Kundo Wakes Up by Saad Z. Hossain

Author:Saad Z. Hossain
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

Chapter Twelve: Dead Gola

They flagged an autopiloted drone taxi. It was a simple box that moved through the air in predetermined paths, as if on invisible rails. The ride was practically free, a few fractions of karma points. The seats were torn and repaired with cheap glue, the insides festooned with faded graffiti. The city fleet was both aging and underused; as more people were driven underground, there was less incentive for Karma to replace her city superstructure.

“I’m being watched,” Hafez said, glancing toward the sky before climbing in. “Fucking Karma. I’m on a list. We’ll be followed. Fuck it. Can’t be helped. Hopefully she’ll lose interest.”

Kundo felt a surge of pity for the man. You’re not the Tiger anymore, Hafez. I don’t think anyone is watching you. Even revolutionaries become irrelevant.

Kundo helped Hafez in, letting the man have the forward-facing seat. They lifted off with a rattle, and there was a herky-jerky flight path that Kundo followed on his Echo. He hardly ever took air-cabs, but it was clear that Hafez could not walk for long. They were going deep into the red zone near the river, a part of the city that had been abandoned several years ago. The disembodied voice of the cab tried to dissuade them from entering this area with increasing desperation, even going so far as to promise them a variety of alternate locations where illicit goods and services could be obtained.

Hafez was not doing too well, overcome with tremors and a noticeable slur. Their desultory conversation ceased altogether as Kundo helplessly watched him struggle to find two coherent words. He finally took out a little case, extracted a dermal patch with trembling fingers, and slapped it on the back of his neck. His body seemed to relax and some of the alertness returned to his eyes.

“It happens.” Hafez patted the case. “Echo fritzes. Slap one of these on me if you need me sharp.”

“What is it?”

“Speed cocktail, basically. Takes a few days off my life every time I use it. Don’t frown, Kundo, I’m not trying to live forever here.”

The cab air meter was now red and they were running into rough neighborhoods where gangs of camo-swathed men and women watched them with silent hostility. This place was given over wholly to feral zeros, a term coined for those people who had no stake in the city and no faith in the karma-point economy, people who had essentially given up. Karma still fed them and tried to provide basic necessities, and to extract microclime nanites from their bodies in repayment, a system that pleased neither party. The neighborhood here was underwater, a dirty gray tide, a finger stretched out by the Bay of Bengal to probe for weakness.

For an exorbitant fee the air-cab agreed to hover in space for half an hour. Kundo helped Hafez out of the cab into ankle-deep water, wincing as the Tiger’s fancy shoes got waterlogged. The seals of his own boots held, mercifully.

The Tiger spent a long minute

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