Nylon Angel (32 page)

‘She wanted to come.’

‘To check out the lab rats in their natural habitat?’ I looked her over casually. Something about her seemed different. Not right. I heightened my olfaugs but alcohol and body odours and the smell of fear crowded in, confusing me.

Daac slipped a protective hand on her shoulder. ‘She’s safer with me.’

Somehow I didn’t think so but I hesitated at spoiling his delusion - yet.

‘Parrish, I’d like to talk. Privately,’ said Daac.

‘Here’s fine.’ I stood, legs apart slightly, one hand on the Luger.

Irritation flashed across his face. I was forcing his hand publicly - he hadn’t expected that. He looked around uneasily, gauging the situation.

The Muenos hadn’t arrived. Some of Hein’s punters might back me in a fight - but not all. I hoped I wouldn’t have to find out how many.

‘Jamon Mondo is dead. I’ve claimed salvage on his territory.’

‘Mondo stole information of mine. I want it back.’

I shook my head. ‘My insurance. I’ll keep it safe. You stay out of my face.’

‘It belongs to
my family
.’

‘And the Cabal want it back,’ I said calmly.

My words stopped him dead. ‘What do you know about the Cabal?’

‘She’s bluffing, Loyl.’ The girlish voice turned my attention to the slim woman next to him. She seemed unusually composed for a scientist in the same cage as the lab rats.

‘Does she even have what she claims?’ she said. ‘Get her to prove it.’

Daac nodded slowly. ‘I could take this place now, Parrish,’ he said. ‘Give me a reason not to.’

I took two steps closer. I could almost reach out and touch him. Wanted to, really. ‘An army of Muenos.’
Pas, where are you?
‘And if you touch me, I’ve arranged for the entire contents of your bloodlines register to be wiped.’

‘What do you want?’ he whispered dangerously.

Outside Hein’s, shouts erupted.

The word ‘Mueno’ rippled through the bar like a menace. A dozen or more of them forced their way inside, hair braided for action, knives on parade. I looked for Pas, frantic that he didn’t start anything - or worse, prostrate himself in front of me.

I underestimated his savvy, because they fanned out in front of the doors, blocking escape.

The tension in the room reached roulette. My vision swarmed and blood pounded in my head like metal rock. A mistaken gesture could send us all to hell.

Or were we already there?

‘Stop your experiments, Loyl,’ I told him. ‘They’re endangering everyone.’

His eyes flicked from me to the Muenos, calculating risk. ‘What are you talking about?’

I lowered my voice. ‘The side effects you found are symptoms. You’ve released something inside those people. A parasite that alters human biochemistry.’

‘What would you know about biochemistry?’ Anna Schaum scorned me.

‘I don’t have to
know
about it, I’ve seen the proof. You see, Loyl, I
did
save Razz’s files. She knew who wanted them and why. That’s why she’s dead.’

The enormity of my lie sent me spinning toward a hallucination.

Not now! Not
. . .

I never got there.

Anna lunged at me with precise, unnatural speed.

Somewhere in my hindbrain, I was waiting for it. Had been from the minute I’d identified the smell on her as caustic.

I shot her point-blank in the torso. Right about where the adrenals nestled on to the kidneys.

She keeled over and spasmed at my feet.

I made myself watch, gripped by an unholy fear that I’d made a terrible, terrible mistake.
Please, please let it be . . .

Around me guns and knives jacked out in all directions.

But as the convulsions subsided so her appearance altered.

Instead of Daac’s precious scientist, Lang lay dead at my feet, as Jamon had only hours before.

The tension drained from the room, replaced by a grim reality. Shape-shifters. Non-humans.
The whispers, the stories . . . were true . . .

This time I couldn’t control my reaction. I’d killed someone.
Something
.

I turned away and threw up my insides until they threatened to desert my abdomen for good.

Some warlord!

‘Parrish.’

I stared up groggily, through blurred eyes, to Loyl. There was no compassion in him. Only stiff shock. And anger.

‘How did you know?’

I straightened. ‘Razz’s diary. She was having Anna watched at the compound. Seems she had a regular visitor you didn’t know about - a preacher. I guessed it was Lang. He made the mistake of using the same form with me.’

‘You knew he could shape-change?’ His wire hand convulsed like he might strangle me with it, but I ploughed on.

‘That’s why you must end your work. It’s loosed something vicious. The shamans can’t fight it. Nor can the Cabal.’

I searched for an appreciation of the danger in his face. But I got cold and calculating - obsession meeting opportunity, how he could use the knowledge.

My resolve to stop him hardened.

‘Where is Anna?’ A tinge of awkwardness crept into his voice.

I looked away. I didn’t know the answer to that. And, frankly, I didn’t care. How long Lang had been in Anna Schaum’s form was Daac’s problem.

‘You took a big gamble, Parrish.’

‘I cast out the bait. I knew he’d come. I just didn’t know what shape it would be in.’

I didn’t tell Loyl that I’d recognised Lang by his scent.
And
by instinct - the way one parasite can recognise another in its human host.

Nor did I bother to explain how the Eskaalim are similar to us. That they like to dominate, and fight, and they’ll sacrifice each other to get what they need.

‘I made a mistake about you. You’re dangerous and you’re ambitious,’ he said softly. ‘But you’ll give me what I want - in the end.’

‘Then you’ve just made another mistake,’ I promised.

He turned his back on me without another word and took his men with him.

 

Hein’s suddenly seemed enormously empty. I told Larry to feed the Muenos and put it on my tab. Then I thanked Pas - who bowed and mumbled worship-type utterances. I put up with them because he’d come when I needed him. I patted his shoulder awkwardly and told him that as long as he kept feeding the ferals I would, on my oath, make sure he supplanted Topaz Mueno.

He bowed again and went to find food.

Some of Hein’s punters came up and shook my hand, Tert style. Others just came up close and stared at me. So they’d remember who I was.

I bore it for as long as I could and then, just as I decided the floor looked as good as any place to pass out, my prayers were answered.

‘Parrish? What the—’

‘Teece!’ I whispered.

He hurried to my side, tired and filthy but, I hoped, in better condition than me.

‘Mondo?’

‘Dead. And Lang.’ I nodded to the body that Larry’s servitors were busy removing. ‘You missed the show.’

He spat. ‘Good riddance! Wish I’d been here, but I had a little bit of trouble of my own. There’s been Priers out everywhere shooting LTA,’ he admitted sheepishly. ‘You’re all over the Common Net. Breathing down Jamon’s neck. Forcing his surrender.’

I noticed the blood on his arms. ‘You’re cut?’

‘Yeah. But the fighting has stopped. Everyone’s talking about this Oya. They’re saying Oya has saved The Tert - even though it was really you.’ He laughed. ‘I guess it’s about time we had a saviour.’

I didn’t have the energy to explain to him that Oya
was
me. Instead I let him help me to a tactile. Around us Hein’s recovered its rhythm. People in The Tert liked to get on, but they wouldn’t forget.

Someone put a drink in my hand.

‘Where are you going now?’ he asked, gently slipping an arm around me. ‘You look like shit.’

I laughed weakly. ‘I’m going with you.’

The surprise and pleasure on his face was worth more than a week’s sleep. Maybe, with a bit of luck, he might even forget that I owed him a bike and a new helmet . . .

Then again, maybe not!

I wasn’t in love with Teece, but he’d earned my respect. And trust. Sometimes that means a whole lot more.

 

When I’d recovered, I still had a lot of business to take care of; a media image to fix - like how to convince the world I hadn’t killed Razz Retribution.

Then I had a kid with no arms I had to see and an army of Muenos and ferals to repay. I also had to make that promised visit to Gwynn and get Trunk off his back.

And there was no forgetting the Cabal! Would I do what they wanted me to if Loyl didn’t stop his experiments?

I didn’t know.

Daac had gotten under my skin. He’d also lied to me at every turn. The jury was still out on what that meant.

But firstly, I had to find the complete set of research data. I’d realised one thing today. Lang was a minor player, like Jamon, when I’d thought he was
the
player. My real enemy still lurked in sinister silhouette.

Besides. It was the only hope I had for undoing the genetic changes in me.

Perhaps, then, I had a chance.

Perhaps, then, we all had a chance.

Or maybe I was just delaying the inevitable. While the Eskaalim mixed cocktails with my basic chemistry, the war inside me would continue. I didn’t know if I would win it, but I wouldn’t back down. I wouldn’t give in.

I wasn’t on the run any more.

I was on the hunt.

‘Teece, I need some air.’

He nodded, understanding, and headed towards the bar. ‘I’ll come and find you.’

I drained my drink and staggered outside.

Torley’s hummed a soothing business-as-usual tune. It settled my overstrung nervous system better than a wack of benzos. I needed some time alone. I’d killed a man and staged a gang coup - it was more than enough for one day.

I made it down an alleyway half a block from Hein’s and collapsed on to a set of rough steps. Leaning back, my eyes closed without my permission and my mind clouded with exhaustion.

Despite the cracked plascrete sticking into my back, I dozed a little - maybe a lot - until something jolted me awake.

‘Parrish Plessis?’

I opened my eyes. Recognition hit like a slap.

I jerked the Luger clear of the holster and whipped out my remaining garrotting wire, but neither would do much damage to the ’Terro crouched a body’s length away.

After a helluva long moment it periscoped its lens to within a hot breath of my face.

I glared straight back into the iris, and directly, I hoped, into the face of its Prier journo. I had no juice left and I wasn’t gonna get far on an ugly look. A wild urge to shout
you’ll never take me alive
flashed into my head. I stifled it and dredged up some dignity.

‘What?’ My belligerence easily matched my gaze.

From the side of the lens unfolded another, smaller arm. The bud-end mic snaked toward my head.

I stilled, and let it settle in my ear. Visions of my arrest being broadcast on the next LTA suddenly evaporated. If it wanted to kill or detain me, it’d be over by now.

Seems, instead, though, it had something to say.

I sighed. Didn’t everyone?

The connection crackled before the journo’s voice came through from the Prier.

‘Ms Plessis, I need work done. Privately.’

First books are a huge, collaborative affair. How else could the writer ever get to the end of something written wholly on faith and borrowed time? So here are heart-felt thanks to my collaborators . . .

 

Linda Curtin for starting it all (yes Linnie - I blame you!) Robyn and Kerry Smith for reading very early Parrish when she was still Loretta. The ROR-ettes: Maxine McArthur for putting up with the hysterics, Rowena Lindquist for Scallywags, Trent Jamieson for consoling e-mails, Tansy Rayner Roberts for being beautiful, and Margo Lanagan for fire-lighting skills and telling it how it is. Lyn Uhlmann, Adrianne Fitzpatrick and Lu Cairncross. Kath Holliday for the ‘Attitude’, and the long drive down with the Bolly. The Vision Writers Group, Brisbane, for carrying the speculative fiction torch, especially Kate Eltham and Grace Dugan. Dr Ros Petelin for teaching me about excellence (still learning Ros!). Peter Bishop from Varuna Writers Centre, NSW, for pulling me out of the pile. Tara Wynne, my agent, for being such a delight to work with and for taking a risk. Ben Sharpe, my dazzling editor, for letting Parrish loose. Rose, Nicci and Lorna, my
real-life
heroines. All my family, de Courtenay’s and de Pierres’, especially chere frere, Paul, and my boys. And lastly, for Nick, unquestionably the light and love of my life.

 
 
 

 
Nylon Angel

 

 
MARIANNE DE PIERRES

 
 
Hachette Digital