PP 2 - Code Noir by Marianne De Pierres

Author:Marianne De Pierres [Pierres, Marianne De]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction, Fiction, General, Bodyguards, Science fiction; English
ISBN: 9780451461001
Publisher: Roc
Published: 2006-07-05T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

‘Oh,’ I said. So God was in manufacturing.

‘We-trade-body-stufE’ He thumped his bony chest. ‘Me-I-carry-the-sebar-virus. Me-I’ve-lived-longer-than-all-t he-others. Ike-says-me-I’m-a-fokin’-miracle. Get-all-my-food-for-free-now. S’long-as-I-turn-up-for-swabs.’

Sebar virus? I’d never heard of it but the sores on his face told me enough. Ike — God — sounded fully uncool.

I delved into my pack for some of Loser’s hair and flicked it to the petit. ‘Here,’ I said. ‘It’s part dingo. Worth something around here. Buy yourself some health care.’

He gave a confused look.

I slipped the rest of the hair away into my pack before I lowered the python back and strapped it in.

Damn me if the little creep didn’t whip a magnifier and light gismo out of his pants to check it out. What was with these Mo-Vay people? Was everyone a lab geek?

His grin broadened into something almost pleasant. ‘Go-to-the-pies-a-couple-sets-down. Tell-‘em-me-Monts-says-you-should-have-the-floater.’

MontsP I gave him a look.

“S’-cool. ‘S-not-on-the-menu. Strictly-on-the-house-for-friends.’

Friends? What was the little creep thinking? I bared my teeth at him, and moved on.

My stomach growled incessantly as I jogged southward, but innate paranoia told me not to risk eating from Mont’s recommendation or any other of the food vendors. Apart from the hygiene questions, I seriously did not take to the locals.

I thought I’d seen every type of aberrant living in The Tert, but Mo-Vay punters were something … other. Not sicko so much as sick … ailing in mind and body. Crusted lesions or wet scars marked their skin like they were living with a permanent, oozing toxicity. Certainly nothing you wanted to get physical with.

How did they get like this? Where had they come from?

Urgency forced me to stop and ask questions using the canrat fur as lubricant. Straight up they knew I was a stranger. I was outsized, my skin was too clear and I talked too slow to be anonymous in this place.

Everyone had a fancy magnifier or a portable DNA analyser and a sample scoop. I imagined the scoop gathering sloughed-off skin cells or catching exuded moisture droplets, and found myself holding my breath as I waited for them to answer.

I approached twins (or one person split — it was hard to know) who only had one set of arms between them. They camped under the old monorail track in a lean-to made of cracked roof tiles. Up close their congenital abnormality was less alarming than the sticky, lumpy texture of their skin and their infected eyes.

‘I’m looking for someone.’ I waved a finger of canrat hair in their faces and described Tulu and Mei.

I got no response.

“What about an ultralight? You seen one fly over?’ I tried.

That got them laughing. At least that’s what I think it was. When they spoke to each other it fell somewhere between a dialect and a cleft palate.

Pretty soon, though, I got their joke.

By late morning the sky was busy with air traffic — droning unmarked cargo ‘copts and buzzsaw ULs swooping in from the east. Each one circled low, before disappearing into the same spot. Due south.

I tried talking to a young epox that looked like Clancy.

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