I picked up the whisky. “I’m listening.”
“There was an incident last night. A regrettable incident.”
“You mean this?” I gestured at Marco ineffectually pushing his mop around the bloody floor.
“Oh no. That was something else. This concerns one of my rats.”
“One of your fighting rats?”
“Indeed. You understand the confidence I have in you that I feel I can share such information.”
“The honour of your confidence is overwhelming.”
Despite the obvious attractions of Madam Choi’s establishment her real profits came from gambling. Dice, roulette, Mah Jong, cards and above all rat fights. Strictly illegal due to the obvious (and disturbing) intelligence displayed by Slab rats, being more physically and mentally developed than their Earthly cousins. They’re about the size of a family dog with problem solving abilities on a par with dolphins. So it seems a little inhumane to force them to fight to the death in a backroom arena. No-one knows what the rats think about it. For all we know, with their enhanced IQ, they might see it as an intellectual challenge.
“Someone doping the competitors again?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Someone has stolen my champion.”
“The Emperor?”
“Exactly.”
The Emperor was a legend in rat fighting circles. Big as a pit-bull, fox cunning and cobra fast. Victor of a thousand fights, eventually the odds on him had dropped to nothing so Madam Choi was forced to give him early retirement.
“Thought he was out to stud.”
“He was. However, recently a consortium approached me with a highly profitable offer. They had a rat truly worthy to contest with the Emperor. It was a great opportunity. We held the bout in the old ore processing works on Yang Three where the gravity is lighter. It makes for a more interesting contest. Select patrons only, drinks, Bliss and Blues on the house and ring-side betting at even money. It would have been a profitable night if that Splice had not turned up.”
“Splice?”
“Big species. Predator. Bear maybe.”
“You couldn’t tell?”
“He was wearing a cowl, as they often do when they venture away from Spliceville. He came out of nowhere just as things were reaching a climax. Poor old Emperor was out of condition, he put up a valiant fight, but his end was surely coming. Then the Splice jumped into the ring, pulled the competitor off and picked up the Emperor. I expected him to be torn to shreds but a strange thing happened, the Emperor just curled up in his arms, like a child.”
“I take it you didn’t just let him walk out.”
“Indeed not. My associates tried to stop him but he was very quick and skilful. He scarred several of them quite badly, but he seemed careful not to kill anyone.”
“Scarred? So he had claws?”
“Oh yes. Also, his fur, it was red.”
“When was this?”
“Two nights ago. If the Emperor can be returned to me I would be very grateful. There is a substantial finder’s fee.”
I ignored that. She knew she couldn’t buy me and must’ve been desperate to try it. “I’ll see what I can do. But in exchange I want some information.”
“Of course. You wish to know about the Black Lotus who was killed on Yang Thirteen.”
“Word gets around.”
“I know little except that he was hired from Downside. A very big contract. He was a Dai Wei of the Red Sun Circle, a Vietnamese affiliate.”
“You think the Vics have some stake in this?”
“They have a stake in most things.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed.”
*
I went to see Consuela after leaving Madam Choi’s. The beach this time. The settings were her choice and the immersion software had a pretty big library. Somehow though, we always seemed to end up in the forest or on the beach. She sat watching the evening tide roll in while the sun dipped into the horizon. She had probably been watching the sunset all day.
“How was father?” she asked as I sank onto the sand next to her.
“Been speaking to Freak again?”
“He likes to have someone to confide in?”
“It.”
“What?”
“You said he. Freak doesn’t have a gender.”
“I suppose that depends on your point of view.”
“Your father is well. He sends his love.”
“No he doesn’t. He thinks I’m dead. And he’s right.”
“Con, please…”
“It’s OK, I’m tired of the argument. You never listen. And why should you? I’m just a ghost after all.”
“You’re not a ghost, you’re my wife. If you can just hang on. A few more years. They’re coming up with new treatments all the time…”
“When, Alex? A year? Ten? Twenty? A couple of centuries maybe? And will you still be waiting for me? This place, these dreams I live in…” She scooped up a handful of sand, opening her fingers to let the grains drift away in the wind. “Perfect, no glitches, no clues, nothing to tell me it’s not real. But I feel it, I know it in my soul. This isn’t paradise, this isn’t heaven. This is a prison where you keep the ghost of your dead wife. And the worst thing is I’m not haunting you, you’re haunting me.”
My smart started bleating. I shut it off and threw it into the sea.
“You better answer that,” she said. “Someone still breathing might need your help.”
*
It was Sherry. “Alex, we’ve got trouble. Two suits from CAOS Federal Security just left my office with everything we’ve got on the Black Lotus. They also purged the mainframe of all pertinent data and we’ve got a signed order from Chief Arnaud to desist from further investigation.”
“And those are your instructions to me?”
“Why else would I be calling?”
“Very well. I hereby acknowledge your instructions to desist from investigation into the Black Lotus case.”
I signed off, hit the encryption icon on the touch screen and tuned to the private channel where she was waiting. “What can you tell me?”
“Not much. The ampoule we got off the body, Ricci says it’s not poison, quite the opposite.”
“An antidote?”
“Cardeferon, they use it to treat heart defects.”
“Did the Shuriken have heart trouble?”
“Ricci says no. Look this is bad news, Alex. This whole thing. If you want to drop it…”
I sounded off and called Colonel Riviere. “I want to see Freak.”
*
Freak is the mother of all enigmas, the daddy of all Splices and most humane individual alive. I could’ve spoken to Freak over the smart but s/he prefers the personal touch.
Freak lives in a big pod at the centre of the Axis, myriad tentacles jacked in to every system on the Slab, reading every smart transmission, financial transaction and data entry. Omnipotence personified, Freak is a cyber-god. Colonel Riviere never told me where he found Freak. There are rumours about a raid on an orbiting Russian research lab but no-one knows for sure. Where ever s/he came from Freak was our salvation. Once he managed to establish communication with his discovery Riviere persuaded it to tap into the UN Orbital Intervention Force mainframe and download the security overrides that made the Langley raid possible.
Two hundred of us fanatical freedom fighters dropped on CIA HQ, fought our way into the communications centre, downloaded every byte they had and shot it to Freak in a concentrated data-squirt. Freak had it all decrypted and distributed within five seconds of transmission: troop dispositions, battle plans for the next twelve months, even the keys to every code they used. A month later the UNOIF was on its knees and our glorious leader was sitting at a conference table with the Secretary General discussing terms for the formal recognition of CAOS. The rest is a history lesson. As for the brave two hundred, me and Consuela were two of the six who made it out.
If you want to know what Freak looks like I can�
��t tell you for sure, s/he’s so enmeshed in the machinery now it’s difficult not to think of a giant squid in collision with a computer factory.
“Alex,” Freak’s soft, androgynous tones echoing from the multiple speakers as I floated in. “Nice to see you. I visited with Consuela earlier.”
“So I gather.”
“Ah, our intimacy angers you. You are envious that she finds companionship with a monster…”
“Freak.”
“…when she constantly rages at you for keeping her alive. But she is so lonely–”
“Freak! This is official business. I need your help.”
Something stirred wetly in the wall of flesh and circuitry, folds parted to reveal an eye the size of a basketball, iris contracting as it found the focus. “How handsome you are. I’m surprised Consuela prefers you ugly.”
“Ugly is who I am.”
Freak is fickle. God-hood will do that to you, I guess. Omnipotence makes everything clear, every action and reaction. Positive acts have negative consequences and vice versa. So Freak will help or s/he won’t, and an explanation is never forthcoming either way.
The eye closed. “What can I do for you?”
“Is Tyger Joe on the Slab?”
“Yes. He arrived four days ago on a freighter from the Texan Republic and has been hiding out in Spliceville.”
“So he killed the Black Lotus?”
“Yes.”
“And stole Madam Choi’s rat?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He killed the Black Lotus because he had been hired to keep him alive. I have no idea why he stole the rat.”
“The Black Lotus was hired to keep him alive?”
“Yes. The ampoule Dr Ricci recovered contains a drug used to control heart defects. Tyger Joe’s heart was surgically weakened when he signed his contract with MEC. He must receive regular doses of cardeferon or he will succumb to myocardial infarction. MEC sees this as an incentive to loyalty. I assume the Black Lotus tried to inject Joe with the drug and died in the attempt. This would indicate an eagerness on MEC’s part to retrieve their champion. He’s worth over six billion in Universal Accreditation after all.”
“How close are they?”
“They lost him at Madam Choi’s rat contest.”
“How long before his heart gives out?”
“Assuming he doesn’t have a cardeferon supply of his own, about fourteen hours.”
“What’s he doing here, Freak? Seems a long way to come just to steal a rat and have a heart attack.”
“The Slab is currently home to ex-Doctor Mariel Janus, one time Nobel laureate who pioneered accelerated de-Splicing techniques before losing her licence after several patients died during treatment. As you know, de-Splicing is a lengthy and expensive process, taking several months. Dr Janus’s technique enables a subject to become fully human in a matter of hours. I have information that she is continuing to perform the procedure, quite illegally of course, and at an inflated price.”
“MEC know about her?”
“Oh yes. Of the forty MEC operatives on the Slab, twelve are engaged in surveillance of you. The remainder are attempting to locate Dr Janus. I estimate they will find her within eleven hours.”
“I don’t get it. Joe’s the best, that Puma guy won’t even scratch him. They treat him like a god. Why throw it all away?”
Something shifted in the wall of flesh, some small spasm of discomfort. “Do you remember the time before the war, Alex? Do you remember what it was to be a slave?”
Memories clouding - pain and fear and hate. I shook them away. “Yeah, I remember.”
“I too was once a slave, as Tyger Joe is a slave. What do all slaves dream of?”
I pulled my gun from its holster, a standard issue Sig 4mm, checked the magazine and made sure I had my spares. “Twelve, huh?”
“Yes. Comms indicate they’re getting desperate and will use extreme measures. MEC has already offered me a large sum to provide information. Naturally I refused.”
“Well they don’t know you like we do. I’ll need you to jack into the security net and do the tactical. Like Langley, remember?”
“Of course.”
“So where do I find this Dr Janus?”
*
Quad Gamma of Yang Fifteen is mostly deserted in the early evening when the devout neo-Catholic locals troop off to mass leaving a perfect shoot-out set.
“Ready?” Freak via the smart’s earpiece.
I reached into my jacket, gripped the Sig. “Yup.”
“Targets one, two and three directly behind you. One: red shirt. Two: blue raincoat. Three: suit and tie. Be advised: Jeds in the area.”
“Got it.”
I stopped abruptly and turned. They were good, barely a flicker. Red Shirt just kept walking. Blue Raincoat and Suit veered off to the right. They’d walk on by and let their colleagues take over the tail.
There was a time when policemen had to give a warning before they shot someone, which is a pretty good idea when you think about it, ethically speaking.
I put the Sig’s laser-dot over Red Shirt’s throat and pulled the trigger. A pre-programmed ten shot burst of 4mm caseless is usually pretty messy and Red Shirt was no exception. His head stayed on though, which is unusual.
The few Jeds on the street vanished like ghosts. No screams or panic. Fucking Demons, shooting people again…
I caught Blue Raincoat with the second burst and swept Suit into a shop window with the third.
Freak in my ear: “Four at three o’clock. Reading weapons: H&K Mark Six tazers. They want you alive, Alex.”
I took cover behind a newsstand, firing as they rounded the corner. I could tell they were professionals by the way they didn’t bother to pull their wounded into cover.
“Three more on the rear flank.”
Pivot and fire, Sig’s inhibited recoil feeling like a dentist’s drill, making them dance and spin and fall, provoking a fierce blaze of war nostalgia.
“On the grocery roof, six o’clock.”
Drop, tazer dart shatters on the pavement, pivot and fire, sniper spinning on the roof. Magazine fires empty and ejects. Slam in a new one. Scan for targets. Bodies, some wounded moaning, dropped weapons, and blood of course. Hey, even a sad sack like me is good at something.
“Freak?”
“That’s it.”
“You said twelve. I count eleven.”
“There’s nothing on the scope. You better get moving.”
I ran to the Pipe and took the Grey line for the Extremity.
*
I checked my watch: 2030. Joe had about ten more hours before his heart went bust.
“Alex, I’m reading an encrypted transmission from the Extremity to MEC Orbiting HQ on St Rowan. Running decryption now… It’s tough stuff, very expensive work.”
“Let me guess. She’s selling him out.”
“Decryption complete. I’ll patch you in.”
A click then a woman’s voice, educated Downside vowels grating on my underclass ear: “-uarantee my reinstatement with the UN Medical Ethics Committee?”
Male voice, not so educated: “Our Chairman plays golf with the Secretary General, Doctor. He’s a very compassionate individual, and a Christian. He knows the value of forgiveness.”
“Well, what I have is also very valuable.”
“You have my personal assurance. And if you check your Zurich account you’ll find a substantial gesture of good faith.”
A pause as Janus checked her smart. “I see.” Her voice was actually quivering. “I am now transmitting the whereabouts of the item.”
“Get me there, Freak,” I said.
“Clear the carriage.”
I looked around. Four Jeds, a couple of them too Blissed to care either way, but Freak has this morality problem. I waited until we pulled into Yang Twenty then showed them the Sig. Had to slap the Blissfuls around a little before they followed the others onto the platform.
&
nbsp; “OK.”
“Hold tight.”
A lurch as Freak diverted the carriage from the main line to one of the rapid access tunnels. The Pipe main lines run around and through the Slab in gravity-change friendly spirals but the techs need to move around the system quickly hence the vertical tunnels intersecting the network. First time I used one I found out the true meaning of free-fall. I gripped the nearest hand-hold with both fists and braced myself against the wall, mentally saying goodbye to my lunch.
“You’re not going to scream again, are you?”
“Let’s go!”
The floor tilted, my guts tried to wrap themselves round my spine and I screamed. I couldn’t help it.
*
The Yin Extremity is a symphony of architectural elegance and a wonder of engineering where dolphins play in shimmering pools and young lovers stroll the tiered forests hand in hand beneath a square mile of pre-tensile glass revealing an endless canvas of stars.
The Yang Extremity is equally spectacular but it’s also a garbage dump. There are mountains of the stuff, all the stinking, unrecyclable crap we’re not allowed to flush into space any more. A few years ago several tons of junk collected into a ball and failed to burn up on entry, leaving a pretty big crater in Toronto.
Unsurprisingly, the Extremity is one of the places Demons generally avoid which makes it an attractive locale for Slab fugitives. They’re grouped together in three unhappy, constantly feuding shanty towns called Faith, Hope and Charity. Whoever said criminals have no gift for irony? If you thought Yang-side was bad you should take a walk down here, just don’t expect it to be a long one.
Freak guided me from the Pipe exit, through the foothills, stumbling over non-biodegradable shit and keeping a wary eye out for an opportunist with a crossbow. Janus’s place was an aluminium hab-pod surrounded by razor wire, floodlights and automated mini-guns. “How the hell do I get in there?”
“I’ve already cut the power. Left the lights on to keep the locals away.”
There were a few corpses in advanced stages of decomposition littering the no-man’s land between the hills and the pod, testament to the fact that Extremists took a long time to learn some obvious lessons.
The outer gate was on an electronic seal and swung open at the first touch. “How many inside?”
Slab City Blues - The Collected Stories: All Five Stories in One Volume Page 2
