23

MY EDGETOWN MATES TOOK another three days to sort out my new clinic, or at least the Kirrikibatic end of things (the eyebrow clinic didn’t get up and running for another three months, in the old kitchen, but I had one special job to do before then), and I spent most of that time recovering from my ordeal and monitoring Tyge’s recovery. Things settled a bit, everyone was gainfully employed, the airports started taking direct flights from orbit, and Komodo's eyebrow spikes began budding perfectly.

On the fifth afternoon of week three, I decided Tyge was ready to get out of the machine. The usual gang gathered for the big moment. Slowly she climbed from the resuscitator and stood with the crutches Stevedore had knocked up to my specifications. There was a lot of hugging, of course, and a few tears. Komodo sort of hugged her, or at least stuck his big horny head momentarily into her shoulder, then he mysteriously waddled off, his tiny row of new wattles and horns waggling in a very cute way. Meanwhile, Tipper reached something out from behind her back and handed it to Tyge.

“Great to be standing, President Tipper!” chuckled Tyge with equal ocular dampness.

“Right!” said Mayor Bowle, clapping his meaty hands together, “Let’s do the tour then!” He looked meaningfully at the temporary door that lead through to the heart of the building. Of course I knew they’d been working on it. I’d been forced to use a circuitous back-way from my new quarters through Komodo’s disgusting former kitchen and various other back rooms to get to Tyge’s temporary hospital ward while a mysterious team of workers had been doing mysterious things with a wide variety of mysterious power tools. They hadn’t allowed me in, of course.

I braced myself, expecting some sort of terrible hash beyond the door. Tipper whispered something to Tyge, inviting her on the inspection too. It seemed like this was going to be the official party, just Bol, Sharp, Tipper, Tyge and myself. Bol opened the door, but held back, so only four of us went through. Perplexed, I tried to catch his eye. There was some new secret going on, but I didn’t have a clue what it was. I smelled fresh paint.

We moved slowly along the very same gallery where Sharp had first played the piano, then out into the main room. As I had expected there was a new wall dividing the high domed space sort-of in half. On this side they had allowed plenty of room for me to service one Kirrikibat at a time. There was a tall door for their ingress and egress, a conveniently located door control, a new disposal chute, and behind me the old bar was still there, but lowered a little so I had a place to lay out my instruments. Beyond the bar, the big mirror was still there. I didn’t like that.

“Try the door,” Tipper quickly said, distracting me from my query. I stepped to the big red button on the post and gave it a practiced pat. Lovely. The door rolled silently up and to my surprise Komodo was standing in the gloom on the other side, his big lizard face grinning (quite literally) from ear to ear.

“It’s great...” at which point I became aware of another Komodo standing behind him, or at least almost another Komodo. Same species but slightly smaller, completely unadorned. Come to mention it, Komodo seemed to be sporting less jewelry than usual.

At which point Tipper leaned close and quickly whispered in my ear, “Wives never appear in public. Don’t look directly at her, and do not touch her! You are deeply honoured.”

I quickly flicked my eyes off her and said to Komodo, “I am deeply honoured,” and stepped forward to shake him by the claw instead of her. He smiled an expensive smile at me and gestured around with his bejeweled hand, “Happy skinning, Doc. You’re the best!”

Then Komidi spoke from behind him, quietly but with a remarkable degree of authority, “You have made him a better lizard, Mr Bagel, and I thank you for that.”

I bowed to her, for the first time receiving a compliment without trying to brush it off.

She added something in their own language and Komodo quickly blustered, “Well, business calls,” and followed her out. I just stood, dumbfounded.

“So that’s the waiting room,” explained Tipper as if the previous encounter hadn’t happened, “And we’ve knocked up a bit of landing pad beyond that. All a bit rough at the moment. Still a few leaks to plug.”

I picked up one of the new flaking tools, flipped it over ... “Hey, Where's Stevo?”

“Let’s eat!” boomed Tipper, noticing I was about to query the mirror again.

“Excellent suggestion!” said Tyge, still working on her beer (difficult on crutches).

Sharp slid up beside me as we moved slowly to the exit, “So, Doctor Bagel, seems your destiny was on track the whole time. How does it feel?”

“It feels good...” There was a bit of an earthquake right then, a long slow roller coming in from The Edge. We rode the floor like seasoned sailors. “...real good.”

THAT NIGHT AT THE CLUB I sat with Tyge. We didn’t say much, just gazed at each other stupidly. Everything we'd shared down in that hole had stayed there, no-one ever knew, but it also hung between us now like a butterfly that neither of us wanted to flick away. Now and then when no-one was watching she'd take my hand and give it a firm squeeze, as if checking I was still there or something, or that she really was alive. Not bad for a couple that had started off their relationship with a sneaky rape on her part, and me killing her at dinner time.

At ten o’clock Sharp came out from her dressing room, dazzling in a shimmering blue and gold kimono. She played requests for about twenty minutes, then hushed the crowd. I saw Stevedore in the background, dressed in his long black cape and ridiculous hat, and as always Sharp started asking us all to move back.

Once the floor had cleared she stood and made quite a speech, with more confidence than I had ever seen in her before: “My friends, Edgetown lives again, free of its former servitude to the masters in Crush Central.” Applause, which she hastily waved down. “Here, in the Independent Nation of Edgetown, we can now stay up as late as we please!” Applause and some cheering. I was contemplating an early night myself, so I smiled inwardly at her comment. She continued, “And in this amazing town, things come back to life like pianos...” (applause) “businesses...” (cheerful shouts), “people who fall down holes,” (whoops of delight) “and long-lost friendships,” (confused whisperings) “But never before have we witnessed a resurrection like you're about to see.” Her eyes swung my way. “The next song is for our resident miracle worker: the one and only ... Doc Bagel!” (Huge applause!) She gestured towards Stevo, “So put your hands together for our Eldest Living Resident!”

There was a smattering of confused applause as Sharp began playing the first bars of an old classic I hadn't heard in years. All eyes were on Stevedore.

Suddenly he threw open his huge black cloak and out of its shadows stepped Graves the house-robot, resplendent in a sparkling white suit featuring huge lapels and wide flapping bell-bottoms. My jaw dropped in amazement.

Graves strutted into the open space, undulating so severely I thought he was going to fall apart at the hips, then swiveled around to face us and began to sing:

“Well since my data left me, I found a new place to dwell, It’s down the end of lonely Street, at Heartbreak Hotel. I’ve be-e-e-en lonely baby, So-o-o-o lonely, I-I-I-I-I’ve been so lonely .. I could die! ...”

I didn’t catch any of the second verse. The crowd was gone mad with delight. As usual I didn’t join them, I tried to remain cool, I tried to just enjoy it, but when Graves did a forward somersault and landed neatly on top of the piano, I totally lost it. I became a raving idiot like everyone else, hooting and whooping and roaring with delight.

The door rolled up and the insect came at me, as big as a small bus, clicker-click-clicker on all six legs, its huge face dripping liquid, its huge mandibles twitching. It was mad with discomfort, maybe mad enough to bite me. I braced myself, tightening my mask and goggles with one hand while I raising my trusty blade with the other.

It was was right inside now, leering down at me with those huge basketball-sized eyes, worst case I’d seen in a year. The smell would’ve made ya chunder.

“I hear ya, Bro,” I replied, setting to work at once. I plunged my blade under his front-left-outer-upper carpal and gave it a practiced twist. He shuddered with pleasure.

I worked for exactly fifty minutes, progressively peeling every rotten flake from the poor creature’s body. It shuddered and shuffled around, nearly trampling me on several occasions, and tried to talk about poetry and music over and over again.

Finally the job was done. The Kirrikibat was smooth and glistening, its tender new shell glowing with the promise of some magnificent patterning to come. It lingered a moment, rubbing its waxy new surface with its legs and talking loudly about how good it felt. I nodded politely and shut the lid on the disposal chute, then pulled off my mask and turned to the mirror to take a bow.

Stevo came out from the gallery a few minutes later as I put my tools into the steriliser. “Good show today, Doc. Lovely stroke action on the big dorsal plates, just lovely.”

“Thanks.” I set the steriliser to run, then turned away from the mirror, discretely shutting off my microphone before I said, “So, did you get the 'bot working again?”

I took the carry-case from him and opened it on the bar. For a nanobot it was huge, but it had to be. It had to cope with three or four heavy-duty skinnings every day.

He stroked it as if it were a pet, “Good idea, this. Saved you a lot of hard yakka over the years.”

“Yep, but I still like to do the show. Keeps me in shape.” I glanced at the mirror, once again giving thanks to my indulgent parents for some damn sexy pecs.

Stevo chuckled, a deep broken-plumbing sort of sound, and turned for the door. “So, will I see you down The Club, Doc? First night of the new circus. Komidi’s expecting 500.”

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