Chapter 4
1342 Words
Chapter 4
Hera had a strong, square face, with dark thick eyebrows and mud coloured eyes. She was wearing a single brown leather tunic, done up high to the throat and descending to her knees. Her arms were bare. She did not ask where Spiker had been, or what he had been doing the previous night. Delays and mishaps were so common in the streets lateness was seldom marked and rarely questioned. She took the proffered rabbits without comment, put one in the cool box and laid the other on the block.
From a pocket she withdrew her thin delicate skinning knife and set to work. Soon there would be nothing but strips of skewered meat ready for cooking and a neat bundle of rabbit head, entrails and bone skillfully pouched in its own skin.
Spiker watched her wide back, her arms moving as she wielded the knife. He took a deep breath. He had prepared what he was going to say, rehearsed it in his mind, but conversations with Hera often went off in unpredictable directions. She possessed a formidable ability to focus in on uncomfortable details, and would unerringly point out flaws in any plan.
He cleared his throat. “I’ve just picked up a gig.”
Hera said nothing. The knife severed tendons and sinews as the last paw was removed. She gripped the fur, peeling it back from the flesh.
“Kzar,” Spiker tried to keep his voice normal “wants me for a raid. Upstairs.” And then, with a rush: “A Splice raid.”
Her hands stopped moving. Her back became very still. On the block the rabbit was half out of its skin, the exposed flesh a glistening bluish-purple. Eventually she spoke. “When?”
“In a couple of days.”
“That’s not long.”
“No.” And then he added “A Splice as payment.” There, he’d said it, as he always knew he would. He resolved now to keep quiet, to let her guide the conversation. But she remained quiet, and the silence seemed to stretch to infinity. Eventually he said “Hera?”
It was as if he had unstopped a can of pressurised gas. She let out a long raking cry of intense, almost theatrical, pain and longing, before becoming hunched and quiet and still.
Spiker stood and went over to her, but her back was as unwelcoming as if she had been carved from marble. He stopped, maybe a foot away.
She turned to face him and leant back, her arms bent at the elbow, her blood-splattered hands, slimey from rabbit entrails, gripping the table. “Do you trust him?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I did when I was with him, but now…. ” he let his voice drop away into a verbal shrug. He could see her biting the inside of her cheek as she considered. So he said: “I’m committed anyway.”
Hera frowned. “No-one’s been through the dead zone for years.”
Spiker relaxed. He even managed a smile. “He’s got a bit of kit from way back. He thinks we can use a lift.”
That jolted her. “What?” Her face was a picture: astounded didn’t come near.
Spiker grinned. “Yeah. A lift. Press the button and up you go.” He remembered the diagrams he’d been shown on that piddly little screen, which hadn’t even been in 3D. “Right in the centre, in the inner core, there’s a lift shaft, with doors at every level.” Almost, he burst into a laugh. “Yeah, that’s right: we’re just going to catch a tupping lift!” He went to move towards her, then stopped. “And d’you know what’s really really good? I don’t have to go on the raid itself. Not the actual raid. I just have to look after the girl with the laptop.”
“A girl?”
“Yeah. Kzar’s niece. She’s the only one who knows how it works.”
“A niece? Kzar’s niece?”
“Yeah.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Tavia? Her name’s Tavia?”
He shrugged. “Yeah.” And then: “What have you heard? Have you heard something about her?”
“Rumours.” She touched him briefly, leaving a thin smudge of blood on the back of his hand. “Spiker, be careful.”
“I’m always careful. What have you heard?”
“That she’s a vicious little b***h who lies to get what she wants. And Kzar believes her. She’s had men killed.”
Spiker was not surprised. He shrugged. “I’ll be extra, extra careful.”
“And she’s going with you on the raid. A Splice raid.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Not exactly going on the raid. She’s got this bit of kit, called a laptop -”
“A what?”
“A laptop. From way way back. A primitive computer, would you believe it has an actual mechanical screen!” She did not share his astonishment at the elementary level of the tech. After a moment he continued “She’s the only one who knows how it works. It has to be plugged in to manage the lift. So she has to come along.”
“So she says.”
“What?”
“She says she’s the only one who knows how to work it.” Then, in a rush: “Spiker, you must be careful.”
“I’m always careful. I said.”
“No you’re not. You’re too impulsive, too impatient.” She bit her lip and looked away, before her eyes settled on him again. “Just don’t lose it the moment you think something’s taking too long or not going right.” She frowned, her eyes knitting together. “What d’you mean, you’re not going on the raid?”
“Here’s how it’ll be.” Gratefully, Spiker launched into his prepared explanation. He held up a hand, the fingers separated, folding them down as he itemised. “There’s five of us: three Clansmen (the middle three fingers), the girl (the little finger) and me (the thumb). We walk to the Core, she plugs in her gizmo, the lift arrives and the doors open. We get in, the doors close and we go upstairs, in the lift. When we’ve got there I stay with her to get her out if anything goes wrong. The Clansmen go to the lab, raid it and get back. We all get into the lift, Tavia does her thing and we return.”
He nearly added ‘easy peasy,’ but thought better of it.
“So you’re going to be alone with her.”
“Yeah. Tupping s**t Hera, she’s just a kid.”
Hera said “Yeah.” And fell silent. He could see her considering the details. If she were in charge, he knew the raid would go like clockwork. Or - more likely - she’d see so much potential disaster it would never take place.
Finally she had lined up her questions. She folded her arms and - although she was marginally shorter than him - gave the impression of being taller.
“What about the jungle?”
“Kzar’s Clansmen will force their way through.”
“D’you think they can?”
“The jungle’s not deep. Not that much more than a mile.”
“And what about the savages?”
“They’re a myth.” She looked at him. He shrugged. “I go close to the jungle every few days. Never seen a trace of them.” She continued her silence. “There might have been, years ago. If there were, my bet is the Spides killed them all.”
“I hope you’re right.” She moved on. “And this lift. Has anyone seen it?”
“I don’t know.”
“How can you be sure it’s working?”
“You can’t.”
“Do you know exactly where the lab is?”
“I don’t. They do.”
“Or they say they do.” Her frown deepened. “This stinks Spiker - and you know it tupping stinks. What’s Kzar really up to? Or - more to the point - what is she up to?”
Spiker had been wondering exactly the same thing. He didn’t want to say Tavia had asked for him by name. So he said “I don’t know what they’re up to. But would he be sending her along if he wasn’t on the level?”
“From what I’ve heard about her, she’s probably sending herself along.”
They seem to have reached an impasse. He took the step and touched her on the forearm. “Hera, we mustn’t look too closely, or we’ll be fighting shadows. Or it’ll seem impossible.”
She ignored that, but she didn’t shrug him off. Through his fingers he could feel the heat of her skin.
She asked again. “Do you trust Kzar?”
Spiker shrugged. “He jolted me fifty creds.” She stayed silent, staring at him. Eventually he said “I don’t know. He’s different. For a street boss, he’s different. And the girl is family.”
“And does Kzar trust you?”
“I don’t know. I injured one of his Clansmen and humiliated another. Even if he does trust me, his men don’t.”
“Humiliated? How?”
He told her. She almost laughed. “You see what I mean about being impulsive.”
“Yeah, well, it won’t happen again.”
“Yeah, I bet.” A quick frown. Then: “These men - the ones you attacked - they’re going on the raid as well?”
“Possibly. One of them, anyway.” He dropped his hand. “I know it’s risky, but .. It’s a chance.”
She folded her arms and looked away “Yep, it’s a chance.” She turned and with a quick, almost brutal movement, finished peeling the skin from the rabbit, leaving the flesh naked and raw. A single, stabbing, wrenching s***h with her knife and the head was severed. It rolled to the side, leaving a red trail of blood. Then she swiveled round, facing him once more. Her expression was determined, set and implacable.
She spoke. “OK. You do it. Then, we run.”
- Writer
