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  I realized I hadn't drunk or eaten since my encounter with Io Lang earlier in the day, but the pro-sub didn't exactly tickle my appetite. Nor did the sight of Bras's ribs through her flimsy clothes. "You eat, Bras. Then show me where Sto is. I'll give you money." I felt for my last credit.

  Bras sucked on the corner of the bar then took a small nibbling bite. She repeated the pattern two more times, softening it with her saliva before chewing. Then she shoved the remainder in her pocket. "Bras want no money. Others kill Bras for money. Bras stay with Parrish."

  "But how do you get food without cred?" It was a pretty stupid question considering what I'd seen of her life so far, but some things you just gotta ask.

  "Bras eat low food."

  "Low food?"

  She puzzled at a way to make me understand. Then she shuffled her feet under the little piles of rubbish on her floor, sifting it expertly. "Low food. Y'know, left when Muenos finish."

  "Rubbish," I said slowly, "you eat the rubbish the Muenos throw away?"

  Her face became indignant. "No rubbish, good food. Just low food."

  "No offense." Then a flash of intuition hit me. "You're not Mueno blood, are you?"

  She smiled sadly. "Not Mueno." Then she brightened a little with her next thought. "Bras know who Parrish is. Parrish is Oya."

  Oya? I've been called a lot of things before but Oya…

  "Bras, I need to find the red-haired one, soon. Can you help me?"

  She smiled and beckoned me out into the night with a wave of her foot.

  * * * *

  Bras moved expertly through the darkness and with an energy that surprised me. Even half-starved and handicapped, she was traveling faster than me, accepting her life, moving forward, surviving. I suddenly wanted to get her some decent food, maybe even some prostheses. I wanted to clean her up, wash her hair.

  Bras's route amongst the darkened villas cut the distance I would have traveled without her in half. For the amount of people I knew lived here, the dark was strangely deserted. "Where is everyone?" I whispered.

  "They scared of Big One. Stay inside. Bras not scared."

  She stopped and nodded toward a villa outline. It looked so like all the others around it that I wasn't convinced.

  "Are you sure, Bras?"

  She clicked her tongue impatiently. "Yes. Sure."

  The front facade was indiscernible from the next one, and the next. Only a thin stream of light from the first-story window confirmed the likelihood of inhabitants.

  Without warning, Bras scuttled off across the courtyard, like a crab without its pincers, stopping frequently to listen. I figured her caution was from habit, till I noticed movement in the deeper shadows of a retaining wall that had once bordered a garden bed in front of the villa.

  "Bras. Wait!"

  But she ignored me, worming along to the high end of the wall, where she stopped. Whoever stood concealed there froze. A ripple up my spine told me that they'd seen Bras.

  I had no way to warn her, outside causing a major commotion. I watched and hoped that the shadower had other things on their mind than a feral kid in the dark.

  Since when did things ever go the way I reckoned?

  The brief unmasked flicker of an LED display was the only warning before something reefed Bras bodily over the wall into the blackness.

  My stomach banged painfully into my lungs when my brain made the connection.

  The 'Terrogator had Bras!

  I didn't wait to think about it. Fear for her spurred me. I let it drive my legs across the courtyard in a blur of speed. Then I launched feetfirst over the wall at the spot Bras had disappeared and aimed a high kick. If I got lucky I'd take out its CPU with my titanium insert. But I kissed air and nearly flipped flat on my back on to the jagged 'crete.

  Hauling up into a less than copybook crouch, I flicked on my miner's light and performed a clumsy three-sixty.

  The 'Terro had vanished. But a set of baleful, green eyes caught in the light.

  Canrat! Huge, pissed off and hungry.

  It leapt straight for me, drool swinging like wet ropes from its massive canine jaws. Twice the size of a large Doberman with a long rattus tail, it caught me square in the chest.

  We toppled backward. One of its legs slipped down between my arm and body. Instinctively I clamped my arm to my side, trapping it. With my other hand I yanked my pistol from under my flimsy coat.

  As it bared its teeth ready to slash deathly furrows in my face, I shot its balls off.

  With an unearthly howl the canrat staggered off me, its tail furled protectively under its bleeding torso, and crawled away. By the time I climbed shakily to my feet, I could hear ferals—animals and human—squabbling over carcass rights.

  So much for being inconspicuous, Parrish!

  But where had the 'Terro taken Bras?

  As if on cue, a zigzag of lights spilled onto the courtyard. Muenos crowded into doorways the length of the circular villa set, jabbering in excited voices. Some hung out of windows.

  I caught the drift of their excitement. The Big One is dead, and, Oya killed the Big One.

  Oya? The name Bras called me.

  The door immediately in front flung open and Sto hurled down the stairs. A deputation of Muenos followed him out but kept their distance.

  "Parrish. You came back for me." His smile, even in the shards of doorway light, was a beam all of its own.

  I punched him sharply on the arm. A warm, fuzzy reunion with a naive redhead while generously spattered in gollops of canrat teste, surrounded by an audience of heavily knifed Muenos calling me Oya, I could live without! Anyway, now that I'd seen him, I was more worried about the 'Terro and Bras. Other than being a bit shaky, Sto looked fine.

  "What's down?" I said. Casual.

  He caught my mood. "After the blood and feathers thing… well… they think you're their warrior witch or somethin'. They watched me, but nobody hurt me." He glanced over his shoulder then back. "They've been waiting for you to come. Singing."

  "They weren't the only ones waiting," I said more heavily. A stale, after-adrenaline ache burned in my muscles. "The 'Terro's found us."

  I didn't bother to check Sto's reaction to the news. Instead I switched my olfaugs to maximum sensitivity. Terros had a smell like meaty bones and were quicker than any augmented human. If it was coming back for Sto, I wanted to know.

  Somehow, though, I didn't think it would just yet. 'Terros cammed their experiences back to their pilots—who then fed the stuff on to the networks for the twenty-four-seven Kick shows. Kick Arse, Get your Kicks, Kick 'em While They're Down, Kick and Whack—the names changed, but they were all the same. Net, dedicated to real-time violence.

  Reality viewing was nothing new, but Priers and 'Terros gave it a vigilante edge that juiced most viewers and sent ratings stratos. By now three quarters of the world had probably seen Bras kidnapped, and my pitiful attempt to rescue her. Perhaps that live feed would keep the 'Terro off Sto's back for a while.

  Sorta like foreplay.

  I swore softly to myself. Next time, audience or not, no titanium-wrapped microchip was going to make an idiot out of me on pay TV!

  "Oya?"

  An obese Mueno, bloodred silk pants clinging to his enormous thighs, stepped forward into the arc of my light. His long braided hair shone faintly and he smelled almost clean. Compared to Bras he was obscenely overfed.

  "Oya? We have heard that you have come."

  "What have you heard, Mueno?" I hedged. It seemed likely they'd somehow worked me into some old myth. Punters needed heroes—didn't matter what religion they gigged to. Muenos were worse than most. It had something to do with their particular mash of Catholic, voodoo, tek worship. God's in the heavens, the animals and the machine! Crowded, huh!

  "Oya comes to lead the battle." He bowed his head. "Muenos follow, Oya."

  Muenos follow Oya? To battle?

  My world got crazier by the second! "What's your name?"

  His thick fac
e folded in a mixture of uncertainty and pleasure. I worried for a moment he was going to fall onto his knees before me.

  "Named Pas, Oya. Houngan and Rate Keeper."

  A houngan was the Muenos' equivalent of a witch doctor. But Rate Keeper as well? In this stink hole? Talk about extreme free enterprise! "You do this for Topaz?"

  He spat expertly, in disgust, and nodded. "Topaz was a strong leader. Now he deals mojo with the Dis man."

  Mojo with the Dis man? Mojo was black magic. The Dis man had to be Lang. I thought back to Jamon's surprise dinner and suddenly wished I'd known more about its purpose.

  "Well, Pas, Rate Keeper. I need to get to Tower Town, pronto," I said.

  He nodded thoughtfully. "We can take you to the borders, Oya. Further than that and they will fight us. Is that what you want?"

  "No, Pas," I said, hastily. "The border is fine. Let's go." Thoughts of the 'Terro prickled me.

  But Pas hesitated as if weighing something important. "Then what do you want from us, after you leave?" A band of tension tightened around the crowd, as if he'd voiced everyone's unspoken question.

  I wanted to shout, "How the frig would I know?" But what do you say to a gathering of knifed-up Muenos who are worried about you leaving them behind without a cause? You adopt your most sanguine look and say…

  "I'll send for you when the time is right, Pas."

  He seemed happy with this. A ripple of murmurs signaled he wasn't alone.

  Then inspiration hit me. It wouldn't help Bras but there were surely others like her, so I added it in for good measure. "Pas? While you wait for my word, I want you to do something."

  Predictably, his chest swelled with importance. "Anything, Oya."

  "I want you to feed all the feral kids without families."

  Even in the shaft of doorway light I could see his shocked expression. "B-but there is barely food enough," he spluttered.

  I smiled ferociously, hopefully in the manner of a good Oya. "I know, you'll find a way."

  * * * *

  Sto and I and four Muenos headed northeast toward Dis. As we walked, I fretted for Bras's safety but knew it was fruitless trying to track the 'Terro.

  It would find us.

  It would also find that using Bras as hors d'oeuvres had been a bad call. When it showed its skeletal face again, I planned to pulverize it, viewing audience of millions and all.

  How?

  Well, I was still working on that.

  Sto stuck so close to my heels through voodoo town, I could feel his breath fanning my armpit. I stopped myself from decking him by taking regular deep breaths. Call me Parrish Patience.

  The Muenos that Pas selected as escort were nearly as corpulent as him. Their hair fell loose though, like slick veils.

  Mueno women wore crew cuts. Much more practical to my mind. Long, loose hair is like jewelry in a fight—disastrous. I knew a guy on the north side who swore by his lucky ring. Better'n any knuckle dusters, he reckoned. One time he got it hooked up on a 'Terro. Tore his finger right off. Loose hair was the same sort of liability. That's why I wore my dreads tied.

  By dawn, I was so tired my teeth ached.

  Sto couldn't have been much better but he kept up, spurred, I think, by fear that I might leave him behind again.

  By midmorning the crush of people on the pavements and the narrow walkways was suffocating. Heat trapped under the makeshift roofs radiated like microovens. The breath-holding stink of unwashed bodies; the babble of everyday troubles.

  I could only guess how far we'd come. But my compass read a comforting northeast, which I reckoned would take us into the heart of The Tert.

  I began to worry about my reflexes if the 'Terro came for me now. Fatigue and crowds and heat. My head swam. I called to the nearest Mueno.

  They'd fanned out to form a loose guard around us.

  "I need to eat," I said, reaching into my pocket for my last credit. The one I'd offered to Bras.

  He approached me, pushed my hand away, and disappeared for a minute. Then he returned with two enormous tortillas stuffed full of greasy meat and unrecognizable lumps of other matter.

  When you live on pro-subs seven days a week, the taste was awesome. My stomach bucked at the assault but I toughed it out.

  Sto was less hardy. Three quarters of the way through he threw the lot up onto his bare feet.

  Wastage.

  We walked on, heading steadily northeastward, until the fading intensity of light told me that it must be late afternoon. Several times I'd been tempted to jump a 'ped or a Pet. But pride kept me walking.

  One time a Gas-gas growled past at low revs. It caught my eye because you didn't see many true bikes in this deep. And because the rider stared hard at me before nosing the bike off into the crowd. For a brief second I wondered if it might be the Cabal, but I was too worn out to dwell on it.

  Sto hung between two of the Muenos like a slaughtered animal on a pole. Occasionally he moaned. I promised myself as soon as the Muenos left us I'd find a hidey-hole for us both to sleep. I wasn't far off falling down myself, but I didn't quite trust Pas's deputation to watch over us while we slept.

  As it turned out we didn't have much further. I'd noticed a slight change in the architecture—if you could call it that—over the last half an hour.

  Most of The Tert had been built in circular groups of buildings connected by walkways, courtyards and small areas that had been pools or parks. Those "gaps" were usually a patchwork of shanty tents or lean-to's. Some were left vacant—like the one I'd discovered Bras in—usually because the surface or pavement had cracked and let the poisoned soil through.

  That pattern changed as we continued, until the circular altered in favor of rows. Rows and rows of tiny apartments stacked on each other like a kid's building blocks.

  Tower Town.

  "Oya?" The man who bought the tortillas approached me and bowed slightly. "We go no further."

  We faced each other under the twisted remnants of a fire escape. I nodded and looked around for a sign of the customary tollbooth. How much was this going to cost me? "Thank you. Tell Pas I won't forget."

  The two carrying Sto let go of him. He fell at my feet, pale and sweating. I'd need to get him some clean water. Being a country boy, his immunity wasn't likely to hold up to the slum food he'd eaten.

  As the Muenos faded away like they'd never existed, I took stock. How to find Dark when Sto wasn't likely to move another step? I sighed at his quaking exhaustion, and hoped he'd pick up a bit or I'd have some explaining to do.

  The image of the big hick dressed in leathers brought a smile to my lips. Not much else had lately.

  Almost immediately a blotchy-skinned dealer with sharp features and dramatically molded hair approached us to peddle. "You two look in bad shape. I got stim, lark. You pay. You say."

  His face was piebald, not typical Mueno, and his boots screamed different. Iridescent pink, thigh-length and high-heeled. Muenos went for jackboots. I wondered what he was doing so far from Plastique.

  "How much for stim?" I knew Sto's body wouldn't handle it right now. Most likely give him a heart attack. Ordinarily that would be OK—revival is pretty standard stuff—but I had no money and no resuscitation kit.

  No. The stim was for me.

  "Three hundred."

  "Three hundred!" I was tired, not stupid. "Fifty and throw in some 'lytes."

  He curled the corner of his brown-and-white lip. "You know your stuff. Where you from?" The question came as he handed me a package and a derm written on in universal, labeled "electrolytes."

  I squeezed a little from the derm onto my finger and tasted it. It passed the test so I jabbed it into Sto's arm. Then I unwrapped the package.

  The dealer leaned across me and peeled off a thin patch from the wrapping with two shiny, needlepoint fingernail implants. I imagined they came in handy in his profession. I'd seen others with them; they were usually blades though.

  He gave me a confident grin that left me wary
. "I tell you what. Since you're a long way from home, I'll let you taste the wares before you pay. Can't be fairer than that, now, can I?" He stabbed the patch onto my arm with a needle nail, quicker than I could see.

  The rush hit me instantaneously and I knocked him meters on sheer reflex.

  Then a moment later I realized the truth. The rush was all me. Instinct. The patch was a sedative. I went from hyped to woozy in the space of a couple of minutes. I pivoted clumsily toward Sto and tried to explain, but my tongue had swollen in my mouth.

  Sto crawled forward to break my fall. At least the dealer hadn't gotten up, I thought. As I went down, I saw the Gas-gas parked across the pavement.

  Chapter Eight

  The Angel plummeted through my veins slashing away traces of sedatives with the sweep of its heavy, golden red wings. It seemed furious at the unwanted chemical invasion. I waited for it to pass close to my retina, struggling to see its face, to know it…

  Voices cut in.

  "Is she dead?"

  "No, but I gave her a maxi dose. She'll be out for a while longer yet. I know what I'm doing, you know."

  "What about Sto?"

  "The 'lytes she gave him helped. His strength is improving. But his feet… ugh."

  "Ugh?"

  "Third-degree burns, blisters. Infected. It looks like he even puked on them."

  I listened intently, gradually separating the images of the Angel from the conversation. My head was mussed but my body felt alive, wired by the Angel's touch. Craving more.

  After a while I recognized one of the two voices. The lark dealer was one. And the other was familiar… but somehow different. I kept my breathing light and even, and listened a bit longer.

  The dealer continued, "I've cleaned them up but he won't be able to walk for a few days. And my head has felt better."

  I clobbered him, I thought with satisfaction.

  "Keep him comfortable and out of sight, Styro. The last few weeks have been hard on him."

  "Sure. But what about her? What happens when she comes round?"

  "I find out what deal she's cut with Lang. It could affect our plans."

  "He's dangerous, boss."

  "There's something else as well. Topaz is losing support. Rumors saying he's dealing mojo. Sto said the Muenos are calling Parrish 'Oya.' "