some edges for me, the snaking lines of the pipes and the square, sharp corners of the humming black cubes. Something small and warm climbed up onto my leg and paused for a moment, as if sniffing the wind, and then moved on. I was getting used to the rats.
For a moment everything was unreal and insubstantial—the rough metal floor felt wrong, like it had gone soft overnight, rotting beneath me. The shadows seeor ong, too, moving—for a second one felt almost like a person leaning over me, arms extended, and then it was gone.
I shook my head. It ached, like always these days.
I sat up slowly, careful of the pipes overhead and the general lack of space. I patted myself for cigarettes and then caught myself—I hadn’t had a pack of cigarettes in years. The smell and heat crowded in on me—I’d been sweating continuously for days, boiling in my own clothes, and I imagined mold growing on my skin, fur trapping even more heat, more damp, tiny threadlike roots sucking the life out of me.
“Avery?”
Adora’s voice, somewhere in the murk. Slowly, my eyes were adjusting again, and things were taking on a ghostly gray coloring, just taped-off edges in the dark.
“Whatever we agreed to pay this bastard,” I said, my voice thick and phlegmy, “it’s too fucking much.”
She laughed. “We did not require too many details when making our deal, remember?”
I nodded to myself. We’d hitched a ride on a wagon being pulled by fucking donkeys out of Mexico City—we’d had plenty of cover; half the city was hitting its heels to get away from Anners’s troops, who were busy tearing the city down around them, free from his boot heel for maybe the first time in five years. Maybe I should have stayed and revealed myself, Avery Cates, the Gweat and Tewwible, their savior. Maybe they would have been glad to see me, the man who finally killed Colonel Malkem Anners.
Donkeys. I couldn’t get over it. I’d sat and stared at the gelatinous sway of their tails as they plodded along, heads down, happy to just keep pulling the fucking wagon forever. We’d have made better time except for Remy, who was suddenly allergic to walking and just complained about being tired all the time.
someone tie his fucking arms
I shook my head again. I was starting to get worried, really worried, about the headaches and the creeping hallucinations. My augments, I figured, finally corroding inside me. When I’d gone after Michaleen’s avatar in Hong Kong he’d pressed my button, tried to use the anti-frag settings wired into my implants to kill me, and I’d had the bright idea of sending my system into overdrive at the same moment, pushing my entire body way past its limits for the second time in a week. It had saved my life, somehow, but I didn’t talk for three months and only got the use of my hand back over time—my augments never worked right after that either, and I figured I’d fried a connection or five. That made my military implants just a little better than a tumor made of metal in my brain.
I got up onto my knees and stretched as best I could, then made sure my Roon was still tucked into my pants, dry and accessible. The constant vibration buzzed up through my knees and into my chest, making my teeth chatter.
“Did you sleep?”
I sat blinking in the darkness. “I’m not sure.” There had been voices and flashes—not voices like my resident ghosts, digitized brains I’d swallowed when they tried to brick me in Chengara. The voices were just in my head, silent except to me, and I’d gotten really good at blocking them out.
Because we let you , Dolores Salgado suddenly whispered at me. A wave of light-headedness swept through me, making me reach back and touch the wet, gritty metal of the floor to steady myself.
Those voices didn’t bother me—I was used to them.
“A little,” I finally said, reluctant to say anything else. I was an old man, but I was old because I’d learned my lessons well. One of those lessons
For a moment everything was unreal and insubstantial—the rough metal floor felt wrong, like it had gone soft overnight, rotting beneath me. The shadows seeor ong, too, moving—for a second one felt almost like a person leaning over me, arms extended, and then it was gone.
I shook my head. It ached, like always these days.
I sat up slowly, careful of the pipes overhead and the general lack of space. I patted myself for cigarettes and then caught myself—I hadn’t had a pack of cigarettes in years. The smell and heat crowded in on me—I’d been sweating continuously for days, boiling in my own clothes, and I imagined mold growing on my skin, fur trapping even more heat, more damp, tiny threadlike roots sucking the life out of me.
“Avery?”
Adora’s voice, somewhere in the murk. Slowly, my eyes were adjusting again, and things were taking on a ghostly gray coloring, just taped-off edges in the dark.
“Whatever we agreed to pay this bastard,” I said, my voice thick and phlegmy, “it’s too fucking much.”
She laughed. “We did not require too many details when making our deal, remember?”
I nodded to myself. We’d hitched a ride on a wagon being pulled by fucking donkeys out of Mexico City—we’d had plenty of cover; half the city was hitting its heels to get away from Anners’s troops, who were busy tearing the city down around them, free from his boot heel for maybe the first time in five years. Maybe I should have stayed and revealed myself, Avery Cates, the Gweat and Tewwible, their savior. Maybe they would have been glad to see me, the man who finally killed Colonel Malkem Anners.
Donkeys. I couldn’t get over it. I’d sat and stared at the gelatinous sway of their tails as they plodded along, heads down, happy to just keep pulling the fucking wagon forever. We’d have made better time except for Remy, who was suddenly allergic to walking and just complained about being tired all the time.
someone tie his fucking arms
I shook my head again. I was starting to get worried, really worried, about the headaches and the creeping hallucinations. My augments, I figured, finally corroding inside me. When I’d gone after Michaleen’s avatar in Hong Kong he’d pressed my button, tried to use the anti-frag settings wired into my implants to kill me, and I’d had the bright idea of sending my system into overdrive at the same moment, pushing my entire body way past its limits for the second time in a week. It had saved my life, somehow, but I didn’t talk for three months and only got the use of my hand back over time—my augments never worked right after that either, and I figured I’d fried a connection or five. That made my military implants just a little better than a tumor made of metal in my brain.
I got up onto my knees and stretched as best I could, then made sure my Roon was still tucked into my pants, dry and accessible. The constant vibration buzzed up through my knees and into my chest, making my teeth chatter.
“Did you sleep?”
I sat blinking in the darkness. “I’m not sure.” There had been voices and flashes—not voices like my resident ghosts, digitized brains I’d swallowed when they tried to brick me in Chengara. The voices were just in my head, silent except to me, and I’d gotten really good at blocking them out.
Because we let you , Dolores Salgado suddenly whispered at me. A wave of light-headedness swept through me, making me reach back and touch the wet, gritty metal of the floor to steady myself.
Those voices didn’t bother me—I was used to them.
“A little,” I finally said, reluctant to say anything else. I was an old man, but I was old because I’d learned my lessons well. One of those lessons
Similar Books
