Blood Ocean (15 page)

So it was with three points of contact that he limped forward across the floating city. People skittered out of his way. They pointed at him, made signs against bad luck, and whispered amongst themselves—foremost, probably, in relief that it wasn’t them.

It wasn’t long before a Pali Boy spotted him. He swung down.

“Oh, shit, Brah! What the—”

Kavika tried to see who it was, but he couldn’t raise his head enough. He was too exhausted by the constant pull of the monkey.

“Wait ’til Kaja hears about this,” said the Pali Boy, before swinging up and away.

The pit of despair centered in the middle of his chest opened a little wider. The more people who knew about this, the more real it became, and the worse it seemed. Once Kaja knew, then all the Pali Boys would know. He’d inform Princess Kamala and everyone would know. Even his mother. And that was something he couldn’t live with. It didn’t take but a moment to determine that he was not going to go back to her. She had enough trouble trying to feed and deal with his sister, and she didn’t need to take care of a monkey-backed boy as well. What a joke that would be on her. Husband dead. Daughter with Minimata. Son monkey-backed. Enjoy your life; thanks for playing.

He’d have to go to Ivanov—Uncle Evil. The old Russian had been a friend of his father’s, and wouldn’t think of turning him away. So it was that he limped and leaned and grabbed and pulled his way across the city towards the Russian submarine. He fell twice, each time a victim of the monkey’s insinuation into his mind. Once he fell on the monkey. It lashed out, scratching and clawing at the back of his head. Screeching its outrage at him.

The voice of a Corper came to him. “
There will come a time when the theta waves merge with your own. This equalization will change you. You will no longer be merely Kavika Kamilani. The monkey will no longer be merely
Macaca Mulatta
. Instead you will be one. Your will and its will will merge until you are a new creature. A creature that will hopefully provide people like your sister with a cure for her disease.”

When he finally arrived at the submarine, he didn’t have the strength to climb aboard. He rang the bell, announcing his arrival. Soon a burly Russian climbed onto the deck. When he saw Kavika, he made the sign of the cross and covered his eyes.

“Be gone. We don’t want you here.”

“Ivanov, please.”

“He doesn’t want you here, either. Just go.”

“But I need—”

“I said go!”

Kavika tottered away. He managed perhaps a dozen feet before he collapsed. He fell on his side and dreamed of flying. Whether he was a monkey or a Pali Boy, he didn’t know, but he flew through trees and masts, alternately grabbing vines and cables, in and out of the jungle to the ships and back again.

A Filipina girl kicked him awake.

“Go, go, go. We no want you here.” Her shrill voice sent blades through his aching head.

He’d pissed himself in his dreams. His back felt wet as well. The stench of the monkey’s evacuation made him feel sick. When he reached back with his hands and realized that it covered his back, he couldn’t help himself. He rose to one knee and retched on the deck.

Amidst the screams of the girl and her mother, who’d joined him when he’d fouled their ship, he managed to stand. He pulled himself away, using the rails and cables as an anchorage to keep himself steady.

He found a rhythm. He’d stagger for a moment, then sleep, leaning against whatever he ended up against. The sun fell and still he moved on, urged by boat owners and citizens of the city. They wanted a cure, but none of them wanted to see it in action. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been traveling, but eventually he came to a ship he knew well. It was a super tanker, empty and ghettoized by the myriad peoples who lived within it.

Kavika knew this as an unaffiliated ship. It was free space. He could not be denied access. And the very bottom of the bottom was a place where he’d only been once, retrieving an old friend of Wu’s who’d lost his battle with the velvety grip of the poppy. The place was called The Hole. He’d seen more monkey-backed there than he could count. At the time, he’d shuddered with the idea of anyone living amidst the offal and oil. But now, as he stood exhausted and devoid of friendship, it seemed the perfect place for him to rest his soul.

It took him another hour of falling and staggering before he made it to the bottom. He found a spot by two other monkey-backed, and lay on his side between them on the slanted floor. His feet slid into the oil pooling below. He didn’t have the strength to pull them free and so left them there, his body resting against the shit-encrusted metal of the supertanker’s hold, hands clasped together and placed between his legs as he’d done when he was a boy and scared of what might come next.

Sleep—or a version of waking that mimicked sleep—soon found him. The kaleidoscope of the monkey’s vision twirled and cascaded through his mind, reliving the journey from the Freedom Ship to the hole, a lifetime of monkey memories, and the face of the snoring Korean girl behind him.

The last memory Kavika had for a long, long time was of Spike, her quick grin, her painted nails, and her lust for life. Then he dreamed of her flayed alive and hanging like a flag from the ship of Abraham Lincoln.

D
ADDY
? W
HY MONKEYS
?

What do you mean?

Why not other animals?

I suppose because they were more like us.

But they’re so dirty.

So are we, Kavika. So are we.

S
OMEONE FED HIM.
Someone else came and cleaned him. He didn’t have the strength or the inclination to move. The monkey’s theta waves and his own were almost in synch. He knew this only because he knew nothing else. He lived and breathed the joining.

T
HE DARKNESS WAS
complete. Kavika didn’t know how many days had passed. He’d seen the light cycle, but had lost the ability to count. He passed his time by picking the fleas from the monkey in front of him. They slipped from his fingers unless he gripped them in a certain way. Once he had them, he slid them into his mouth. They tasted of oil and acid, but the crunch was satisfying. He felt his own hair being parted by something behind him. A joyful connectedness surged through him.

D
ADDY
?

What’s Daddy?

Daddy?

Who you talking to?

My Daddy.

Your Daddy’s dead.

Then who are you?

I am you.

No you aren’t.

I am now.

G
REE-GREE-GREE

H
ELLO
?

Who’s there?

Where are you taking me?

Daddy?

Gree-gree?

Daddy?

Gree?

Daddy, where are you?

Gree-gree-gree!

L
OPEZ-
L
AROU HAD HER
own troubles. She owed The Family for the loss. She’d fronted the Pali Boy three hundred grams, against her better judgment. But it was her avarice that had conspired against her. Her desire to be like Sanchez Kelly and Paco Braun had infused her every waking moment. If only she had her own company of runners, she could make some serious chits, and elevate herself within
Los Tiburones
. But that was a dream she’d never attain if she didn’t get the grams back, or some equivalent value.

She’d determined that neither the Water Dog transvestite nor the strange Pali Boy knew about the drugs, which meant that it was either the Boxers or one of the other Pali Boys who’d taken them. She’d heard that they’d been first on the scene, gathering around their fallen brother as if their presence could bring him back to life.

She doubted it was one of the Boxers. They were like single-minded animals in their attention to their business. If the Nips had sent them to blood rape, then that’s what they did. Their leashes were tight; she’d seen them pass up plenty of opportunities to cheat and steal, so eager were they to get back to their masters.

That left the Pali Boys. Most of the citizens of the city thought of them as simple boys, or more commonly a nuisance. Their ability to stay high above everyone else afforded them a certain celebrity status. But the truth was that they were just like everyone else. They sinned. They lied. They desired things they couldn’t have. Akamu wasn’t the first Pali Boy to become a runner for
Los Tiburones
.

She’d heard from one of her sources that a Mga Tao had come into some Waffle Dust. The information was less than an hour old. She knew enough about Kelly and Braun to know that they didn’t do business with the Monkey Worshippers. Plus, Waffle Dust was something in particular that she liked to make—it was her signature. Kelly specialized in opiates, which is why he was so popular with the Nips. Braun specialized in Benzodiazepine remodeling, which didn’t give the same high as an opiate, but allowed the user to function while under the influence.

Like any good chemist, she could tell her own drugs from anyone else’s. She added a little bit of thyme to each bag, giving it an herbal aftertaste that wasn’t at all unpleasant. So unless someone had an incredible desire to replicate her own signature drugs, she’d be able to determine if the Mga Taos had gotten hold of her missing drugs or not.

Their ship was an old teaching ship. The name
University of the Waves
still held out against the weather, the raised black lettering stark against the white bow. Built like a cruise ship, the differences inside were unremarkable, except that the places where the cruise passengers had used to eat had been replaced by classrooms and auditoriums. It was an open ship, so she didn’t have to pass a chit to board. She wore her standard black cotton pants and shirt, and had a knife at her waist, and another secreted on her calf if needed.

She made her way to the gangway and into the reception area, marking the two groups of people based here. The administrators were dressed in everyday garb, with silk orange bands across their foreheads, while the monks were dressed in full orange robes with flared sleeves and hoods.

An administrator approached her, speaking in Tagalog. Lopez-Larou introduced herself in Spanish, then English, and he frowned and held out an orange arm band. She took it. She’d be expected to wear it around her left arm during her time aboard ship.

One of the problems with the Taos was that they universally didn’t speak English. They stuck to Tagalog as much as possible. Since Lopez-Larou only knew a few words of Tagalog, she was hoping that her target was willing to converse in Spanish; a few had been known to when pressed.

Her target’s name was Bituin. She worked in the auditoriums, although Lopez-Larou didn’t know what she did; she’d never been to the auditoriums, and her source worked in the engine room. He was a regular customer of Lopez-Larou’s who did the night shift and found it hard to stay awake. With her help, he was now being considered for a promotion, which meant day shift. That meant he might not need her help anymore, but that didn’t worry her. The word was out, now; his success story would drive more towards her and she’d be more than willing to help.

Lopez-Larou found an approachable young Tao and asked for Bituin. He gestured towards a hall. She followed it and found herself at the intersection of three hallways. There were signs on the walls, left over from when the ship had been a college. She was sure that Biology Wing, History Wing, and Sports Wing didn’t mean the same things today as they had pre-plague.

She chose the middle hall, and walked down it like she belonged there. Each of the doors she passed bore name placards; she suspected that they were old dorm rooms, now used as living quarters. One thing that struck her was how clean everything was. Most ships weren’t as large, nor were they as organized. Regardless of what she thought of their crazy religion, the Taos knew how to keep a clean ship.

She came to another intersection, but this one only went in two directions. She was about to take the one on the left, when a door opened and an older man stepped out. On seeing her, he raised his hand and spoke to her in rapid-fire Tagalog.

She responded with an innocent smile. “I’m lost,” she said in Spanish. “Maybe you can help me.”

He seemed flustered, but responded in accented Spanish. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I figured as much. Sorry, elder. Maybe you can direct me?”

“Go back the way you came. This area is private.”

“I can’t do that. I’ve come to see Bituin.”

He shook his head. “She’s busy. We’re expecting an input and you can’t be here.”

Lopez-Larou saw her chance diminishing. She sighed and flapped her hands. She stammered, “I’m late for my appointment. I was supposed to be here an hour ago.” She bowed and shook her head. “I’ll be in so much trouble if I don’t see her, elder. Please, if you can just show me, then I’ll be on my way.”

He appraised her, looking her up and down. She shuddered gently with implied fear and tried not to meet his gaze.

Finally he grinned. “Go back to the intersection and take the right hand hall that says ‘Sports Wing.’ It will take you to where she is. But be quick about it. She’ll be busy very soon.”

She bowed low and backed away, thanking him in his native language. She headed back the way she’d come. She’d noted the name on his door.
Joselito Senior
. She’d use that name if she came into contact with someone else who tried to get in her way.

When she got to the intersection, she followed the sign to the Sports Wing. She imagined the things she’d seen in magazines and on vids: tennis courts, basketball courts, gymnastic equipment, a boxing ring. The hall, when she arrived, was immense. The door opened onto a landing with a wide staircase descending along the wall and a platform overlooking the room. She imagined many things, but was totally unprepared for what she saw as she stepped to the railing.