Dakini Atoll by Nikhil Singh

Author:Nikhil Singh
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: SF, Cyberpunk
Publisher: Luna Press Publishing Ltd
Published: 2024-01-03T13:05:01+00:00

*

Fortunato’s in the border motel two weeks now. Barely removing his biosuit. Now, he knows he’s in the third world. Hasn’t seen a hologram since landing. Except the Virgin Mary’s. Catholic satellites project them everywhere. Into slums. Random passenger seats. Soon, she’ll be talking. Some shady move to endorse holographic-advertising. No allowance for the arts. Fortunato can imagine it. Epic corruption. Uniquely tactless South Africanisms. Mammoth cuts of supermarket meat. Size of city blocks. Wors sausage – like UFO’s. Projected over starving shanties. Missing his plasma flamer. Jozi is getting rough. Johannesburg winter. Metallic, ice-knifed. Rifted with smog. Uranium in the air. South of the city. Trickling from illegal mines. Biosuit mandate – multi-zone. One day, the city will collapse. Into a honeycomb of pits. Fortunato waits on Melville high street. Formerly bohemian. Now a frontier town. This close to the Rift. Local name for the exclusion zones. Many fused together. Absorbing to a shapeless limbo. The Rift. Ever-expanding. Encapsulating an apocalyptic urban centre. Fortunato arrives one month after the creature. Pre-arranging to meet Kali. At this motel. On a certain date. Now, the creature is late. Very late. Fortunato isn’t sure what to do. Decides to continue waiting. 7nde Laan – edge of the zone. Hotel has an Old West vibe. Used to be an apartment block. Built in the fifties. High-end shady. On an already ruined street. Operated by local criminals. Business accommodation. Invitation only. Secure for Melville. Fortunato feels surprisingly invigorated. Gauteng twilights. High-altitude snap. Even through his winter suit. Rarefied fade – post-sunset. Sapphire to austere pink. Loerie birds, calling from jacarandas. Still swallowing red blossom-pods of aloes. Iron-rich hips of sick garden roses. He’s missed South Africa. Didn’t realise. Later that night – a knock on the door. Fortunato is pleased to see his old friend, Chops Mbane. Talented racer. Stock-car circuit. Tuned engines with Fortunato, in KwaZulu. Back in the noughties.

‘You know, Fortunato, I stayed in this exact room before,’ he grins, pushing past.

Fortunato can’t believe he’s speaking Zulu again. Been years. Chops kicks out an air vet. Always grinning. Gold teeth. Fortunato’s seen him smile in very bad situations. Now, extracting a fat joint from the ventilation.

‘Still here!’ he bellows.

‘What is that?’

‘This is the real Durban Poison, Fortunato. This is rare now!’

Sitting energetically on the bed. Cracking his visor. Fortunato stays sealed. Chops lights up. Spits it out, a moment later.

‘Haibo!’ he exclaims, making faces.

‘How long has that thing been there?’ Fortunato chuckles.

‘Smoking protein-scrubber! What a way to die. Just imagine?’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘We’re going into the Rift tonight.’

‘Kali sent you?’

‘Yebo!’

Fortunato’s satisfied. Capable hands. Chops – one of the best. Knows Jozi inside/out. They head downstairs. Across the street, Hell’s Kitchen. Popular tavern – back in the day. Still is – kind of. Lawless halfway house. Mostly for Rift-runners now. In the cellar – passage to underground garages. Built into the nearby zone wall. Chops keeps his customised police Casspir there. Armoured, mine-resistant. Twelve-passenger capacity. Rebuilt for speed. Bullet-proof monster tires. Matte-black. Tinted glass.

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