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I WAS RIGHT. IT STARTED happening about five seconds later. Tyge started a new conversation that, unbeknown to me, was designed to steer me towards a certain conclusion. “Yep,” she began, “I think things are going to pick up a bit now.”
I nodded, then just had to ask, “So, hasn’t it been too good lately?”
“Doc,” she said adamantly, “it’s been totally crap for years!”
“How come?”
She sighed angrily. “It’s those bastards back in Crush Central. This place was built to service the science industry, right? We used to get all sorts of programs running, big projects with maybe twenty or thirty boffins crawling all around the place. Plus support crew, engineers, hookers ... They fed a lot of money into Edgetown. Then the bloody Authority started cutting it back, little by little, directing the Science out east. Then we found out that a couple of the conniving rats on the Steering Committee had investments out there; hotels and stuff. They were just feathering their own fucking nests, the greedy bastards! We weren’t getting the Science revenue anymore, and that meant less work for everyone. Then ICONN shit itself for the twentieth time and they didn’t bother fixing it. That made it worse.”
I could imagine. How could anyone get anything done without Network?
“Tipper reckons they’re trying to shut the whole town down,” added Tyge, her contempt for the Crush Authority almost dripping off her.
“Why?”
“Because they’re a pack of selfish pantie-wearing wimps, that’s why! The east side is boring! It doesn’t have the same level of subduction. There’s virtually no earthquakes so they don’t have the maintenance costs. And fewer deaths means lower insurance premiums.”
I began to agree with their logic but she cut me off.
“Those morons are supposed to be supporting science, but they’re actually doing the exact opposite! They’ll find the answers on this side, Doc! The East is dead!”
She slammed a beer can on the table for emphasis. No one even looked around.
“So, it’s been a tough few years, huh?” said I, trying sympathy instead.
“Yup. It’s been all I could do just keeping my truck.”
“That bad, huh?”
“For the last year me an’ Stevo have been squatting in an empty warehouse. No air for the first month. Have you every slept in one of those breathers? I tell ya, it sucks. Then Stevo re-jigged the power supply. He’s a bloody genius I tell you. We’d all be stuffed without him. Maddening to live with, though. Bloody maddening!”
I nodded sympathetically again.
“So anyway,” she continued, “last three months I’ve been camping in my bus.”
“You’ve got a bus too?”
“Nar, Doc. It’s clip-on. Goes on the truck just same as that tank. So every time I get some loopies...”
There was that word again. “Loopies?” My face must have revealed my confusion.
“... Sorry, ‘tourists’. If I get enough for a run I just change shells and go. ”
“Ah.” (Her tourists rode around in her house? That was just ... fucked.) This was starting to get boring. I didn’t want to be talking about trucks again.
Then her tone subtly changed. I was too tired or drunk or emotionally trammeled to spot how I got set up. “Except now we’re expecting a bit of a rush on so I’m going to need the bus again, as a bus. So I was wondering if I could use one of your spare rooms, just till things come right. What do ya reckon, Doc?”
“Errr...” That’s all I said aloud, but what I was thinking was, ‘Oh my God if Panther finds out I’ll lose the biggest chance in my career!’
I made a pained expression “Um, yeah, but there’ll be sensors everywhere. Every bug is counted, I don’t know about humans. The ... the ... the power will spike up. Something will get back to Central.” I needed a solid reason to head this off. My career was on the line!
She was waving that off when I thought of another good problem: “What about your strider? Does it even fit in my docking ring?” (I nearly said ‘in my rectal’, as they do.)
She sat back a little, very relaxed. “No worries mate,” she began, and I thought by then the issue was over, “Have you ever heard of EMP damage?”
“Huh?”
“Electromagnetic pulses. The Big Lady shoots one off now and then. It’s her nervous system at work, or as Tipper says: ‘When the Big Girl comes’.” Tyge very briefly faked an orgasm, much to my discomfort. “It wrecks electronic equipment, anything delicate.”
“Oh, like implants?” I had heard of it.
“Yup, them too. But it’s totally unpredictable. Directional, but utterly random.”
I didn’t really understand where this was going, so I said so.
“The reality is, Doc ... What was your name again?”
“Filmore.”
“I’ll just call you ‘Doc’. The reality is: the clinic took a big hit about five years ago. Stevo was called in but the telemetry was fully fucked. He rescued what he could and set up an emulator to keep Central happy. It was simple enough: there was always a Flake living there. Nothing else happened. Oh, and if he used the taxi button the emulator would note it because it’s linked to taxi records, but the rest of the building was literally faking it. Still is.”
My discomfort returned. I’d sometimes wondered if Harriet faked it.
“So ...?”
“So your boss won’t hear a thing. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse, promise ya.” Then a final after-thought: “...And I’ll fit your rectal, no probs.” As I sat, trying to absorb every element of this twisted conversation, she suddenly added, “Oh – one of them was a woman, that’s right, but Tipper soon got her hooks into her.”
“Well,” I said, hoping to take charge of the moment, “As long as you keep your hooks out of me, I think we’ve got ourselves an arrangement.”
“Doc, you’re the greatest!”
“Just until things come right.” I finished firmly.
#
AS YOU KNOW, WORD GETS around. I don’t mean about Tyge moving in with me, we kept that fairly low key. No, I mean about the piano player at the Crush Club. Someone must have been busy sending out dozens of SMS’s because people started arriving the very next day. Tourists drawn by a rumour of a town that danced on the itchy skin of ‘the Biggest Beast in the Galaxy’; where the locals partied late to the sound of a miraculously re-discovered ancient musical instrument; and where you could dice with Death.
I knew of course that it was not the instrument that mattered, it was the lovely hands of the lovely Sharp. And I knew that the lovely Sharp was in good hands.
Unfortunately they were not my hands.
But I tried to turn a blind eye to her affair and got on with my life. I soon had the clinic cleaned up (despite my new flatmate who turned out to be a real slob!) and running smoothly. My Kirrikibat crew were well-groomed and happy. So happy in fact that they went out one day and re-erected the bowling alley. The next day they restored the hover rink. With these extra facilities the town started to really buzz.
The hotel re-opened all its rooms, restarted its restaurant, then leased the old Science Pod and turned it into a sort of a backpackers. And of course the Crush Club was flat out. I think Komodo was doing particularly well. He even called in a technician and got his cyborg eye fixed. Bought some new bling. He looked almost normal without that eye-patch. I wondered about that mangled eyebrow though. Was he ever going to get it fixed, or was it some sort of warrior-pride thing? I brushed up on his species and yes: they had a warrior class. Hmm.
Within days the tourist boom really kicked in. Every truckie in town was working his/her butt off but always had time for drinkies every night at the same (the only) bar in town – a place where Mayor Bol was often seen rubbing his hands together and muttering gleefully, “Far better than a fuckin’ golf course, far better!”
#
THEN CAME TROUBLE. It started innocuously enough. I was at the club one evening getting drinks from the bar when this big flabby guy heaved himself strategically into my way and said, “So you’re the famous Doc, eh?”
I juggled my load to one side and took his hand, “Yep, apparently. How’re you going, mate?” I endured his damp handshake.
“Not so good,” he answered, “got this nasty little pain right about here:” he pointed at his liver, “gets real bad after dinner. What d’ya reckon, Doc?”
I got it all the time. I was ‘The Doc’ – jamb-packed with medical knowledge even if he had little experience of it. Some I could help, but others really needed to get on a plane for Crush Central because my clinic was still so woefully inadequate, and I told them so. But I offered what help I could, and here it was happening again. “Only after dinner?” I asked, curious about his guts. It wasn’t that often; what with genetic makeovers, organ rebuilds and such; that I ever encountered a genuine chronic condition.
“Well yeah, after every meal I suppose, but yeah; mostly after dinner.”
“Like the good stuff, do you,” I asked with a friendly confiding tone, “You know: the creamy sauces, the marbled steaks, those little full-fat cheeses?”
His eyebrows went up. He looked genuinely pleased, “You obviously know your food, Doc! Not like these yobbos. Hey why don’t you come around some-time? We’ll start with some nice goose livers in dolphin oil, followed by...”
“Whoa, whoa, not for me, dude. No, I was just thinking that if you were to just cut back on the fats for a while; give that gallbladder of yours a bit of a rest; you’ll be just fine. Good for another hundred years!”
He looked slightly relieved, “So you don’t think it’s all that serious?”
“No, no, not at all.”
Suddenly he remembered his manners. “Oh, Maddi Hickster’s the name. Used to be the mayor round here.”
I shook his pale flabby mitt again. “Filmore Bagel.”
“Yep,” he said, getting into his stride, “I tried to move this town up in the world but these losers didn’t get it. You see they’ve got no will to succeed, that’s their problem. They drift out here thinking they’re escaping from their seedy little lives of crime or inadequacy or whatever, but of course it only follows them. It’s all a matter of attitude, and they’re just a bunch of losers. I busted my arse for this place and it still went nowhere.” He sounded bitter.
I shrugged, trying to look bored (which I was) “Guess it’s had its problems.”
He leaned closer, as if warning me of something, “You know most of ‘em can’t go back to the real world. Their implants are fried. One guy here will even do it for ya. You’ve still got yours haven’t you?”
“Yeah, sure. Working fine.”
“Good. Come around some time. We could have some fun together. I’ve got a room.”
“Yeah, maybe. Sometime. I’m studying, so...”
He looked around, drink in hand, sort of sneering at the booming success of the place, and abruptly changed the subject, “So, the old dragon gets in a singer, eh?”
“Sure has changed the place.” I said cheerfully, trying to edge away.
“Well you know, some folks like it quiet, and some folks don’t like reptiles.”
Okay, this had gone far enough. “Listen, ah, Maddi, nice to chat but these won’t stay cold forever.” I waves my beers and gave him one of those hapless grins, “Can’t keep the ladies waiting you know.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled distractedly, “And thanks for the advice, Doc. Any chance I can come in for a check-up sometime?”
“Well I’m not really set up for it yet. These losers let the place go to pack. But I’ll keep you posted!” By then I was several metres away from him, worming my way backwards through the crowd. I hoped it was the last I would see of him.
How wrong was I going to be?
I rejoined my friends. “Who was that guy?” I asked, trying to point out Maddi Hickster.
“Eh?” They twisted around. “Oh God, that's Hickster! What’s he doing here?”
Notch scowled, “He timed it well. Komodo would’ve ripped the fat off him.”
“Komodo’s away?” I asked.
“Secret dragon business.”
To be honest, I hadn’t even noticed he was missing. Was he off-world to get his eyebrow ridges regrown? Damn – there goes my first paying client! How could the timing be so bad?
“So, this Hickster; he rich then?”
“Filthy.” Answered Tipper, “Used to run the Palace before it shut. Profiteered off the scientist industry; pissed in all the right pockets; ruined the town when he was mayor... Oh and did I mention: he’s an arsehole.”
“I see he’s loved and respected by all.”
“You’ll feel the same once you get to know him.”
I got all pious, “Well I like to think we’re all born equal. Inside that man there’s a little boy just wanting to be loved.”
Tipper got in quickly with a quip I struggled to understand, “And I bet he thinks the same about you!” There was a huge burst of laughter.
#
IT WAS AROUND ABOUT midnight. The party was raging on, but Tyge wanted to head home. I was glad enough of that so we slipped out the back towards the vehicle dock. We got into that dim stretch where I’d first discovered the piano, she paused, glanced back, and suddenly said “In here!” She opened a door I’d always taken to be just a cupboard or a switchboard, and it was both of those things, but as she dragged me in with one hand she must have touched a secret switch with the other and the side of it opened inwards. I was suddenly in a cool-store. At least I guessed I was. It was utterly dark in there, and cold!
I was, as you can imagine, suddenly terrified.
Another switch. Primitive stuff, but a light came on. Yup, I was in a coolstore. There were cartons of food stacked to the ceiling; that sort of thing, and almost entirely obscured behind them was the door to a large freezer.
She moved some stuff aside as she spoke quickly, “Do not ever mention to anyone that you’ve been in here! Komodo doesn’t trust outsiders, and to him you’re still the enemy so yeah: he’ll probably kill you, but I want you to know something about him because ...”
Her hand paused on the handle.
“... because I want you to know it. He’s a dangerous guy. He’s angry. But once you know why...” She paused again, long enough to eyeball me with those angry tiger-eyes; an effect roughly like being kneed in the balls, “This town has needed allies for a long time, but these shitheads have fucked it up over and over again, and it keeps getting worse. Now, since I found out you’re interested in eyebrows ...”
I tried to interrupt. She growled, “Shut! It! Just listen for once, because once you understand Komodo...” She paused again. “Oh what the fuck, just take a look.”
She opened the freezer. I recoiled in horror, gasped. It was Komodo! Right there, just inside, crusted in ice, staring at me with his dead frozen eyes. What the living fuck did this mean? My mind whirled, trying to explain how he got in here, utterly missing the fact that it wasn’t Komodo at all.
“This is his wife; no-one knows her name; but dear Komodo – he’s dragged her along with him for the last twenty-two years.”
“He killed her?”
“Don’t be a fuckwit, Doc! They’re a cryovitic species!”
“Ahhh – I knew that.”
“Didn’t seem to know it ten seconds ago.”
“Yeah; sorry.” I re-examined the specimen, finally noting that it was smaller than Komodo and didn’t have the male ridges and spikes. Yes: the females were cuter – if anyone could ever say ‘cute’ and refer to this species. “So why does he keep her in here?”
“Don't you know anything about this species?”
“Aaaaah ... not much. No.”
“Didn’t think so. There’s a strong warrior culture amongst the males. It’s all strut and display mostly, but sometimes shit gets real. So anyway – one day our man falls in with the wrong crowd; some deal went wrong and they sliced him up. He lost half his manhood.”
I glanced down at myself involuntarily.
“His eye-ridges, Dickbrain! You have noticed his eye ridges?” I began to mumble ‘Yes’ but she cut me off. “Do you know how much shame there is in that? It is huge. These guys knew what they were doing. He shouldn’t have gone home after that, he should’ve done the noble thing:” Tyge mimed using a sword into her own belly, then glanced at the frozen alien woman in the freezer. “And she’s never have had him back either. Not in the code. Not after he'd lost a wattle. But ... well: he loved her too much.”
I was trying to imagine a distant day when Komodo had been her lover. Not easy. Also trying to imagine how a guy comes home, says to his wife, “Hi honey; love ya SOOO much!” and rams her into the freezer.
“Alright,” she whispered, “that's enough!”
As Tyge shut the door she whispered something to the ‘corpse’. I think it was “One day, Honey, we'll get you outta there.” She started shifting all the boxes back, exactly as before, and as she worked she was saying: “So anyway; long-story-short: Komodo ends up here, scarred for life and towing a portable freezer, by hand. He falls back on his old skills; crime and gambling. By sheer good luck he won this café in a card game, turned it into a bar, and started trying to raise the cash to go and get his macho back. Nearly had it before the shit hit. Central pulled the science funding. Komodo didn't quite make it. But now ... maybe, just maybe ... if this miracle continues ...”
“How long can they last like that?” I asked as she adjust the last two crates.
“Not long enough for sad Sadie here. She's probably got half a year left, tops.”
I was still trying to put the picture together. “He was – what? Had a job or something?”
“Big guy, gangster, billionaire.”
“Wow.”
“I want you to think about this, Doc. Maybe you’ll understand him better. Maybe – ”
She didn’t finish, just eyeballed me challengingly.
“What, you think I’m just some shallow jerk? This is precisely why I want to become a specialist. One day, when I’m completely set up ... hey tell him I’ll do him a good deal, okay? Twelve percent off!”
Tyge slumped tiredly and turned away without a word. She opened the secret exit, peered out, waved me through, got it closed. We were heading home as we always did. But she’d gone strangely silent. Sheesh – women. What was eating her this time?
#
NEXT MORNING PANTHER suddenly videoed me out of the blue. Caught me by surprise. And what she had to say blew apart all my ideas about having a full and frank exchange of views about the state of the Virtu-R, etc, etc. It was a quiet day Kirrikibatic-maintenance-wise, and I had finally turned my attentions to fixing up the mess my predecessor had so kindly made of the filing system. The computer beeped and I absent-mindedly waved it up to receive the call.
It was her, being terribly brisk and cheerful. “Bagel! Glad I caught you. A little problem’s come up. Seems your system went and ordered a complete restock of the clinic. Don’t worry, I’ve put a stop on it, but have you got any idea how that could’ve happened?”
“Er... no,” I answered, caught on the hop, “but it’s way out of date. Maybe on auto?”
“Whatever. Don’t sweat it,” she interrupted, “Everything’s under review anyway.”
“Good,” I said, seizing what I thought was a positive opportunity, “because this clinic is very run down and I really think the local community....”
She cut me off. “It’s only a Kirrikibatic clinic, Bagel! If the locals want their faces stitched up after their pub brawls they can get on a plane like anyone else.”
“But...”
“Don’t worry about your basic supplies, Bagel, they’ll get through. And forget that order. It’ll just stay wherever it is until someone can track it. Oh, and I’ve got to say, keep up the good work! I’m getting marvelous reports! Ciao.” And she cut the call.
I swore and slapped my hands on the desk, loud as I could, with an added growl of wordless rage, then spun my chair so I could stand up and actually kick something; anything; really hard, and there was Tyge leaning just out of Panther’s sight-line in the doorway.
I quickly controlled my outburst.
Very casually she strolled in and sat on the desk just a metre or so from me. She had this way of crossing her legs, not that I had eyes for anyone but Sharp, mind you.
“That your boss then?”
I nodded, still incapable of coherent speech. Finally I spluttered, “I don’t get it! Why doesn’t she run this as a proper clinic? At least put in an emergency kit!”
“Get used to it, Doc,” said Tyge dryly, “this is Edgetown. And in case you don’t know, she’s the evil bitch who runs this planet.”
“Eh?”
“Madam Chairwoman. Crush Authority.”
“I... I didn’t know that, honestly.”
“And I didn’t know you were working for her. So she’s wormed her way into the hospital system too?”
“I’m junior staff. She’s my supervisor. That’s all I know. But I mean hey, it’s not like I’m in bed with the devil here or anything.”
“So she hasn’t ... you know?”
“Absolutely not!”
“She’s probably saving you up for later. Don’t know why. I wouldn’t wait.”
I was totally floored by that remark. Lost for words. I looked up slowly to meet her eye. Holy crap – had she just made a pass at me? But she was just grinning; a big tiger grin; and I had just been her mouse. She was playing. (At least I hoped so).
I quickly pulled myself together as she unexpectedly changed topic. “So what was that order she mentioned?” I was still really pissed about that call, and my voice was emotional.
“It was a full re-stock! I wanted this place to be right up to the wire; ready for anything!”
She gazed at me, those surgically modified tiger-eyes with their vertical pupil so very difficult to look at, let alone read. Finally: “You certainly don’t think like her.” She slid off the desk, dynamic. “I’m going to make a few inquiries.”
I shook my head, already defeated, “But what could you do?”
“Listen, Doc,” she said with a twinkle in her eye (I’d learned to spot that one), “Never underestimate a truckie!” And she strode out. My final lingering image of her was her attractive butt disappearing around the door-frame.
I mentally kicked myself. Sharp! Sharp was the one for me! I just had to bide my time.
I refocused, began re-running my usual visualisation of our wedding, but it kept getting hijacked by another image: me standing helplessly in the clinic as some emergency engulfed the town, with injured people arriving, clamoring for help, and me with nothing but an incomplete set of flaking tools and twenty-two boxes of size 8 gloves.
Crap.
#
I HAD A CLIENT AND listlessly scraped him clean and saw him out the door, then went back to my filing. But my heart wasn’t in it. Why should I care anymore? I had five months to run on my contract; all I had to do was sit it out. But five months had begun to feel like a life sentence. Holy crap, what was happening to me? Oh wait: I knew the signs: for the first time in my life I was depressed.
I guess I dozed off in my big battered office chair, because next thing I heard the familiar bang of a vehicle ramming its head up my ‘rectal’. Moments later came Tyge’s familiar tread, mixed with the sound of someone else’s footsteps. I quickly pulled myself together and turned to face to door. It was Tyge, followed by Notch.
“Doc!” she said cheerfully, “Got a surprise for ya!”
They didn’t wait for a reply. Grinning, they turned and walked out again. I sprang up and chased them to the parking bay, bursting with questions but getting no chance to ask them.
There, inserted horizontally through the side-docking sphincter, was a sleek new cylindrical shipping container. I walked across to it, barely daring to hope. Tyge showed me how to release the catches and open the hermetically sealed side hatch.
The internal lights popped on.
I gasped. “You did it!”
“Yep.”
“How the f-...” Their language was infecting me. “I mean how did you do this?”
They just shrugged and glanced meaningfully at each other. “We’re truckies.”
I was barely looking, barely listening. This container was an absolute treasure trove!
“Alright!” I hauled out a heavy rectangular slab semi-obscured within its shipping wrap and turned to look for a place on the wall. Stepping up to a bare patch I pushed the slab firmly into place. It fixed itself on with a hissing metallic pop. I tore off the seal.
EMERGENCY RESCUE
They both cheered.
Back to the container, happily rummaging. Then I found something extraordinary.
“Holy fuck: a reanimator!” I was just standing there, gobsmacked.
“A what-what?”
“What does it do?”
I patted the big sleek coffin-shaped unit, “Just about everything. You can even reverse death with one of these babies!”
Notch grunted. “That’ll come in handy.”
“Soon enough,” added Tyge.
I didn’t like their tone.