Nylon Angel (14 page)

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 into 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.

I sat down opposite him, and leant 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 recognise. Dark poured blood-coloured 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 leant 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 tonne.

Without warning, he pulled me on to 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 exxy 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. ‘Anyway, I’ve got Lila.’

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

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.

T
he sweet scent of sandalwood wafted into the Emporium’s storeroom where I sat staring at myself in the mirror. I hardly recognised the person who scowled back at me wearing an insipidly floral jellyfish creature that the label declared itself 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 recreate 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, indjun 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 hypnotised 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.

Daac must have spotted me rubbernecking out the door, because he called me to join them. I loathed him for stealing my kit, but I had no way to replace it so his blackmail carried weight.

As long as he didn’t interfere with the actual job I was here to do, I’d agree to him coming for the ride. I figured he could watch all he wanted. He might even be useful. But once I’d downloaded the files Lang wanted, Daac wouldn’t see me for dust.

I hiked my skirt impatiently around my waist, tucking it into my string. The clock was ticking on Lang’s deadline, and the last thing I felt like was parading in this flimsy piece of repugnance in front of Daac’s entourage.

Sometimes, though, bluff can go a long way, and my curiosity was piqued about Daac’s strange network outside The Tert. How did he know these people?

Aside from Dr Anna Schaum, Kiora Bass, Pat and Ibis were inconsequential, invisible people. No real money, no obvious influence . . .

I strode out, feeling naked in the unfamiliar looseness of the dress. Modesty wasn’t my problem, just image. I wasn’t the girlie type - and I didn’t want to be.

Daac’s stare didn’t help matters. ‘It’s meant to be worn long, Parrish,’ he muttered, eyes riveted to my thighs.

Anna watched his reaction, her pale blue eyes cold as a wax dummy.

‘Darling. How divine . . . what legs,’ Pat trilled to fill the awkwardness.

Pat had a high, girlish voice and a compact physique. I knew if he turned around his buns would be as tight as fists. A workout junkie - I bet - with a bright, mischievous face.

I growled at him. If he hadn’t fed me one helluva breakfast, I might have kicked his tightly toned butt.

‘Heavenly,’ agreed Ibis, stuffing sugar-coated doughnuts between his plump lips. Ibis had probably never seen the inside of a gym; his buns, I bet, would be soft and malleable like two lumps of rising dough. No doubt he easily absorbed the impact of Pat’s dense muscle. I imagined them in bed together - the rippling of Ibis’s loose skin as they came.

Daac hadn’t taken his eyes off me.

Anna’s were on Daac.

‘A frigging freak, more like,’ I snarled, completely ungrateful.

‘You look like everyone else around here,’ Daac said.

He had a point. He was dressed in loose white pants and 3D tie-dyed shirt. The spirals made me nauseous. Ibis wore a glittery disco jumpsuit and an outrageous red affro. Pat was in too-tight black with a swathe of gold chains. I’d heard Viva was in the grip of a major retrospective fashion groove - seeing it was something else.

‘I think she looks awful,’ said Schaum.

‘No offence, Anna darling, but what would you know about fashion?’ said Ibis, wide-eyed and serious.

Schaum flushed the colour of her birthmarks and tried not to look down at her severe taupe suit. ‘No offence, Ibis, but you’re not just a fashion victim. You’re a fatality.’