vivant and good intentions.
Beady, glowing eyes emerged from the gloom and struck Gerry in a series of non-blinking stares. The people to whom these augmented eyes belonged stayed deep in the shadows of their upholstered cubicles. Shot glasses of neon blue liquids littered their round metal tables.
Wheeze, clank, wheeze, clank.
The sound of a hundred shadowy patrons shooting their drinks and slamming the glasses to the table in unison created a kind of death march. Not one voice. Not one greeting. Even the bartender stood motionless with a filthy rag in one hand and a curved dagger in the other—laid casually on the rusted metal bar top as if to say, ‘Here’s my knife. It’s in its happy place right now, but it won’t hesitate to cut you.’
Gerry felt around his belt and found the comforting cold steel of his revolver. How quickly he’d grown to rely on it. Looking at these augments, he wondered whether he’d even be able to fire off a single round before they would jump and slice him. Who knew what other modifications these people had? Were they even people? It was hard to tell when all you could see were gloved hands gripping shot glasses and glowing amber and red eyes.
Below the bar floor a deep bass wave rumbled. It continued to build until it formed a pulsating rhythm right up into Gerry’s guts. It gathered speed, beating quicker and quicker. His own heart’s racing beat had now been outpaced, and then, to accompany the bass line, a synth wave wailed through the tense atmosphere.
Then the pounding of drums.
And just like that, the people were smiling, nodding their heads to the rhythm, shooting their shots, surrounding the bar, and ordering more of whatever it was they were drinking.
Gerry let go of his gun, dropped his shoulders, and breathed out the tension. They weren’t so important after all. Gabe and Petal led him through the throng of animated revellers.
The dancing crowd were dressed mostly in a matching uniform of sorts: black leather jackets, jeans, biker boots. Real old fashioned, like those his parents wore before all the new synthetic materials replaced denim and cotton. Many of them wore their hair like Petal’s: bright pinks, greens, blues. A range of Mohicans, spikes and straggly mop-tops.
A group of eight women wearing tight, reflective trousers and pin-sharp stiletto boots stood by the cubicles and booths, assessing,
recording, observing. Gerry recognised the serious and deadly body language of security. Though he saw no visible weapons, he was in no doubt they would be more than capable of handling themselves.
One in particular had eyeballed him as soon as the party got started. Her blazing white eyes reflected off her chromed headpiece. She looked like a piece of modern art, a sculpture. Only her long-nailed fingers tapping against her hip made her seem alive—and dangerous.
Gerry pulled his vision from her and concentrated on following Gabe and Petal through the crowd. Eventually, in spite of the tension, he found himself smiling as the music started to carry him away. Petal had already given into it. She was jumping and pogoing her way through the traffic of people. Smiling at one person, shying away from the attentions of another. Like the moving centre of a vortex, Gerry and Gabe were caught in her wake. There was something fascinating about her. He’d realised this the minute he saw her, and it seemed these people realised it too. She had a gravity of her own.
They finally reached the bar after wriggling through rows of eager patrons.
Gabe called over the bartender and shouted over the pounding music into her ear. Gerry guessed it was an ear. It was metallic and round with a series of holes perforating its surface. Gerry realised then that she, or it, wasn’t human. Initially it was hard to tell with all the augmentations and androgynous hairstyle and fashion. She wore a scar above and below one cybernetic eye. Probably the wound from the scar was the reason, but looking around at the others, it seemed a popular upgrade. Given the darkness of the bar and the ease with which they moved, he guessed it gave them some kind of infravision.
The bartender nodded and lifted the bar top. She ushered them through the bar and led them down a tight set of steps. No one said a word. The desire to speak played on his lips, threatening to break the tension. He managed to hold it in, distracted by the hissing noises coming from further down the stairs.
The three of them, plus the bartender, stopped midway on the steps. Below them: impenetrable blackness. Above them: a glimmer of grey light, which was soon snuffed out as the door closed.
Gerry couldn’t even see his hand in front of his eyes. He instinctively thrust his arms out to the side and touched the clammy stone walls. He breathed slowly, trying to overcome the feeling of falling.
“Follow,” the bartender said. Its footsteps rang out as metal-heeled shoes clanged against the stone steps.
Gerry, at the back of the pack, reached out with his hand and felt the tall spikes of Petal’s Mohican. He traced his hand down until he felt her shoulder. Petal placed her hand on his softly. “Take it easy, Gez. We don’t want you tumbling down on top of us all.”
“Would it kill anyone to bring a torch or install a light?”
“Bilanko’s place, Bilanko’s rules,” the bartender said, its voice as neutral as its appearance: neither deep nor high, neither passive nor aggressive. Must be an animated AI of some sortGerry thought. He’d only ever seen these outside of the City. First the border guard and now this one, assuming he was correct. It made him wonder how many people inside the city were real humans and how many were AI entities: was his wife real? His kids? His colleagues?
And then a thought that sent a shiver up his spine: was he human? Lost in these thoughts, Gerry stumbled down the last step and fell into Petal and Gabe.
“Easy, man. Get ya shit sorted. This ain’t a place for screwin’ about,” Gabe warned in a hushed reverent tone.
A low beep sounded, followed by the whoosh of a hydraulic mechanism. A door slid into the wall. Low, green, glowing light lit up the narrow hallway where they stood. The rhythmic hissing noise grew louder. It was coming from within the room.
A garbled, digitised voice called out, “I sense fresh meat. Bring me the meat.”
The bartender grabbed Gerry by the shoulders and shoved him into the room.
Chapter 9
Gerry stumbled into near total darkness. Only the glint of something metallic, in the far corner some five metres away, stood out from the gloom.
Petal and Gabe shuffled in after him. Petal’s goggles glowed red like deep-sea phosphorescent creatures. They bobbed and swayed, taking in the room. Could she see in the dark with those weird eyes? Gerry wanted to ask, but there was an unspoken expectation of silence that was as tangible as any spoken order.
Petal took his hand in hers. Hot sweat covered her skin, and she gripped him tight. Even so, he still felt the tremble as she shook. This did not help assuage Gerry’s growing unease.
It was like the night of his youngest daughter’s birth. There were complications that night. The labour was drawn out way beyond the norm. Doctors and nurses gave him ‘the speech’ every few hours. It’s a complicated procedure. She’s doing well. Stay calm and wait. She’ll be fine.
They were wrong. For hours Gerry stood outside the ward, trembling with fear that his daughter wouldn’t make it—that his wife wouldn’t make it. Then, two days later, Gerry hadn’t slept a wink, the doctor finally delivered his baby daughter. She was fifty percent underweight with cranial damage, which affected her brain. Even with the advanced stem cell and NanoSurgeon technology, Marcy still had learning difficulties. For some reason his wife had blamed him. Wanted him to have done more. What more could he have done?
Standing in this dark room, with a girl trembling in his hand, he waited, trying to prevent the dread from overcoming him completely.
A digitised voice with clipped vowels spoke. It sounded as if it came from a surround-sound speaker setup. Gerry couldn’t tell from which part of the room it originated. It only aided in his disorientation. It was like being on a boat in the middle of an ocean on a starless night. He only knew this from his experimentation at the VR labs. The sensations were accurate, however. So much so his legs grew heavy and dizziness swirled in his head.
“Ah, Gabriel and his pet. Or should I say pets? No matter, I know why you’re here. Mr Cardle, isn’t it?” The voice didn’t give Gerry time to confirm. “You’re quite an interesting one. Why don’t you come closer so I can get a proper look at you? Observing from digital means is never quite the same as real life. One cannot get the measure of a man made from bits and pixels no matter the resolution.”
Ten metres into the far left corner a pale cone of light illuminated an amorphous black… thing. It was like the bulbous tube of a carnivorous plant, sagging into a writhing sac. From its roundness, tubes and cables extended out like a web into a square metal frame. On the frame were a series of CPU racks, hologram terminal projectors, and what resembled respiratory aids—clear tubes of air containing a rising and falling diaphragm. The thing made an audible sucking and wheezing sound as the orange diaphragm made its rhythmic repetitions.
Eventually, Gerry found its head. A nub of burnt flesh partly made from chrome and flashing LEDs. A graphite grill covered its mouth area.
“I won’t ask you twice, Mr Cardle.” It wheezed again.
Gerry looked at Gabe, who just nodded his head. Petal still gripped his hand. As he stepped forward, she reluctantly let him go. He looked back. Her goggles were opaque, mirrored like her face. He couldn’t read her expression.
As Gerry approached the cyborg thing, it reached out with an articulated claw and grabbed him around the waist, pulling him in close. It smelt of smoke and oil. Its burnt flesh was glossy, clammy. He wasn’t sure if it was sweat or a cooling liquid. Perspiration beaded on Gerry’s neck and face from both the temperature of the room and the tension of the situation.
“I’m Bilanko Barnabas, the queen of these parts, and you owe me a tithe, Mr Cardle.”
Bilanko’s head bobbed just inches from Gerry’s face. The gelatinous folds of flab wobbled as she spoke.
“I don’t know you. I owe you nothing.” His voice cracked, losing any authority.
“You’re not in Cemprom now. We have a different hierarchy here: the hierarchy of information and intelligence, and in that world I’m queen. If you wish to exist here, you honour me. There
is no alternative. Well, no alternative where you keep your head and body in the same plane.” The claw around his waist tightened, forcing the breath from his lungs, crushing his organs. It relented as Bilanko leaned her head so close their noses almost touched.
“What… do you… want from me?” Gerry said between gasps.
“Information. I always want information, Mr Cardle. It’s the currency on which this world runs. Intel is the oil that lubricates the gears of society. Those most informed are revered, and it’s my business to ensure that I remain top of the pile. Open your mind to me, Mr Cardle, and give me what you know. Then perhaps I’ll grant little Petal over there access to Old Grey, because I know that’s why you’re here.”
“How—”
“Intel is my reason to live. There’re few things around these parts that I’m not privy to. Messy work at the gate, by the way. You three are such amateurs.” Bilanko’s face scrunched at the edges as if she were smiling behind that device over her mouth.
“Fine. Let Petal do her thing first; then you can snoop around.”
“Bless. It’s quite sweet of you to think you can dictate terms. Still, I’ll grant this. I like Petal, she always brings us something… interesting to study, and I can see she’s carrying something different than usual. Old Grey will be most intrigued with her gifts.”
A door on the opposite wall opened. A fog of moisture billowed out in thick clouds. Petal ran towards it. Gabe followed, but was halted by the bartender.
“Gabriel, please wait for us upstairs. I wish to deal with Mr Cardle in private. Ecko here will keep you company.”
The bartender grabbed Gabriel by the collar with one hand, dangled its wicked dagger in the other, and led Gabe back out of the room and up the stairs.
“You harm him in any way—”
“You’re in no position to drop threats, old man.”
Ecko yanked Gabe away so hard that he lost his balance, but Ecko just dragged him across the floor and out of the room. The door slid closed behind him, as did the door that Petal had run through.
Code Breakers: Alpha Page 7
