by J. J. Green
“You want something?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied Jas, “we have some stuff to sell.” When the young man’s face hardened and his hand went to side, Jas continued, “Not the same stuff you sell. Do you know anyone who might be interested in buying some military supplies?”
His hand left his side, and his expression relaxed. “No, I don’t,” he said, but his gaze fell to the bag Jas carried.
“You sure, mate?” Carl asked. “If you do know someone, they might be disappointed not to see what we’ve got. What if we were to go over to the next neighborhood and do our business there? Whoever’s in charge round here won’t like it if the opposition get hold of what’s in that bag.”
The girl clinging to the ringleader hooded her eyes as she looked up into the face of her idol. She was about fourteen years old, Sayen guessed, though her face was heavily made up. The artificial coloring looked like crayon on her youthful skin. Sayen mused that she’d been learning to speak French and play badminton when she was fourteen.
The ringleader made up his mind. He shrugged and turned away. Picking up the girl under her arms, he lifted her to his lips. She squealed in excitement as he kissed her, and the rest of the gang laughed.
When it became clear that he was intent on ignoring them, Jas and the others turned and left, but they hadn’t gone far before Jas spun around, her weapon out. The teenagers had followed and were right behind them. The gang rushed forward.
Beams shot out from Jas’ gun, and she hit all of them but the ringleader. He was also holding a weapon, but he didn’t get a chance to fire a single shot. The color drained from his face as he stared at Jas.
“I only stunned your friends,” Jas said. “I don’t like hurting people. But I can make an exception for you.”
After a moment of internal struggle, the teenager’s stare wavered, and he lowered his weapon. “I’ll take you to Erielle.”
He led them along the street and down a narrow alley. It was windowless, and the blank brick walls rose five or six stories high on either side. Only a few old doors broke the monotonous facade. To Sayen, it looked like something out of an antique black-and-white movie. She glanced over her shoulder to the alley entrance. The figures of the street gang were silhouettes. She hoped Jas knew what she was doing.
They arrived at a plain door covered with peeling, cracked paint. The young man knocked in a specific pattern, and the door opened. After a brief exchange with two men, they stepped out and one moved toward Jas with his hands raised, ready to pat her down.
“No,” Jas said. “We’re not giving up our weapons, and we’re not coming inside. Your friend Erielle can come out here if she wants to do business.”
“Forget it,” said the man, waving dismissively. “Run away and play.”
“Wait,” Jas said. “I think I have something to interest you.” With her free hand she reached into the bag and pulled out a device the size of her fist. “I estimate that this would take the whole building down, with your precious Erielle inside. But I’m not sure. Do you think I should find out?” She flipped open the casing with a thumb.
“Woah, geez, lady,” exclaimed the man, throwing up his hands. “We’ll be back in a minute.” He and the other guard went inside. The teenager who had brought them quickly left.
They waited for several minutes, until Sayen was beginning to worry that Jas really would blow the place up. But then the door opened and a woman stepped out. She was about early forties and lean, but well-defined muscles lined her arms and neck. A scar scored her cheek and ran down to her chest, and Sayen couldn’t help but gasp a little at the sight of it. She rarely saw any form of physical abnormality.
She couldn’t understand why the woman didn’t get the scar fixed. Cosmetic surgery didn’t cost a lot, and you could get it for free if you let students use you for practice.
Her sharp intake of breath had attracted Erielle’s attention. Sayen fought to smooth away the expression of disgust on her face, but she wasn’t fast enough. The woman had caught sight of it, and in response, she looked from Sayen’s toes to her head, finishing with a gaze of pure loathing directly into her eyes.
Then the silent encounter was over, and Erielle turned her attention to Jas and the device in her hand. Her anger seemed to dissipate into mild surprise, as if she hadn’t quite believed that someone was really in her alley threatening to blow the place up if she didn’t come out. But Erielle was more bemused than frightened. She leaned against the alley wall, her arms folded over her chest. She was wearing baggy, dark pants and a loose tank top over bare breasts.
Still saying nothing, Erielle scrutinised each of them each in turn except for Sayen, who now merited barely a second glance. The woman had clearly made up her mind about her character. As Erielle looked at the others, Sayen could almost see the cogs of her mind turning.
“Are you interested in what we have to sell or not?” Jas asked. “We don’t have all day, and we won’t have trouble finding another buyer.”
“You’re a Martian, right?” Erielle asked. “The height and the coloring.”
Jas replied, “We aren’t here for small—”
“And you—you’re Australian,” said Erielle to Carl. “But you,” she said, turning to Makey, “you, I can’t place, unless—”
“Let’s go,” Jas said to Sayen and the others.
“Okay, okay,” Erielle said. “Calm down. Come inside, and we’ll talk.” When Jas hesitated, she added, “You can keep your weapons.”
Chapter Six
Erielle lived in what Sayen could only describe as a 'natural’ house. From the human doorkeepers to the underworlder’s rooms on the top floor, it seemed to have no modern appliances. No elevator—they had to climb five floors—no interfaces on the walls, no aircon, no control panels; in fact, Sayen wasn’t even sure if the place had an electricity supply until they reached their destination and she saw the lighting.
Erielle led them into a large room on the top floor. Unlike the rest of the place, the room looked relatively comfortable. A rug covered the bare boards, and worn, thick, and soft floor cushions were piled here and there next to low tables. The walls looked like they’d been painted by hand, each a different bright color. Simple wooden cupboards had been decorated with intricate, multi-colored designs.
“Sit down,” Erielle said, nodding toward a corner. “You look hungry. I’ll get you something to eat.”
They did as she invited, and she went to the door and bellowed, “Sark, food,” before closing it and joining them. She sat cross-legged opposite the group across one of the tables.
Jas was looking annoyed. “We’re only here to do business. I want to know how much you’ll give us for what we have. Let me show you.”
“She doesn’t beat around the bush, does she?” Erielle said to Carl and Makey, though for all the attention she paid Sayen, she didn’t exist. When the men didn’t answer her, she turned to Jas. “All right, show me.”
Jas took out the contents of her bag piece by piece and placed them carefully on the table. Erielle’s eyebrows rose when Jas produced the invisibility spray. The woman’s carefully constructed mask of indulgent tolerance fell for a moment, and a look of excitement leaked through.
When Jas had emptied the bag, Erielle sat back. “I can’t deny it. That’s quite an impressive haul.”
The door opened and a woman entered, pushing the door with her back as her arms were occupied with holding a large tray stacked with dishes.
Jas began returning the equipment to her bag, and in the space she cleared on the table, the woman placed the tray. Sayen felt like her stomach was going to climb up out of her throat to get something to eat.
“We aren’t here to eat,” Jas said. Sayen’s stomach squirmed in disappointment. “Tell me how much you’ll give us for our stuff.”
“You don’t trust me? You think I poisoned the food?” asked Erielle. “I’m hurt. Truly.” She picked up a handful of rice and beans and pushed it in her mouth.
<
br /> Sayen thought she heard Makey whimper with hunger.
“I bet the kid could eat something,” Erielle said, her mouth full. “Couldn’t you, hun?” She swallowed and took a bite from a piece of bread.
Makey’s eyes reminded Sayen of her catdog—a genetically designed begging machine.
Jas sighed. “Oh, okay. Eat, everyone.”
No one needed telling twice. Sayen leaned over to the table and helped herself. She’d eaten the rarest foods prepared by the world’s top chefs in the fanciest restaurants, but nothing compared to the pleasure of eating at the underworlder’s hangout that afternoon after two days of nothing but water.
While she and the others ate, Jas and Erielle negotiated the sale of the military items. Jas sneaked the odd piece of bread dipped in stew, and one or two leaf-wrapped parcels of spiced rice as they talked. The discussion took some time. Erielle had guessed that they were new to the underworld. As her talk with Jas spread to wider things, she filled them in on useful information about her society, such as the major forms of currency underworlders used to trade with when they had no creds to buy goods in shops.
A mild narcotic called kratom was most often used where a straight barter of goods wouldn’t work, Erielle told them. She explained that the amount of food they were eating cost about twenty-five grams of kratom. An hour with someone whose main asset was their body cost about the same. Erielle paid her guards fifty grams of kratom a day, she said, but their bed and board were free.
Clothes and consumer products were mostly stolen, she told them without a shred of shame. Some underworld societies existed out of town, where a few crops were grown—mostly kratom. Electricity was 'diverted’ from the main supply. Sayen strongly suspected that Erielle had a hand in many of the activities that kept her society running.
If you were an underworlder, Erielle explained, living there was mostly safe, though life was tough and children grew up fast. If you weren’t an underworlder and you wandered into the territory, you were fair game. Most of the 'digifreaks’, as Erielle called non-underworlders, came there to buy drugs or sex, but they took their chances on being robbed or worse.
When Sayen had taken the edge off her hunger, she began to wonder why Erielle was taking the time to explain all this to them. Why didn’t she get what she wanted and show them the door?
“Thanks for telling us this,” she said.
The woman’s eyes flashed at her. One of them was slightly pulled out of shape by her scar. She ignored Sayen’s interruption and returned to her conversation. Jas seemed to be getting tired of it, however, or maybe she was suspicious of Erielle’s motives.
“Yeah, thanks for the information,” she said, “and the food. But we really need to get going. So, what’s your offer?”
“What’s the hurry?” Erielle asked.
A muscle in Jas’ jaw twitched.
“I’m going to buy everything you have,” the underworlder continued, “and for a good price, but I want you to indulge me just a little longer.” She got up and went to the door before bellowing down the stairs, “Sark, plates.”
They waited in silence for the woman to come and clear the dishes. Makey had collapsed onto the cushions and was fast asleep. Guarded looks were passing between Jas and Carl, and Jas turned her gaze to Sayen, too, more than once. Her eyes warned her to be on guard.
When Sark had retreated, Erielle leaned her elbows on the table. “A Martian, an Australian, an offworlder—I think—and the cream of our genetically engineered society. Sounds like the start of a joke. But it’s no joke to you, is it? I wasn’t lying when I said I’d buy your stuff, and you’re lucky you ran into me. I’m no angel, but I’m the best of my kind you’ll find around here.”
She reached over and took Jas’ hand. Jas watched warily, but allowed the underworlder to turn it palm upward on the table. Erielle traced a slightly raised, almost imperceptible square bump on Jas’ wrist with her finger. Jas’ embedded credchip. “Do you know what people around here do for these?” Erielle asked. She reached higher and with the same finger she drew a line across Jas’ throat. “You wouldn’t have lasted the night if you hadn’t happened to stumble in here. Weapons or not. Us underworlders are very good at what we do, and we’d be prepared to risk a lot to get access to all your bank accounts, especially little ol’ perfection over there. I bet you’ve got millions just sitting in an instant-access, haven’t you, hun?”
Sayen shivered as the woman’s eyes rested on her again.
“And don’t imagine we’d do anything so refined as to force you to deposit everything you had in a reader. Oh no. We don’t need your number to get past bank security. All we want is your chip, and certain people will get it whichever way is fastest. Lift your skin with a razor, cut off your hand, whatever. They’d kill you before or after. Doesn’t matter to them, as long as you’re not alive to tell anyone what happened.”
Sayen was thankful that Makey wasn’t listening to this. Even Jas looked taken aback.
“It’s a bit of a shock to find out these things happen, isn’t it? You don’t hear about it on the vidnews. Stick around here a while, and you’ll find out there’s a lot of things you don’t hear about on the vidnews.”
The underworlder paused to take a small container out of her pocket. She opened it and took out a pill, which she swallowed without water. Jas frowned and drew back her hand. She glanced at Sayen and Carl.
“Where’s the kid from?” Erielle asked.
“Dawn,” Carl replied. “We picked him up from there when the planet was being attacked by Shadows.”
Sayen wondered at the advisability of telling the underworlder about the Shadows. Though it was unlikely she’d had any dealings with them, there was nothing to be gained by being careless. But Erielle didn’t pick up on the reference.
“Dawn?” she echoed, looking shocked. “I guessed he was from a colony, but I had no idea...” A flicker of sorrow crossed her face before she went on. “You said the planet was being attacked? What happened to the rest of the colonists?”
“Still there, the last we heard,” Carl answered. “But the Government sent troops to defend them.”
“What’s Dawn got to do with you?” Jas asked.
The underworlder shook her head. “Just an old friend of mine went there.” She smiled wryly. “I guess you think we’re pretty strange living like this, don’t you? Out of the system, no modding, no creds, no interfaces to glue our noses to day in, day out.”
“I thought you didn’t have a choice,” said Jas.
“Everyone has a choice. Life’s full of them. That’s what you digifreaks don’t realize. Sure, before you’re born, your lives are laid out for you. Your parents program you with whatever looks, talents, intelligence they want, if they can afford it. You grow up indoctrinated into the system, scrambling for creds, watching the vids, believing the propaganda that passes for news. But even then, you have a choice—only you don’t realize it. I had all that, but I turned my back on it. I chose this.”
Tiredness was closing Sayen’s eyelids. She yawned and wondered why anyone would choose to live as the underworlders did. Through half-open eyes, she glimpsed Jas throwing her a sharp glance.
“Still, it’s easy to get taken in, I admit,” continued Erielle. “A lot of people I used to know believed the Government’s lies about Dawn being somewhere they could live freely and naturally. I lost a very special buddy because of that. Someone I loved. I didn’t go with her. I didn’t see why we couldn’t or shouldn’t live outside the system right here. It’s a free planet, right?” She laughed.
Carl was also yawning.
“Sayen,” Jas said, “wake up Makey. We’re leaving.”
“Hey, what’s your problem?” asked Erielle. “We haven’t decided a price yet.”
Jas grabbed her bag and tried to stand, but stumbled. “You misborn,” she muttered as she sank to her knees.
Carl toppled over, and Jas also hit the floor. Out of her control, Sayen’s head fell f
orward. The last thing she heard before she lost consciousness was the underworlder’s laughter.
Chapter Seven
It had been Sparks’ idea, but he’d wanted Rogers to do the actual experiment. He thought he should find out if the Paths’ flesh faded even when separated from the main body. But the truth was, his years at medical school had taught him that his strengths didn’t lie in science. He was more comfortable in dealing with the face-to-face, human side of practicing medicine, not the nitty gritty of diagnosis, interpreting test results, and prescribing treatments. Emotions, he could do. Science, not so much.
After much persuasion, Rogers had agreed. He was in the Paths’ quarantine chamber, wearing a biohazard suit. His air supply was provided by a long tube that stretched from the back of his suit to a unit on the wall. Not that any protection would save him from the onslaught of emotions the Paths would project when he approached them.
Sparks hadn’t yet discovered how the telepathy worked. That was no surprise. Though telepathy was rare among intelligent species in the galaxy, it did exist, but no one had found out the substance or mechanism that transmitted brain waves from one mind to another. Not even the aliens who had telepathy had found the secret. It was one of the galaxy’s great unsolved mysteries.
So Sparks’ hadn’t expected to find out how the Paths transmitted. All he’d done was measure the effects. His results allowed him to predict just how Rogers was feeling right then.
“A lot of fear,” came the man’s voice over the intercom. Sparks checked that the interface was recording. “Getting stronger,” Rogers said as he went closer to the Paths, holding aloft a scalpel. “Urgh, I don’t know how you talked me into doing this, Sparks,” he said. “I feel awful.”
