Nylon Angel (20 page)

‘And before that?’

‘A while.’ His attention was making me uncomfortable. In fact the whole thing did. Sitting, eating breakfast together, making conversation - it wasn’t normal!

I tried changing the topic. ‘What exactly did Razz - Lione - have on her files?’

He sighed. ‘Anna’s identified the genes that produce the genetic resistance to heavy metals. We were about to begin mass splicing of individual DNA. In fact we’ve already trialled some. In a generation or two the changes will be reproducing themselves more quickly than if we waited for the process to occur naturally. Our birthrate in The Tert is surprisingly high - but this way our children might actually stay alive a bit longer. We kept a backup of everything on Razz’s PC. It was part of the agreement. Her security is so tight, it seemed a good idea.’

Tight? Yeah, well I could vouch for that!
‘You seem to know a lot about this science gig.’

He shrugged. ‘ALC.’

Accelerated Learning Chip. Somehow I didn’t buy that. There was something about his whole manner - at times it was almost . . . moneyed . . . educated beyond the normal Viva netschooler. Certainly not Tert scum.

‘So how will you finance it now?’

‘Maybe, in time, we can convince someone else to back the project. At the moment it’s too risky - not knowing who we’re up against.’

‘Where’s this come from?’ I tugged at my clothes and gestured to the case. ‘And this apartment? Who pays for that?’

Daac looked away from me, embarrassed. ‘People owe me . . . at least they owed Razz. I pulled in some favours. She had a lot of influence,’ he said finally.

His meaning struck me like a whiplash. ‘You were balling her, weren’t you?
She owned you!
’

He didn’t answer.

Unreasonable anger flared in me. Like a girl who’d just found out the guy she was smitten with was a porn star.

‘Who else? I s’pose you’re doing Schaum as well.’

He leant over the breakfast bar, no longer embarrassed. More like a thunderhead about to drop its load.

‘And who the hell do you think you are? A vestal virgin?’

I stiffened, fists clenched. ‘I play it straight. That’s who I am. Just trying to find a piece of air that no one else can fuck up.’

‘Can anyone join in, or is this a private show?’

Ibis’s mild voice stopped us dead in our tracks. The plump man strolled into the room taking in the dirty plates. He threw me an outrageously flirtatious grin. ‘What are you complaining about? He cooked you breakfast.’

I stalked off into the bedroom without a word to either of them.

 

Later, when Ibis finally tempted me out, Daac had gone.

I checked the condo city map and began plotting a route home. My new kit was packed up by my feet. I considered leaving it behind and then thought better. Daac owed me that much at least.

Realising my intention to cut out, Ibis clucked around me. ‘You have to stay. There are too many people looking for us - for you. We’ll get you out, but you have to be patient. Loyl’s calling in some favours.’

Patient?
He had the wrong bod.

‘What favours?’ I raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘Grrl?’

‘Tolly’s not a girl,’ he objected. ‘She’s a system and strategist tek. Anyway, there’s a citywide search on. He’s trading with her - a copy of the police search pattern model for—’

‘Don’t tell me!’ I put my hand up.

Ibis gave a quick, semi-apologetic smile.

I flicked out of the map and marched into the bedroom, glancing through all the net broadcasts. Ibis was right. Teknicolour Parrish. If I poked my nose out of the door, I’d be quod bait.

The knowledge depressed me. So did the fact that I was reliant on
Mr
Tall, Dark and Certifiable.

Ibis pottered around the flat, tidying while I sat sullenly on the couch watching him. Eventually curiosity got to me. ‘How do you know him?’

Ibis poured two teas and brought me one. He sat opposite. ‘We’re related, actually.’

My eyes widened. ‘You?’ He had to be joking. Ibis was medium height, soft-bellied, fair-skinned and playful while Daac was a strange, intense, dusky, humourless giant.

‘Distant,’ Ibis acknowledged. ‘Loyl is obsessed with family. If you’re blood then you’re a brother. He
is
rather divine, don’t you think?’ He sighed heavily. ‘But straight.’

‘How did he meet Razz Retribution? Don’t tell me she was related too?’

Ibis raised an eyebrow. ‘He told you about her?’

I nodded, lying. ‘Sure.’

Ibis’s eyes misted over and I couldn’t tell if he was for real. ‘Loyl was devastated when she was murdered.’

‘You’d never know it,’ I bitched.

‘She was a darling. But she was still media. She thought the world of Loyl. He persuaded her to keep investing in Anna’s research. Even after the death threats.’

‘Death threats?’

Ibis stopped guiltily. ‘I’m talking too much.’

Yes, you are
, I thought, and it had opened a tiny window into Daac’s mind.

Call me a cynic, but I’m yet to meet anybody who wasn’t motivated first at a personal level, even those with the grandest ideals. Everything else comes second to personal cost. Daac might believe in family and his ‘task’, but I reckoned that right now he was working off gut reaction - guilt and anger.

His lover dead, his life’s work smashed. Those, at least, were things I could understand.

This ‘higher purpose’ gig, on the other hand, gave me nausea.

Or maybe was it those annoying creatures that had taken root in my stomach, flipping and fluttering every time Daac looked at me.

Eventually Ibis left to meet Pat. Or so he said. His worried look told me he’d gone searching for Loyl.

To keep my mind focused, I unsealed the neck of my body armour and fumbled for the zip disk. Then I shoved the couch against the door and sat down at the PC.

It came up with a scribble of symbols. Information was there, but I’d need help to retrieve it.

I shut down the PC, tucked both the disks away, put the couch back and rummaged in the kitchen for some bread. Then I went and lay on the bed.
One-World
flickered on the wall screen but I didn’t much feel like seeing myself in cross-section. Instead I curled up in a ball with the Glock under my pillow, three knives strapped on, and the case with the grenades in easy reach. I drowsed, not really sleeping deeply, in case I dreamt something stupid - and blew myself up.

‘Parrish.’ A deep, insistent growl in my ear.

‘Mmm?’ I muttered languorously to the familiar voice. Maybe I had been dreaming of Daac, a little.

It warned, ‘We’ve got company.’

I sat bolt upright snapping the Glock into a draw. All I saw was my own mussed-up reflection in the mirror.

Daac was at my side, crouched, peering through a crack in the door.

Ibis’s voice drifted through from the living area, flirtatious and calm.

‘Oh my,’ the plump man cooed. ‘My lucky day. A big hard man.’

‘Military 43971A, Spirelle. This building is being searched. We suspect you may be harbouring a dangerous criminal. Step aside.’

Daac and I exchanged eloquent glances. The corny, tin voice was a ‘roustie’. Mechanoid military. They were called rousties because they got to clean up the mess, the daggs, the deaders, like the roustabouts in shearing teams back when raw materials were still harvested from live animals.

That was a good and bad sign. Rousties were thorough and uncompromising - no humour at all. Ibis was wasting his time flirting. On the other hand they could be damn stupid if you knew how to mess with their logic.

Daac eased the door shut and crawled over to me.

‘Pack up your gear,’ he whispered.

I was already doing it.

My mind raced through possibilities. The window wasn’t one. Fifty-five storeys down and anyway it didn’t open. The laundry chute? At a pinch I might fit down it, but Daac had no chance. That left the contents of my case as my only hope. I could blow the whole unit off the side of the condo.

To my surprise, Daac was busy stripping off.

I smacked him silently on the bare shoulder. ‘What the—?’

‘They must have followed me back here. Tie me up,’ he whispered fiercely.

I stared at him. By this time he was down to his underwear.

Sweat collected on my brow. A weird mixture of fear and excitement coddled in my stomach. I wondered if he’d been with another woman. Tolly, was it?

‘Quit sweating,’ he hissed, ‘they can detect it. After you’ve tied me, get into the chute. Slide to the first junction. No further, or you’ll end up going all the way. The fall will kill you, or the steam cleaners will blister your skin off. I’ll drop this down when it’s safe to come back.’ He held up a length of black nylon cord. ‘Now tie me up, but loosely near my hands.’

My eyes stayed riveted to his body, as he peeled the last of his clothes off.

He tore the bedclothes down and lay spreadeagled on the bed, naked. Sculpted muscle and the finest matt of dark hair. His nipples were black.

Desire flooded me and my feet were rooted to the spot.

‘Parrish,’ he whispered again, the barest hint of humour. ‘Later.’

His soft sarcasm ripped me from the jaws of my libido. I had him trussed like a rolled roast in about thirty seconds.

‘Promise me something,’ he whispered as I picked up my case and scrambled into the chute.

I glanced back at him, questioning.

‘Promise me we can do this again.’

I pulled a face.

Ibis raised his voice. ‘But I’m entertaining. You can’t go in there. Don’t you understand?’

The roustie would be on-line to the human-manned command module. Boy, were they in for a treat! I looped the case over my wrist and shimmied into the chute.

I reckon I did it with about a minute to spare. As I slid round the bend, Ibis squealed in mock outrage, then I couldn’t hear any more.

The first branch was about five metres down and though I wedged myself to slow the slide, the Y-bend nearly cut me in two. I rubbed my offended parts and balanced there clumsily.

A load of clothes dumped down the left branch caught me by surprise and I nearly slipped. I wound up wearing underwear on my head and having to stuff towels and suits down either side of my legs.

A girl could get a disease in a place like this!

With the case protecting my head, I scrunched over to one side of the chute and siphoned things past. It worked, mostly, except for one very big drop that shortened my neck.

While I waited, I thought about Daac, tied up and naked on the bed. And me, stuck in a laundry chute, raining dirty washing.

The universe was a complete bastard!

An hour or more ticked by. Either there was a problem, or they’d forgotten me. How long can it take for a roustie to search an apartment?

I wiggled around in the chute and started experimenting. The sides were smooth and slippery and, unless I grew suckers, impossible to climb very far. I could probably puncture holes in the sides and use them as finger holds. But would the damage set off an alarm?

I filed that idea as a last resort.

At this stage going down was a lot more attractive than going up. But I needed something to slow me. Especially if a load dropped through at the same time.

The actual laundry was probably in the basement, which made the length of the tubes something that didn’t bear thinking about. Fifty-plus tiers down.

Whew! Maybe I’d sit and wait a bit longer.

Then a humming noise started up below me. It grew louder by the minute. Service drone? Had to be! The chute had probably reported a blockage.

Me.

I’d never seen a chute drone before but my imagination did a great job. No doubt it had pincers to loose tangled garments. I pictured myself being skewered by claws and dragged down into the steam vats.

What seemed like the tame alternative to facing the roustie suddenly sent ripples of fear through me.

The chute vibrated as the drone got closer. I racked my brains for ideas.

Maybe I could confuse it, mislead it up the other chute. With any luck it’d have to go right to the top before it could come down again.

Carefully I opened my suitcase and checked over the contents. Rifle, knives, grenades.

Tempting!

I pulled open the velcro pouch. My new set of fatigues.

With a pang of regret, I pulled the pants free and unclipped the
sog
. A more basic model than the one I’d had - but fine in a pinch.

Then I searched for a seam in the left branch of the chute. The nearest one - apart from the one I was sitting on . . . was just out of reach. Naturally!

With a steadying breath I dropped my knees carefully on to the narrow ledge I was perched on and stretched. The case was the problem. If I held it on my left arm it affected my balance. If I hooked it on my right, it was too heavy to use the tool. In the end I settled for clutching it between my thighs.

After a few minutes of scraping with the
sog
, a sliver of aluminium ruptured and I snagged the pants firmly on to it.

Sweat poured off me.

The drone had shifted from a hum to a dull roar. Close. But judgement was everything. If I tried to wedge up the right chute too early I’d get tired and slip. Last minute only.

I breathed deeply and focused.

I felt the vibration in my teeth. It must be only a few metres away.

I forced myself up into the right tube, higher than the first seam, and braced. But my wet palms slipped and I immediately slid back down half the distance.