Angel Of The City (19 page)

The battle outside the building has descended into a killing field. The rioters are rushing the barricades. Counselors fire into the crowd as yet more push forward from behind. There’s no order, no plan, just a mad rush. The Council will eventually push them back, but it will be a long and bloody afternoon. We leave through a broken window in the back of the building, as far away from the fighting as possible. In the confusion, no one notices us.

The fa
rther we go into the Delphi, the more distance we put between ourselves and the fighting. No one here is rioting. These are the people of the lower numbered precincts, the twenties and thirties. Their next step up is the Garden District itself, if they’ve got the pedigree and the right government connections. They have no reason to riot.

The main boulevard is all but deserted. No one wants to give even the appearance of disloyalty by being on the streets, so they
’ve locked themselves in their apartments. Tall concrete and glass structures, most with elaborate awnings and statuary guarding the entryways, line either side of the thoroughfare, but we stay as much as possible to the backstreets and alleys. No reason to risk being picked up on a video monitor, although I suspect all eyes are focused on the battles raging throughout the city. There’s little to say to each other and we travel together in silence as morning slips into afternoon.

We
’re still two blocks from the northeast border of the Bonifrei quarter when we hear renewed sounds of fighting. The pungent smell of gunpowder permeates the air.

As
at most borders, Counselors have set up barricades. There’s no way to go over the fighting this time and no tunnel I know of within ten blocks of here to go under it. Abby and I crouch in the doorway of a storefront and watch the violence.

Like us, the rioters have taken up refuge in entryways and behind corners, only showing themselves to hurl rocks or take shots with the few weapons they have. Others are attacking from r
ooftops with bricks or stones and anything else they can get their hands on. In spite of the disparity in weapons, the assault is having an effect. The Counselors and Blueshirts are pinned down and seem unwilling to step out from behind their barricades and risk exposure. But the situation will change shortly when reinforcements arrive. If we don’t get past the barricades before then, we’ll be trapped.

There
’s a Blueshirt vehicle in the alley across the street. Keeping our heads down, we sprint to it. A spray of bullets whiz over our heads and strike the concrete at our feet, sending shards flying around us. We make the alley and Abby jumps in the passenger seat and ducks down. There are no keys in the ignition and it takes a few minutes to find the wires and start the car. Pressing my foot to the floor, I race out from the ally onto the street, spinning the rear wheels as I head straight toward the barricades.

While the majority of the rioters have taken up protected positions, the street isn
’t completely empty and soon people are diving left and right to avoid the speeding car. Some aren’t fast enough. I hit one and hear the sickening sound of steel meeting flesh as the body is thrown up and over us. We reach the barricades and I aim for the small gap between two of them, gripping the wheel tightly and lowering my head. The opening isn’t quite wide enough and the right front end of the car hits the concrete barrier, sending it tumbling. Counselors scramble to get out of the way as a round of bullets pelt the back of the vehicle. Fighting to control the wheel, I turn onto the first side street I can and in just a few minutes, the sound of fighting is behind us.

The hood of the car is crumpled and the right front tire is grinding against the wheel well. I keep us moving south, avoiding the main streets. As before, the further we get from the quarter boundary, the fewer people we encounter. The streets seem devoid of Counselors or Blueshirts, which only confirms that this is the largest insurrection the city has ever seen.

The temperature gauge on the dash swings into the red and soon white smoke is billowing out from the engine. The car begins to sputter and I just manage to limp it onto the side of the road before it finally dies.

We get out and start walking. We
’re still only a few blocks into the Bonifrei, but the contrast to the Delphi couldn’t be more pronounced. The buildings here are older and in poor repair. Rusted-out fire escapes and crumbling masonry; jury-rigged wiring that runs along the outer wall of one building and jumps across to another, just above our heads. The only thing that seems in good working condition are the scanners, but they’re dim for now.

“
Is this where you were born?” Abby asks.

“
Close. About a dozen blocks south from here. My father wanted to move closer to the Delphi but we couldn’t afford it.”

I hear the sirens just before three Blueshirt vans come hurling out from around the corner and pull Abby behind a small trash pile as they speed past us.

“We can’t stay out in the open. We’re still too close to the Delphi border and this entire area will be thick with Counselors soon. If we’re going to find Kingston, we need to head back to the Chojo.”

“
Is there a tunnel nearby?”

I hesitate.
“Yes, but it may not be safe.”

“
Is this?”

She
’s right of course. Even if this place wasn’t going to be crawling with Counselors, there isn’t anyone else on the street. If we’re picked up on a video monitor there won’t be any tag signals to hide among. We have to go underground.

We jog quickly through the side streets as the sounds of sirens become louder and more frequent. At the second corner, there
’s a small fenced lot, filled with the rusting heaps of ancient automobiles. Behind the cars there’s manhole cover, the lock bolts having already been removed. A dirty child, blind in one eye and with a thick mane of matted hair falling to his shoulders, squats over it. He grins as we approach, revealing the loss of his two front teeth..

“
Who is he?” Abby asks.

“
Guardian of the door, apparently.”

“
A little small for a guardian, isn’t he?” She comes near him, holding out her hand as though to touch his hair. Suddenly he snarls and snaps at her, a vicious, animal-like movement that makes her jump back to me.

“
Maybe, but let’s just pay him anyway.” I slip a bill from my pocket and hand it to him.

He gasps the bill and begins jumping up and down,
grunting and grinning and patting the manhole cover with his hands.

I
pry the cover off and we scramble down the ladder into a damp tunnel. I haven’t been here in many years and the memories, while not entirely disagreeable, make me uneasy. This time, I have a woman with me.

I point down the passageway.
“This will take us southwest, back to the Chojo. We’ll come up about ten blocks from the hospital.”

She squints
down the dark tunnel. “We don’t have a flashlight.”

“
We won’t need one,” I say, as the manhole cover slides back into place, cutting off all light.

“
How did he move that all by himself?” Abby asks.

“
Who said he was alone?”

It takes a few minutes for our
eyes to adjust to the almost total darkness, but soon I can just make out a reddish glow far down the tunnel.

“
What is it?” Abby asks.

“
Take my hand and you’ll see. And whatever you do, stay close to me.”

Our steps echo off the walls; the slap of shoe leather on wet pavement.

“This corridor runs more or less straight,” I explain, “with large open caverns that pop up every couple hundred yards or so and more that branch out on either side of the tunnel. Most of the side caverns have collapsed, but the central ones are still intact—or at least they were. It’s been a long time since I’ve been down here.

“
What was it used for?”

“
Who knows? Some kind of storage facility, or maybe something to do with water distribution.”

Garbled noises in the distance now join
the sounds of our footsteps.

“
What is that?” Abby asks.

In answer, I take off my trench coat.
“Here, put this on.”

“
It’s all right. I’m not cold.”

“
It’s not for the cold. Put it on and pull the collar up around your face.”

The light has grown enough for me to see the frown on her face.
“Am I hiding from someone?”

“
Yes.”

The noises become louder and more distinct as we walk. Voices, dozens of them
, are shouting and screaming, the words unintelligible.

We reach the end of the narrow passageway and step into a wide circular space with a towering
domed roof. A large bonfire burns brightly in the center, crackling and popping as the flames leap toward the roof. Gathered on the other side of the fire are maybe twenty men and half as many women. All are naked.

Abby gasps.

“Panners,” I whisper. “Keep quiet and don’t draw attention to yourself.”

I move us around the perimeter of the room
, keeping to the shadows. A large wooden table, waist high, has been set up near the other side of the tunnel and there’s no way to get past it without walking through the throng of people ringed about it.

A gap in the crowd lets us see what
’s happening. A woman, on her back and naked as the rest, is shackled to the table, her arms and legs splayed wide. A young man, long-haired and covered in sweat, stands at the foot of the table, his eyes wide and almost completely white—the sign of chronic Pan use. In his left hand, he holds a thin rod. Wires run through it to a battery on the floor. As the crowd roars and cheers him on, he steps toward and lays the tip of the rod against the girl’s exposed sex. With a shrill cry, her back arches off the table.

Abby takes a step forward and I pull her back, whispering in her ear.
“Listen to me. These people are all Pan addicts. Half of them are probably still tagged, yet they risk being shot on sight to come down here. You don’t want to interfere with that kind of need.”

“
He’s killing her!”

“
No, not exactly.”

A moment later, the prod is pulled away and the girl falls back onto the table. Amid the clamor of the crowd, I can make out faint weeping and groans. Finally she lifts her head and for the first time I can see her face. She
’s young I think, but it’s hard to say for sure. Addiction takes its toll. Her long blonde hair is dripping sweat and falls across her face in matted locks. She’s panting, the muscles of her stomach still contracting as her pelvis rocks back and forth.

“
More,” she moans.

The man grins and holds up the
rod as the crowd screams its approval. He brings the instrument close to her several times then pulls it away teasingly, as she strains against her bonds to reach it. Finally he presses it firmly against her open vulva. Again, her head snaps back as her body arches and this time there is no mistaking the sound of her orgasm as she climaxes for what seems to be an eternity.

I find myself holding my breath u
ntil the man finally pulls the rod away and the girl collapses on the table. Cheering, several in the crowd remove her restraints and carry her to a mat laid out on the floor. One man quickly mounts her, though she’s barely conscious. The show over, the rest begin hungrily groping each other, then separate into twosome and moresomes and soon the cavern is filled with the rhythmic slapping of sex in every possible configuration.

With the way now clear, I grab Abby
’s hand and lead her out. Only after the sounds have become faint and muffled does she stop and lean against the tunnel wall, her eyes closed.

“
Are you all right?” I ask.

“
I’m fine. I’ve heard about Pan, but I just never…”

“
Really?”

“
Yes, really,” she says, obviously annoyed at my insinuation.

“
No offense. The Council looks the other way, but it’s no secret that Pan is very big among the intelligentsia. From what I’ve read in the reports, there are parties in the Garden District that would put this one to shame.”

She looks away and shrugs.
“Then you know more than I do. Does the drug do that to everyone?”

“
Pan is an aphrodisiac. It increases both performance and desire, but it also raises the level of stimulation needed to satisfy that desire. But as far as what we just saw? No, you don’t get like that from occasional use. That was chronic addiction.”

“
Oh,” she says.

The tone of her voice tells me that this was more than just curiosity, but I don
’t push her.

“
Pen,” she says after a moment. “I found some pills once in her room. I knew what they were. I confronted her but she just became angry and denied they were hers. I threw them down the toilet and never told my father. He would have been crushed. She was so young.”