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Authors: Marianne de Pierres

Crash Deluxe

BOOK: Crash Deluxe
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Table of Contents
 
 
Marianne de Pierres
was born in Western Australia and now lives in Queensland with her husband and three sons. She has a BA in Film and Television and is currently completing a Graduate Certificate of Arts (Writing, Editing and Publishing) at the University of Queensland. Her passions are basketball, books and avocados. She has been actively involved in promoting Speculative Fiction in Australia and is the co-founder of the Vision Writers Group in Brisbane, and ROR - Writers on the rise, a critiquing group for professional writers. She was involved in the early planning stages of Clarion South and is a tutor at Envision. You can find out more about her at
www.orbitbooks.co.uk
and on her website
www.mariannedepierres.com
The Parrish Plessis Novels
NYLON ANGEL
CODE NOIR
CRASH DELUXE
 
 
 
 
Crash Deluxe
 
 
MARIANNE DE PIERRES
 
 
Hachette Digital
 
Published by Hachette Digital 2010
 
Copyright © 2005 by Marianne de Pierres
 
 
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
 
 
All rights reserved.
 
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
 
 
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
 
 
A CIP catalogue record for this book
is available from the British Library.
 
eISBN : 978 0 7481 2012 3
 
 
This ebook produced by JOUVE, FRANCE
 
 
Hachette Digital
An imprint of
Little, Brown Book Group
100 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DY
 
An Hachette Livre UK Company
For my son, Ivan.
Prologue
Networld Live Feed: 5 a.m.
 
 
 
 
‘N
etworlders, a truly shocking scenario is unfolding in front of us this morning as we get set to enjoy the opening of the Pan-Sat games.
The stolen ’copter to the right of your screen is being used in an attempt by notorious gang lord Parrish Plessis to abduct one of our principal media personalities.
As we leave the Viva environs and head southward, you can see that Plessis is being tracked by a welter of heavily armed Militia.
Implicated in the murder of Razz Retribution, Plessis is thought to be the instigator of the recent war in the Tertiary Sector and is currently the Southern Hem’s most wanted criminal.

Her brazen approach seems to be the key to why she has eluded arrest previously, but there is no way out for the intriguing character this time.

Rumours and questions about this woman abound. Did she kill infamous gangster Jamon Mondo? Does she have unnatural healing powers? Is she the reincarnation of a Voodoo deity? Is she trying to build a super-race?

Sounds absurd viewers, I know, but these are just some of the outrageous myths surrounding Parrish Plessis.

More reliable sources say that she was born in the suburbs of the outer gyro and developed sociopathic tendencies in her teens. Unable to fit into society she opted for life in the slum town known to the locals as ‘The Tert’ - which according to the Militia is where she is heading now.

Stay tuned as we go to a short break . . .

 

. . . Viewers, as we return to our coverage of this unprecedented abduction an astounding phenomenon is taking place. Hundreds of ultralights have taken to the sky above the Tertiary Sector.

Not only that, but Plessis appears to have made her move. Her ’copter is hovering low above the very heart of the slum city, a place thought to be uninhabited. As I speak, she is forcing her captive to sit out at the very edge of the ’copter’s cabin.

What will this woman do next?

Word is coming through. Yes . . . yes . . . we have visual confirmation. Oh my goodness. Plessis’s captive appears to be none other than—

 
transmission interrupted transmission interrupted transmission interrupted trans—
Chapter One
 
 
 
 
I
went looking and found my best friend, Teece, in Hein’s bar, smashing up an invisible opponent by using a set of vreal gloves. My other best friend, Ibis, was lounging in a tactile nearby, drunk. The two had gotten real friendly since working together on restoring the barracks.
I tore the cheap game-set off Teece’s face without warning.
His pupils dilated at the reality shift. When he saw who it was he slipped the gloves off as well and tucked his hands under his armpits in a stubborn, defensive gesture.
‘What?’
‘I need to crack the Viva prison data banks. Can you get me in there?’
His jaw set hard. ‘There’s a few places even you can’t go, Parrish. That’s one of ’em.’
‘You won’t help me?’
He shook his head. ‘Nope.’
Pretending to be annoyed, I stamped over to Ibis and grabbed him by his collarless shirt. ‘Get up. We’re going to call Gigi. You’ll have to be my rider.’
Gigi, the Tert’s banker, had the best net-vreal in The Tert. I’d have to deal to get use of it. But when didn’t I have to deal?
Ibis jerked like a drunk puppet. ‘Your what?’
‘My rider - my back-up. Some places you don’t net-vreal without a partner,’ I explained.
Ibis rolled his eyes and looked helplessly at Teece, but Teece wasn’t buying in.
‘Just go along with me,’ I urged in Ibis’s ear. ‘Please.’
I didn’t say ‘please’ much.
The amazement factor got him out of Hein’s and back to my place without an argument.
My place
was a large bed, brown ceiling marks, a couch, no kitchen, a den and too many bad memories. Luxury for The Tert - but then, this had been Jamon Mondo’s pad. I’d claimed salvage on it when Mondo took a Cabal spear in the back.
The living room was big enough to host a dinner party. Now there’s a joke. The Parrish Plessis dinner party - half a dozen meat shawarmas, beers and sugar dough, sitting on the floor in between the bloodstains and making polite dinner convo:

So who tried to nail your arse today, Parrish?


Three ’goboys, one shape-changer and a canrat up a gum tree.

I sat Ibis on the couch and made him a triple-strength mockoff.
After he drank it, his wits sharpened.
‘What are you up to, Parrish? I retail retro fashion and dabble in interior decorating, darling.
I’m no freaking back-room cracker
.’ The last he said in a perfect imitation of my drawl.
‘I know that. You know that. Teece knows that.’
I was banking on Teece’s protective instinct. Net-vreal for someone as uninitiated as Ibis was likely to be lethal.
‘Ah-hah,’ he said, sipping. ‘To use your turn of phrase, dear, clear as mud.’
‘Remember those kids I bought back from Dis - the ones who look more animal than human? A guy called Ike del Morte did that to them.’
Ibis nodded. ‘I’ve heard his name around.’
My mind skidded back a week or so. The Cabal Coomera - the truly scaries - had lured me into pursuing a dangerous shaman named Leesa Tulu. The chase had taken me to a place called Mo Vay in the inner Tert where I’d discovered del Morte busy manufacturing a whole generation of twisted punters, and then infecting them with the Eskaalim parasite.
I knew all about the Eskaalim: I was infected with it myself and pretty soon it would turn me into a monster as well.
If it hadn’t already. Killing was sure getting easier.
I left Mo Vay with one clue as to who was behind this lab-designed slavery. It had been given to me by a secret ally in the Media in the form of Ike del Morte’s eyelids - shrivelled, dried and stamped with a prison brand.
Someone powerful had sprung him from a Viva quod to do his weird work.
‘He was a lunatic - a
smart
lunatic. But someone gave him the cred, the back-up to do terrible things. I want that person, Ibis.’
He shivered - maybe from the look on my face.
‘Pity them,’ he whispered.
‘I don’t,’ I said.
I got up, kicked the couch and paced a bit. Where was Teece? Maybe my ploy hadn’t worked. Maybe I
would
have to do this by myself.
‘Merry, get me Gigi,’ I said at last.
My fashion-conscious p-diary pretended to count money and eat it until Gigi answered - her little joke.
‘Plessis?’ The fat banker’s face filled Merry’s projection.
‘I want to use your net-vreal.’
Gigi gave a slow smile. ‘Just like that? No “please”?’
‘How much?’ I didn’t have time for shit.
The femme rubbed her lips together. ‘Shares.’
My eyes bulged. ‘In what, for chrissakes?’
‘Plessis Ventures.’
‘There is no such thing.’
‘Haven’t you been watching your accounts?’
I shrugged, embarrassed. Teece had been looking after that. ‘Been kinda busy.’
‘Remarkably, Parrish Plessis, you’ve engendered a confidence climate. All your debtors are paying up because they think they should keep faith with you. Some small holders have even been asking to put their cred into your funds. Seems they think it might be safer with you than with me.’ She sniffed. ‘You want to use my vreal, you give me five per cent of your profits.’
Sweet - a jealous banker.
‘FIVE PER CENT?’ Teece’s bellow at my elbow made me jump. He planted his head between my face and the holo. ‘That’s loony even for you, Gee.’
I shoved him back out of the way. ‘One per cent but I get access to it any time I want. And we review the deal in three months.’
‘Done,’ Gigi said.
‘We’ll be straight over.’ I snuffed the link.
Teece grabbed my arm. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘What are you doing here?’
He scowled in a way that made me proud. ‘You want to get yourself killed in there - fine. But I won’t let you do that to Ibis.’
I shrugged, as though the idea had never occurred to me, my mind skating to the next thing. ‘We can quit the agreement with Gigi later.’
BOOK: Crash Deluxe
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