The Transdyne Awakening (8 page)

Clay turned in very late and fell easily asleep without the aid of any pills. Each time he came here, he knew he would find readjusting to his established work mode more problematic. It really was like shuttling between two very different worlds.

The heat persisted. It took Clay into its smothering embrace every time he stepped from the terraglide. He was beginning to feel detached from the work of day-to-day deliveries and account collections. He tried to keep up appearances and put the tasks back on, like old familiar clothes.

He was sure of being watched as he approached the palatial double storey building. He slowed to take in the manicured garden space. A blaze of brightly coloured flowers stood out from the background of lush green. A garden sprinkler came on, throwing out a rainbow of spray. The whole place was beautiful. He took his time, enjoying the fragrance of the plants mixed with the scent of damp grass. Yuri was looking down from the balcony above him as he stopped the vehicle.

“You’re late, my little man,” he said.

“Don’t call me your little man!” Clay barked back at him. He detested Yuri and his whole coterie. Only people like Yuri could afford the kind of luxury on display here. That meant that he had standing with a lot of people. To Clay he was just another customer, dependent on Ahab for supplies of his favourite stimulants. Clay didn’t crane his neck looking up at him. Ignoring the two bodyguards, he waited for the big door to open and walked inside. Yuri descended the stairs and said, “Put the stuff on the table.”

“I’m not putting it down anywhere until the account’s settled up,” Clay responded. He knew that would nettle the overbearing peacock. He wasn’t about to lose his temper; he’d been doing this for too long. On the other hand he wasn’t going to take any more of Yuri’s condescension.

He’d tolerated quite enough of that on previous drops. He placed a comp on the shiny table next to a magnificent vase of flowers. He stood back, placed both hands on the case and waited. A flamboyantly dressed male Tran drifted into the room through the inside doorway. Clay didn’t acknowledge its presence but took in the thing’s preening gestures and appearance. It wasn’t hard to guess Yuri’s preferences.

Aside from the protection, he liked to surround himself with sycophants of both the human and synthetic varieties. He watched the closely whispered exchange between Yuri and the Tran. The Tran’s name was Frankie and while it draped one hand over Yuri’s shoulder, it rolled its eyes at Clay. “Look at him… so assertive!” he heard it say. Clay stared a hole straight through its head. Yuri looked at the waiting comp.

“What is this? It has become payment first?”

“Looks like it, doesn’t it?” Clay replied flatly.

As long as he didn’t deliberately mess up, he knew he had a certain amount of leeway in how he conducted these deals. He was going to play that right to the wire in the case of this obnoxious individual.

Yuri was nettled all right.

“Maybe I should have a word with your boss,” he said.

“Of course,” Clay retorted. “I’d advise a personal visit though. He hates electronic communications, even on the unlisted channels. You wouldn’t be popular with him if you started leaving data shadows around.”

Frankie spoke soothingly. “Don’t worry, Yuri, I’ll do the calc.” The Tran minced past Clay in a wave of scent. Clay snorted as the cloud of cologne assaulted his nostrils. Frankie handed him the comp as it bleeped.

“There you go.”

Clay put the case on the table and clicked it open, revealing the stash of ‘recreationals’ for Yuri to check. Frankie checked it for him.

“As usual, enough synthetic fun for everyone, Yuri!”

Somewhere in the back rooms a soundsheet started to play some pounding electronica. Apart from the silent goons, there wasn’t anybody at Yuri’s place now. Clay knew that, after a while, this place would be all colour, crowds and noise as the miasma of a total sense orgy rose in the hot night. Yuri nodded at Frankie and Clay unpacked the merchandise onto the table top. There were no false formalities. Clay shut the case and left wordlessly, breathing in the wonderful natural scent of the garden on his way to the terraglide. As he made his way back down the scenic entrance road, he wondered at his own behaviour. He tried to analyze why he reacted to Yuri and his ilk as he had started to lately. The past few days had been characterized by several such encounters. Was he starting to sit in judgement on some of the people who helped pay his way? All he knew was that he was disturbed on a deep level about what some of these people did to make the fortunes they possessed.

Take Yuri for instance, he thought. Yuri was rich; really rich. He had the kind of influence that came with financial acquisition. His main trade was human cargo; he was a trafficker. Kids from the Tenacamps who would never be missed or even reported missing, street urchins from the megazones, even kids from other lands: all had their price and could be placed with sexual predators from his long list of clients. A six year old boy or girl from nowhere could be used and disposed of as easily as a pair of cheap socks. To Yuri and his associates, their lives were of no importance whatsoever. These little vermin were just toys for his clients.

He would never have used terms like paedophilia. No, it was just lucrative trade and after all, his best customers were prominent politicos. He even had his own disposal network. He was a master magician. After they had served their purpose, Yuri could make these little ciphers completely disappear. It was smooth and constant business with an endless commodity supply. What could be wrong with that?

‘Yes, what could be wrong with it? Exactly what?’ Clay asked himself.

Up until these last few weeks, he had never questioned the way things were. After all, you couldn’t fight the weather, could you? He realized that he had a nest of cliches in his head. ‘The way things were was the way things were’ and ‘It is was what it is’ and even his denfather’s little homilies like; ‘Life’s a bitch and then you die’. It dawned on him that he’d never seriously thought about things within a moral framework because he’d never
had
a moral framework. He thought about recent conversations with John and Skye. Maybe he hadn’t got very far in his understanding, but some things had started to come into focus. He’d begun to see that these people were not passive and accepting of the prevailing worldview.

Their whole lives were clearly in opposition to it. They saw things as being either in keeping with the created order or not. Certain actions were not in harmony with the laws of creation and so, for them it was simple; these behaviours were wrong. The more he thought things over, the clearer it became. The reason dealing with Yuri and his associates upset him was because what they did was wrong. Maybe he couldn’t touch or see the dividing line between right and wrong, but that boundary was there nonetheless. Right and wrong were realities. Some things may not have been obvious to his physical senses but that didn’t make them any the less real. Another, higher reality had started to impress itself upon him. Maybe he had tuned it out before, but this previously unheeded force was making itself felt. It certainly wasn’t entirely comfortable, especially when light from this newly discovered window started to fall onto his own life.

Whitney met him with relief written all over his face. He buzzed Clay inside as soon as he recognized him. “Have you got them?” he asked, wide eyed. “Yeah, sure,” Clay said, opening his case.

“Good,” the other sighed, tearing the cap from a blue biomed container. The sleeveless vest he wore revealed a painful looking wound on the upper side of his left arm. The skin was badly torn and there was seepage around the site. He aimed the aerosol, spraying the area thoroughly. Next he positioned a field dressing, wincing at the sting of the applied medication. Clay helped him secure it in place.

“Why did you call me? Couldn’t you get this stuff anywhere else?” Clay queried, unpacking the rest of the small consignment onto a counter. “The less they know the better,” said Whitney. “It’s a show of weakness if they know you’ve been hit.”

“How’d you get that?” asked Clay looking at the damaged arm.

It had been dark when Whitney arrived at the location he’d been given. He’d slipped from the terraglide and used his electronic foolkey to go quietly inside the building block. A second piece of key magic got him noiselessly past the door of the apartment and he stepped into the gloom. The only light in the tiny living chamber was the faint glow of a viewscreen on a low table. Outlined in its greenish tint he could see the figure on the couch with a pulserod pointed straight at him. “Come to collect?” came a sneering laugh. “Collect this!”

Whitney threw himself sideways, crashing to the floor in a mantle of broken furniture. The first charge punched a half metre gash in the wall above him. He fired back from the floor as the mark’s second charge streaked blue. He felt a shocking burning in his arm before he passed out.

He’d come around in a world of pain. The chair in the corner of the room was smouldering and he gagged on the fumes. In front of him, smoke was also rising from the man on the couch. The figure was now bent forward and he could see that his discharge had struck the man in the abdomen. The smell was awful. Coughing, he reached out and removed the pulserod from the victim’s hand. He clicked the safety on and tried to get to his feet. Waves of dizziness washed over him and he tried to steady himself on the arm of the couch. He had not anticipated this kind of reception. No one was supposed to expect his arrival. He was just a shadow that appeared out of nowhere. Now, he was a wounded shadow and there wasn’t much call for those in his line of work. He had to get out of there fast. The journey back to his den had been agony. He knew that he needed treatment, but that it had better be discreet. If his employers got wind of a hit hitman, he might soon himself be visited by shadows.

Whitney handed the comp to Clay once he’d made settlement. Clay threw it into the case.

“How’d you get into that line?” he asked Whitney.

“What? I just did. It’s what I trained for. I was a Polibro officer for eight tours. That’s a lot of killing; ideal background for this work. Most of the people who carry out these assignments are ex-Polibros. Politicos like proven formulas.”

“Good credits, eh?”

“What do you think? They told me I was doing society a favour… you know, getting rid of antisocials. The reality is I’m just keeping fat-assed politicos safe from anyone they think is a threat.”

Whitney grimaced again. He glanced at the biomeds on the side counter. “That stuff good?” he asked.

“The best,” Clay said. “Can I ask you something?”

“Like what?”

“Like what you do; d’you ever think about whether it’s right?”

Whitney’s brow furrowed; “Right? What’s right? What
is
is right. I don’t buy any of that godlegook stuff, if that’s what you mean. I’d be very careful if you’ve been listening to any of that. I’ve had to deal with a few of those monkeys.

Maybe not my finest achievements, but I think all that ‘right and wrong’ malarkee is dangerous. It twists peoples’ heads ‘til they can’t fit in to life as it really is. When I get up every day I have to deal with what is, not what might be. That’s all I know.”

“Uh huh. How’s the arm?” Clay queried.

“Well it must be doing some good, cause it really burns,” Whitney said, running his right hand gently over the dressing.

“I’ve got to go. Need anything else?” Clay asked as he lifted the case again. Whitney got up unsteadily.

“Nah. This leg still hurts from the fall but nothing much you can do for that. I’ve got the painkillers. I’ll be okay,” he said and limped his way to a couch against the far wall of the apartment. “Thanks. I owe you.”

Clay checked in at his place before he took the accounts he had tied up back to Ahab’s. His small chambers were beginning to seem unfamiliar.

He reflected that he hadn’t been there for more than an odd overnight stay in well over a month.

After checking in at the base, he could have left immediately. Instead, he hung around once again perusing Ahab’s treasure trove. Ahab never minded him wandering off into any of the large chambers adjoining the lounge and, after a while, came to join him.

“Found something that sparks you up?” he asked.

“I guess it all does,” Clay said. “The links between the past and nowtime. I’ve been asking myself why we think we’re so different from those who lived before.”

“Oh, yeah, the shining new order of everything!” Ahab smiled sardonically. “I’m not quite sure what I think anymore,” Clay reflected. “Something’s changing, that’s the only way I can put it.”

Ahab said, “You’re going through some changes all right, son. Just don’t do anything stupid, eh?”

Clay looked surprised. “Yeah, sure.”

Ahab clicked back to business. “I need you make another trek outzone. Another couple of big drops of seedstock and biomeds. One’s for Jacob’s place and one’s for John’s folks at ‘The Way’. The amount of stuff they’re buying is about enough to re-seed this entire planet”.

“That ‘Way’ community, it’s a pretty surprising place.”

“Yeah, I notice you don’t exactly hurry back. You getting attached?”

“You’ve been there, haven’t you?” Clay countered evasively.

“I don’t need to go there, I know all I need to know about ‘em. I get a pretty good picture from right here, but you can give me a rundown when you get back if you want.” A slight smile lingered just momentarily.

Up in the vehicle bay everything was on board. Clay powered up and headed out through the compound. He nodded at the loaders and guards as he swept from the safety of Ahab’s place into the Citizone again. Surrounded by his favourite sounds in the high cab, he guided the craft onto the welcoming Outway. Once again it would be a long haul, but he had become accustomed to the solitude of these journeys.

It was late as he approached Jacob’s settlement. In the messing area, Jacob was tending to one of the workers. The man’s leg was extended onto a seating bench and Jacob was wiping blood away from several deep gashes in his thigh. Three other men were watching, with obvious concern. One of them sprayed a liquid biomed onto the wounds. Soon the blood stopped running so freely and Jacob scrutinized the disinfected area.