Future City Blues: A Tech Noir Collection by Simon Kewin & Milo James Fowler & Neil Vogler

Author:Simon Kewin & Milo James Fowler & Neil Vogler [Kewin, Simon & Fowler, Milo James & Vogler, Neil]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction
Goodreads: 25032366
Publisher: Stormcrow Books
Published: 2015-02-21T00:00:00+00:00

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/ THREE

I was pretty sure, up until thirty seconds ago, that Harry wouldn’t torture and kill me. But now I’m not quite so certain. The way the three of him are looking at me, I see murder in their eyes. I see an abnormal, unhinged, unnatural energy. And I see naked, undisguised bloodlust.

It’s hard to keep watch on three Anthades and three Harry Allwears at once. Takes some doing.

Behind my back, I’ve finished slicing through the wire. I hold the pieces together for show, just in case, mini-blade nestling in my palm.

One of Harry is now so close I can smell his godawful musky cologne.

I’ve got one move here, one more thing to try. And if that works – if – then I get to test an interesting theory that I’ve hit upon about Triplers.

All or nothing, Shy…

“Harry,” I say to the armed, slowly advancing Version, “It may surprise you to learn that I’ve fantasised about this scenario. But in my fantasy, it’s you in this chair, and I’m the one with the cleaver. Look, I understand that this is the way it has to be … that this is the way it always had to be … but you should know something. Despite my best efforts, despite the resentment and the hurt and the acid burn of bitterness that still eats at my guts every single time I look at you … I still care about you, Harry. It fucking pains me to say it. But part of me is still your wife.”

A moment passes. The air in the room feels one hundred times heavier, and I brace myself for something. A blow to head, a derisive laugh, a dismissive snort.

But no. Instead there it is, in his eyes: confusion. Or confusion of a different kind to that which existed moments before, anyway. Suddenly, instantaneously, Harry reintegrates and is one man again. He turns around to Anthade, the Anthade on the right. The one that, coincidentally, is nearest to me.

“I’m not —” Harry begins.

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

I fling myself out of the chair at the nearest Anthade, clutching my tiny blade. In two lightning steps I’m on him. And then, even as I see his Versions moving in frantically to grab me, even as I feel two sets of panicked hands on my neck and back, I’m jabbing my arm at Anthade, and with one single brutal curve of my wrist I slit his throat from ear to ear.

Anthade’s neck fountains vivid red blood. He gurgles angrily, disbelievingly, bits of him splattering over his desperate fingers as he claws at the wound, and then he obligingly collapses to the floor. His Versions, bereft of their life-giving Primary, vanish and die around me.

I whirl around to Harry. I’m blood-sprayed now, poised for more combat, and all I have is this shockingly tiny blade. Facing him and his cleaver, I feel abruptly ridiculous.

I’m acutely aware there’s a kitbag full of blades on the sticky floor between the two of us, however.

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