Nylon Angel Page 10

  Dark tugged the last of the blanket from under my legs and squeezed my hand for a second. "It won't take long."

  The slab slid into a cylinder, covering my body like the lid and sides of a coffin. I concentrated on remembering to breathe and told myself at least I was on the ground, not hurtling through the air on the back of a buzz saw.

  A few minutes later, when it retracted, I was shaking all over. My muscles seemed to belong to someone else. I drew a long steadying breath.

  The woman operating the coffin stood up. The halo lights brightened.

  "She'll live."

  She walked over to the slab and peered down at me, taking in my torn clothes. "When did the accident happen?"

  Dark moved to stand next to her. The top of her head was in line with his elbow. She looked breakable next to his size, though her pale eyes shone with a kind of fierce, cold intelligence. But it was the pigmentation on her face that stopped me. Two inflamed red birthmarks under her eyes, fusing on the bridge of her nose, gave her a tragic, bruised kind of look—like she'd been punched in the nose, or belonged to a bizarre cult. She wore nothing to cover them.

  I sensed her natural antagonism to strangers—people who hadn't seen her before—and understood some of it. Sympathy stirred in me. Punters were paying a fortune for this kind of thing in The Tert. Being born with it was another thing altogether.

  "Whenever I called you. A couple of hours ago. Why?"

  "Remarkable," she said. "The scan shows fractures to three ribs—"

  "Just what I thought," Dark cut in.

  She placed cool, he's-mine fingers on his wrist. They were the same color as her hair—white as the moon when the smog thinned. "Yes, but the injuries are those of an accident that might have happened two weeks ago. The healing process is already well advanced."

  "Impossible," he countered.

  They both looked to me for an explanation.

  I shrugged. I mean, really, what could I say? The Angel did it!

  "Good genes?" I proffered limply.

  "Drugs?" Dark said.

  "No." The woman shook her head. "I tested that. Apart from her olfactory enhancement and compass implant there was only one other unusual thing in her profile, augmented or chemical."

  "What was that?" Irritatingly, Dark beat me to it by a second. Whose flesh were we talking about?

  "Her adrenal glands are showing excessive activity. But that may be a result of her high-risk lifestyle. I assume she's one of those body-for-hire types."

  Body-for-hire types!

  I could live with her description, not with her superior tone. Even Rene—my mother—didn't speak to me like that.

  Rene!

  I hadn't thought of her in a while. When I'd left the 'burbs, poor Rene's neurons were too saturated in happily-ever-afters to notice. Nor did she realize that Kevin only stayed with her for her allowance. NE addicts don't eat or spend much!

  And Kat. Little sister Kat! I bet she didn't even know I'd left either. Kat the pro-ball player, the perfect athlete. People said we were alike. I couldn't see it myself…

  "Parrish? Parrish? Are you listening?"

  I blinked back into the present and abruptly swung my legs out over the edge of the slab. My knee banged against the medic woman's arm and she retreated like I'd contaminated her.

  It made me want to cover my exposed upper thigh—but shuffling modesty was not my style. I ignored it instead.

  "Yes. I'm fine. In fact much better. What's this place?"

  Dark expelled a breath of annoyance. He'd gone to some trouble to get me here and I was halfway to mended already.

  "Parrish Plessis, meet Dr. Anna Schaum."

  I bit my tongue and held out my knuckles, Tert-style. "Thanks for the help. 'Predate it. Now how do I get out of here?"

  One side of her mouth moved. It could have been a smile, but I didn't think so. She didn't return the shake. Instead she staged a whisper. "Where did you get this one from, Loyl? She's a healthier physical specimen than Bass, but her manners—"

  My manners?

  The flake of sympathy I'd felt earlier shriveled and died. The woman was talking about me.

  Dark put a warning hand on my shoulder, intervening as smooth as a rat. Obviously he didn't want his precious little medic with broken teeth and a bent nose.

  "Thanks for your help, Anna. But let's keep the remarks clinical."

  "I thought I was." She gave him an innocent smile.

  He patted her gently. "Parrish and I will be here overnight. Is that OK?"

  She gave a tight shrug, then walked back to her screens and resumed working.

  Call me paranoid, but I got the feeling Anna Schaum's instant, obvious dislike of me was totally personal. First the fish bitch, and now Dr. Ice Cold. Who else did Dark have on his lust list?

  "Can you walk?" he asked me.

  "Yeah." I nodded. "Can we get out of here? It stinks like a hospital."

  He gave a strange laugh and showed me the way.

  * * * *

  The sun was setting outside. I resisted an impulse to go fetal when we got into the open. I hadn't seen proper trees and grass for so long it was like a horror flick. Heat clouds bathed everything in a dull yellow. Even the ferro fence.

  Dark placed his flesh hand lightly on my shoulder again, steering me toward a house partly hidden by white gums. I wanted to shrug him away but the feel of his hand was comforting. In the distance the noise from Vivacity droned, reassuring me.

  "It takes a while to adjust to the space," he said.

  We walked slowly. I might have been healing, but everything still hurt.

  "Same as my first day in the Heart," he added.

  "What was it like?" I couldn't help but ask. No one left the coast anymore. Living in Central Australia had gotten too harsh.

  "Like? Barren. Hot in a way you can't imagine. Terrifying. Even underground. Too hot to breathe. They gave you cool suits but it didn't help a lot. Just kept you alive enough to work in the mine. In the evenings when you'd come out of the shafts, the sky was white with stars. I got used to the nights there, and how big they were. Coming back to The Tert, well… I keep wanting some space."

  I looked around. "Anna's got some cred. A place like this must cost."

  Silence.

  I'd hit on one nerve. So I tried hammering another. "Funny you turning up in Fishertown like that. You never mentioned you were going to Viva."

  "Nor did you," he countered.

  "I didn't know—exactly. If I didn't know better I'd think you were following me."

  "Maybe I am. Maybe I can't bear to be away from you."

  My heart skittered for an instant.

  "Or maybe… we're chasing the same thing," he finished.

  My heart settled into an altogether different rhythm—suspicion. It quelled my agoraphobia. I suddenly remembered that he was a jerk who liked to hit women.

  He stopped walking abruptly, like he could hear my thoughts. His breath fanned my face. A tinge of musk still clung to his body.

  "Where are you going in Viva, Parrish? What are you doing for Lang?"

  I stepped away from him, wincing from the sudden movement. It still hurt to breathe deeply, so I settled for panting. "What makes you think I'm here because of Lang?"

  "He's offered you something important. Enough to risk leaving The Tert during the embargo."

  "How do you know that?"

  His eyes got calculating, his words measured for effect. "I know more than you think. I know that Jamon Mondo owns you and that you'd do just about anything to change that. I know you are pretty much alone and inclined to violence. I know you are impulsive and often irrational."

  I stared at him, shocked.

  Shocked. And then angry. Blazingly, pig-nosed, nutso mad!

  My fingers grabbed to where my pistol should be. If only I hadn't lost my kit in the fall I'd shoot him where he stood.

  "I have your kit. I took it in Fishertown," he said flatly.

  I dropped int
o a less than friendly crouch. "Then I'd like it back."

  He walked on, toward the house. "I'll give it back when you need it. When we get there," he said over his shoulder.

  "What do you mean, 'When we get there'?" I shouted.

  He turned back. The rising moon lit his smile. "Wherever it is you're going."

  I stamped after him, glaring poison at his back, struggling to get a handle on the man. He'd smashed another one into left field—just when I found myself softening toward him.

  He'd gotten me out of a really tight spot. Now he was blackmailing me.

  An Intimate showed us to a room with high-gloss imitation floorboards and four large chairs covered in pale green leather. The walls were adorned with well-hung artwork in watery tones, and a large bronze crucifix.

  I wondered how often Dark came to visit.

  "Hot food," Dark told the Intimate and slung himself into a chair.

  Intimates were fashionable amongst the wealthy. Internally robotic, externally they took thousands of different forms—usually a beloved toy. Teddy bears were common. Dolls as well. So were naked torsos.

  Anna Schaum's Intimate wore a party dress with heels. It told us its name was Lila. Its skin shone with pearly unblemished perfection.

  "Wine as well," Dark called after it.

  Wine? The only wine I'd ever tasted was like rocket fuel. Even Jamon served Bundaberg rum with his meals.

  I sat down opposite him, and leaned back gingerly on my shoulder. I was still choking mad that he had taken my kit and was holding me ransom over it. Trouble was—how did I play it?

  While I considered my options, the Intimate brought a bottle, two glasses and a plate of something I didn't recognize. Dark poured blood-colored liquid into one glass and handed it to me.

  I swallowed the entire glass in one swig, bracing for the afterburn, but it was surprisingly mild.

  Censure hung on his lips; he bit it back and poured me another.

  "Artichokes?" He held out the plate like it was something he ate all the time.

  I shuddered and shook my head. "I don't eat plants."

  The second glass went straight to my head. I knew it would. Wanted it. Stim would have been better, but I'd take any port in a storm.

  "Loyl Dark," I sniped. "What sort of a name is that?"

  He sipped his wine slowly. "Loyl-me-D-a-a-c," he corrected. "It's a corruption of my gens—my family—name."

  "And did your gens bring you up to hit women and blackmail people?"

  He stiffened. "You wouldn't understand," he said.

  My tongue felt sufficiently loose to help him understand more about me.

  "Well you might believe you're some type of frigging Messiah, Loyl-me-Daac. But all you're really after is clout."

  His face relaxed at my outburst. Not the reaction I'd expected.

  "Power is an illusion, Parrish. I try and cover bases—that's all. The rest you have to live with. What's so wrong with wanting to make things better for your own people?"

  I got up and poured myself another drink, the pain in my shoulder receding with every swallow.

  "You don't get it, do you? Why are they your people? Who said they were? That's what's wrong with this stinking world. Everyone is trying to control everyone else. What makes you any different from Lang or Jamon Mondo?"

  He frowned and said nothing. I'd hoped for more.

  "So what's the deal here with Dr. Schaum?" I leaned on the arm of his chair. My torn overall fell away exposing my entire leg. I knew it wasn't wise to get this close to him but belligerence kept me there.

  He looked away. "This is Anna's family home. Her parents were important people. She's a… friend. Most of her work here is research."

  "Yeah? So why the tight ice around the perimeter?" I winced as I leaned forward to pull my boot off. Nursing my drink carefully with the other hand, I wiggled my toes.

  His eyes were drawn to my foot, tracking like it was a dangerous animal.

  "She's studying why certain groups have adapted genetically to heavy metals and toxins in the environment. Her research will save a lot of my people. Improve the quality of their life."

  "Just your people—or are you going to share it around? Who decides who gets quality of life, Loyl-Me-Daac? You? Will Kiora Bass get it?"

  He flushed, shifting in the constraints of the chair and threw me a strange, intense look.

  "Kiora is dying. Anna has been studying her. Trying to understand what has given her better health than the others around her."

  I drained my drink and removed the other boot. "You slap dying women around the ears often?"

  "I lost my temper. Kiora is paranoid and hallucinatory. She thinks we are lovers. We aren't."

  "Sure." I mustered up sarcasm I didn't really feel. This whole scene weighed a ton.

  Without warning, he pulled me onto his lap.

  Lulled by the wine I didn't struggle. Nor did I respond, curious about him, curious about myself.

  He moved his flesh hand slowly up the length of the tear in my overalls, along my thigh.

  An unwelcome tingle of desire trickled into my belly. Something I hadn't felt since Teece—back in the beginning.

  He leaned forward and kissed me, filling my mouth.

  I've never been kissed by anyone before. Not even by Doll. It was a quaint little rule I had. My mouth was mine, my virginity—to give to the right person. Besides, most people I knew had biological warfare going on in their saliva.

  His sudden invasion sent my whole body rigid. Furiously, I wrenched away from him, grabbing my boots.

  He moved to stand, puzzled.

  But I backed across the room. "Where can I sleep?"

  "Upstairs," he replied thickly. "Near the bathroom… I mean the san."

  I nodded and backed away.

  I climbed the stairs in four big steps and began crashing doors open. It made me feel better.

  The house had gear I'd never seen outside adverts for Viva Hi-tels—the latest cons with some pricey old-world touches.

  The room next to the san sported a giant poster bed you could fit most of Torley's in—if you wanted to. It frothed with a white lace spread and feather pillows.

  I did one quick circuit, locking the door and the windows, then I curled up on the floor rug and fell into an edgy doze.

  Sometime in the early hours a faint noise woke me. Voices. I fought off a moment of panic at my strange surroundings and got up off the floor to investigate. From the top of the stairs I could see Daac and Anna sitting together in the same spot I'd been with him earlier, caught up in a hushed discussion.

  Peeping Parrish I was not—but some things you just have to know. And some opportunities are just too good.

  "How long will they take to replicate?" he asked.

  Anna Schaum ran her hand through her hair. Her shoulders heaved silently. "I'm not sure exactly. I'm working off some of the old base notes. But the splicing sequences are all gone. They took my backup copies as well. Time—it will take time."

  "Records?"

  "Some are left."

  "Which ones?"

  "General notes on the side effects—all the specifics are gone."

  "They knew what they wanted." Loyl stood and paced a little, his wire hand opening and closing in spasms. "I still don't understand how it happened. It can't have been hacked," he said. "Kiora Bass and I have been the only ones in here." He turned on her. "Haven't we?"

  She shrank under the force of his stare. "Of course. Who else? It must have happened sometime while I was here alone."

  He nodded, and resumed his pacing.

  "Loyl, I don't know if I want to go on with this."

  Daac stopped abruptly and came to sit next to her. "Of course you do!" He gripped her tightly, as if he might shake her. With obvious effort he gentled his tone. "Would it make you feel better to have someone else stay—permanently?"

  "No!" Her voice sharpened suddenly. "I don't want anyone." She cuddled against him like a little girl. "Anyw
ay, I've got Lila."

  The Intimate appeared from the corner on cue and began to clean away plates.

  Sweet!

  Daac lifted Anna into his lap, leaning his face against hers.

  My stomach clenched at the gesture.

  I backed away from the top of the stairs and crawled to my room where I spent the rest of the night sleepless, disgusted by Daac's hypnotic effect on women, and wondering what the hell the two of them were talking about.

  Chapter Twelve

  The sweet scent of sandalwood wafted into the Emporium's storeroom where I sat staring at myself in the mirror. I hardly recognized the person who scowled back at me wearing an insipidly floral jellyfish creature that the label declared a "caftan."

  Daac had suggested borrowing some new clothes from another friend, something un-me. On the ride into the city from Anna Schaum's compound, we'd barely spoken, certainly not about the night before.

  From the smudges under his eyes I guessed he'd got about as much sleep as I had, but for different reasons.

  The only thing that had stopped me from cutting out of maison pastel in the bitching hours was the knowledge that Anna Schaum's perimeter security was tight. Besides, I had no kit. It hurt me to even think how vulnerable I was without it. No fake ID. No hacker's pack. No arsenal.

  After introducing me to his friends, Daac left me alone in the back room to re-create myself, with a direct "Do something different with your hair."

  Although I could see the sense in that, I was fond of my dreads, so I rolled them up tight and stuffed them into a rather tasteless brown velveteen cap.

  I could hear Daac in the shop front of the Emporium talking to the owners, Pat and Ibis. Fortunately, they were male and obviously infatuated with each other, which meant at least I wasn't going to have to watch them for a jealous knife between my shoulder blades. Anna Schaum, out there leaning quietly furious against the counter, was the worry.

  The Emporium sold gems, healing stones, crystals, remains of 'riginal middens, fake gnamma holes, injun feathers and anything else that might catch the fancy of a spiritually dispossessed Viva citizen. The front window was crammed with so many giant lava and cascade lamps that they'd had to hire security to keep hypnotized passers-by moving along. Right now the Emporium was closed.

  The Tert also had its fair share of spirit gear for sale, but not brilliantly polished and neatly arrayed like this. In The Tert, the stuff was likely to be soiled with traces of blood and other fluids.