Crudrat, page 8
“Am Xinyn, remember?” hissed his companion.
“So?” Armigers sure did go in for bullish.
“So, Am Xinyn’s serving on the parliament as nomarch of military spending this cycle,” replied his companion. Maura wondered if he had delusions of Spoke hopping.
“Ah, well, in that case — six hundred and you haul your crystal-white self ‘round our end of the port to pick her up end of next shift. See how real people live.”
The progenetor nodded. “Done.” He stopped tapping his cane against his foot.
The armiger not making the deal said, “My implant has notarized and recorded this transaction.”
Maura gaped. Six hundred credits was a veritable fortune. It’d feed a crudrat belly-full for a whole cycle long. Two crudrats if they ate sparingly and were trying to keep the weight down.
The highstock reached across the gap separating their still drifting belt squares and tapped the top of Maura’s blue head with his cane. The silver tip glinted in the harsh lights, momentarily blinding her. He kept his gene marks polished to a high shine.
“You’re mine, little nobody. Oh, the delicious things I am going to do with those eyes.” Once again the grimace split his face — a beautiful pearly face that never thought to wrinkle, or show humor, or show humanity.
Then he signaled the beltway monitor with his implant. A toss of his head to one side and his belt veered off to midway, at which point he leaped across belts to the faster, high cost, express route, and continued the way he’d been going originally towards the crossgenetor arena.
Maura twisted in the grip of the two guards to watch him. Jealous of the relief she felt in his leaving. Knowing it wouldn’t last. For a long time after he’d vanished ‘round a bend in the beltway, she thought she could see his cane and his pearly skin glinting under the lights.
Maura’s two escorts spent the remainder of the journey discussing what they were going to do with such an unexpected influx of funds.
8
And the first Tinkers took themselves unto space to grapple with the void. There they found pathways between the stars. They also found a nothingness filled with something. Then they made the greatest discovery of them all — that something could be used.
~ Introduction to The Application of Dark Matter Theory, A Primer by T.L. Prozzer
The dispatch area was still a-buzz with guns and too many sequensors for anyone’s comfort. Everyone ignored Maura, except the two guards who now handled her carefully. A prized investment opportunity, her eyes had become. Maura was surprised no one noted the care they took of her.
They booked her in personally, pushing subgenetor clerks out the way, and then made sure they were the only ones with keys to her cell. They patted her down for kit, of which she had none since she’d hidden the key-card and lost her license, and saw her into the clink with real concern.
“Now you sit pretty there a while,” said one as he bolted her in.
“We’ll be back for you shortly, just got some data to tweak, and a vender to pay, make sure he don’t push to see you spaced,” added the other.
They swaggered away, leaving Maura looking about her narrow cell and wondering about taking a nap. Next part of the plan wouldn’t kick in until scyther shifts rotated. She had a good number of ticks to waste.
She checked over her cell, top to tail. The only opening, besides the bars, was the vent centered above. She checked to make sure she could climb up and reach it. Her cell was narrow enough so that with her legs braced between the two walls she could get high with relative ease. From what she’d learned of the layout, the alien in solitary was probably two or three cells down and across the way from her. Things would have been best if he were closer, but it shouldn’t be too much a bother, assuming those two guards didn’t come back first.
Nothing happened for a long time. The cells all about her were empty, so there was no one to talk with. Armigers paraded by, mostly trying to catch sight of the alien. But rules were rules and they were supposed to leave that end of the cells alone, so they poked at Maura instead, prodding through the bars with shock sticks and nasty words. She avoided the shockers easy, and ignored the words easier. Most words, when they came upon rejects at all, were of the needling variety. A girl got used to name calling right quick if she lived gutterside. It came with the territory.
Things got interesting again near the end of that shift. Apparently the sequensors had decided to interrupt the alien’s solitary. All that alone time should have worked, but hadn’t. Maura suspected this spoke more on the alien having been raised planetside, where solitary came all too easy, than on a failure in technique. But the sequensors seemed to like blaming each other, or accusing the armigers of sneaking looks. There were recriminations and even some physical threats taking place right there in the hall near her cell. Maura watched the show with interest.
Finally they opted for continued torture and pain. Maura hope they wouldn’t go damaging her alien beyond repair.
Then two sequensors returned with some sort of large bubble computer. It looked to fit over the head, with tiny needles and screws poking into the brain and one or two long ones meant for the eyes. Sure wasn’t a pretty bit of kit. Maura shuddered to see it. Poor old alien. But then again, she’d lay on some good credit that it wouldn’t work on Fuzzy anyhow. Alien’s alien, brains got to be different. Not that she knew what that kit was meant to do, but it seemed to her the alien might beat even it.
Turns out she was dead wrong. A few ticks later and Fuzzy started up howling again. Only, this time there was extra pain edging the tone of it.
Maura shuddered and huddled down in the far corner of her cell. She drew up her legs and wrapped her arms about them, burying her face in her knees. Nothing left to do but hope Rees got out of his shift, collected their secret weapon, and got himself over fast enough to stop the torture. Not to mention stop her being taken away by the two bribed guns.
Next thing she heard, through the alien screaming, was the sound of a sim-key in her cell lock.
She looked up.
Seems my ticks are all beat out.
There stood the two armigers, and behind them the Am Xinyn progenetor, all smug and pearly. There was a look of too much satisfaction on that highstock’s perfect face. Maura stood, slow and careful. Sudden moves could be used as an excuse for pain.
One of the guards began coughing. He sucked in on his breath, scrabbling at his throat. Just as the door to her cell unlocked and started to slide open, the other one started coughing as well.
“What in Wheel’s name is going on?” asked the highstock, starting to cough now also. He shifted his grip on his cane, as though some tangible enemy were bound to appear.
Maura caught a whiff of a sharp chemical smell punching through the dryness of the spaceport air. It was acrid and hit the back of the throat. She knew the scent well, though it was usually carried on a slight exhalation of murmel breath. It was hundreds of times worse now, clawing and toxic.
She ignored the partly open door to her cell. Instead she shimmed up the sides, placing her mouth against the air vent in the ceiling. She tried to breathe as calm and regular as possible. Behind her the two armigers and the progenetor collapsed to the floor, limp as dead beltway.
“Rees?” Maura hissed through the vent, when she felt it was safe.
“Sure is,” came Rees’s voice.
“You suss out which vent belongs to the alien’s solitary?”
“No problem there, you left it all twisted off, and wide wide open. I checked and he’s breathing right pretty. Sure is a weird looking beastie. Hey, you think... ?”
Maura cut him off. “I reckon we got about ten ticks before the alarms sound and we got cleaners swarming up the place. Best we get moving. No need to lift the keys. They opened my cell right up, all convenient like.”
“Now, why would they go and do such?”
“No time to waste on explaining.”
“Right, meet you at crossgenetor south major hub?”
“Done.” Maura took a deep breath and holding it, jumped down from her propped position between the two walls.
She moved with quickness and economy, no air to waste, no time to wander. She wormed out of the cell door. Both guards and progenetor lay still on the floor outside. She prodded one guard with a foot. He didn’t move. She moved onto the buck, and poked at his stomach with a toe.
Quick as a flash he grabbed her ankle with both hands. Despite herself, Maura let out a little squeak, losing some of her precious air.
The Am Xinyn looked up at her, eyes watery, struggling to breathe. Beads of sweat popped out on his pearly face, like water on plastic.
“What’d you do, Am Vern?”
Maura yanked at her foot.
His grip held sure.
She was running out of air. The acrid smell was creeping in. Panicked, Maura reached down and clawed at his hands with her fingernails. They barely made a mark on the high-mod shiny surface of his flesh.
“Never trust Am Verns,” he wheezed, not seeming to notice her scratching. “Always got some plot or another, Am Verns do. I should have known that you would, too. Chipless makes no diff…” His speech faded into coughing and his grip slackened.
Maura pulled her foot free and skittered back into her cell and up the wall. She placed her mouth up close to the vent, one of the only two that Rees hadn’t clogged, and breathed deeply in relief. Her heart was loud as a scyther pulse in her chest.
It took her a few too many ticks to convince herself to try again.
She was running out of time.
This second try she moved fast and sure, jumping down, and running over to pat down both guards. She fleeced them for anything that might be useful yet not implant coded — ration cubes, kit tools, sparkles. She even kept one of the sonic guns. A body needed a chip to fire the nasty, but sometimes a girl didn’t have to fire to get what she needed.
After a quick climb back up her cell walls to take another breather, the air fresh and sweet, Maura did the same to the fallen progenetor. He was littered with interesting kit. She also took his cane. She wasn’t quite sure how it might be useful but he’d regret the loss and that was a good enough reason for her. She made a bundle using his cravat and tied her loot to the cane to carry, leaving it propped in the hall.
Then it was back for more air.
Once more down this time she lifted the guard’s sim key and went to the alien’s cell.
He was standing all calm, solid as a bulkhead, mouth to the open vent above. At his feet lay the crumpled forms of four sequensors. In the corner of the cell, all mangled and scrunched up, was the bubble contraption they’d been using on his head. Guess he didn’t like that. Blood leaked out through his white fur at various points about his skull. He seemed to have just ripped the thing straight off his noggin.
Maura fumbled various keys at the lock. Sliding one bit of metal in after another. She was starting to really worry on time, since alarms would have sounded at the first measure of toxins in the air. Right now it was only a matter of how fast the cleaners could get across spaceport from dockside to deal with Rees’s little mess.
Wrong key.
What if she ran out of air? She’d have to go back for another breather. That’d waste even more ticks.
Wrong key.
By now the alarm would surely have brought the cleaners. Subgenetors would be crewing all over the place. She had to get it right.
Wrong key.
Not that that Maura could do much good at all if they’d keyed his cell to implant instead of using mechanicals. She began to smell the acrid sent and knew she’d have return to her own cell soon, get more air.
Wrong key.
Maura glanced desperately about.
The alien sensed her plight, for all of a sudden there he was, a looming mass of white. He motioned her towards his cell bars with one massive paw. Maura bent, still fiddling with the lock.
And then his strange furry mouth was over hers and Maura breathed in. Shocking intimacy. He smelled warm and exotic, like sun on growing things she’d never seen. His breath was warm as well, and not unpleasant. There wasn’t much oxygen in it, but it was enough to get her through the last of the sim keys on the guard’s chain.
The fated click. Right key.
Maura pushed the cell door aside. She had no ticks to glory in her success. Yet again, she was almost out of air. The alien offered her a wide furry hand and a bent knee. No time to flinch away from contact with foreign fur, she simply climbed right up him, as though he were a wall or a tunnel. He braced her, and they spent a long moment together like that, mouths to the vent.
Sweet air sung through Maura’s lungs.
“Quoin Fuzzy,” she said softly, "you sure that ice planet of yours is worth all this bother?"
He looked at her. Right close his black eyes were even more like the void of space. “You seen the sun rise over a glacier, little blue?”
Maura shook her head.
“It is worth it.”
“Right then. Let’s get you out of here. Just give me a tick.” Maura jumped down, stripped the four sequensors of their robes, and then clambered back up for one last gasp.
“Follow me.” She dashed out of the cell, the alien following after, his long stride eating up three of hers. Maura grabbed her bundle and progenetor cane. That plus the sequensor robes made for quite a load. She hoped she’d not have to do any real running - she’d have to drop the loot.
She’d give Fuzzy credits, if she had any, for he followed her with only slight hesitation when she veered into the duct tube. It was barely big enough for him. Anything smaller than a main tunnel and he’d get stuck like a foam in a blast-hole. Still, he crawled gamely after. His pelt made a whispering noise on the metal. She wondered if he were cleaning it of dust. They moved as quickly as possible from one major line to the next until they came out into one of the biggest hubs.
The alien still took up most of it and looked uncomfortable besides. There was more room here than his cell, but not by enough to make him happy with it.
Rees’s tufted blue head poked ‘round a tunnel corner soon as they settled. He swung himself to a soft landing next to Maura, looking with wide eyes at the alien.
“You stink,” stated Maura, by way of greeting.
Rees waggled his hands at her. They were stained dark blue. “Don’t come off easy. Guess that’s why subgenetor cleaners always wear gloves.”
The alien said, “You clogged the vents up? This one is indebted to you, small stranger.”
Rees puffed himself up at the moniker. He’d always been sensitive about his size. Except that it stood him in good stead with scyther work.
Maura recollected the alien’s obsession with handles. Figuring on introductions, she said, “Quoin Fuzzy, this is Rees. Rees, this is quoin Fuzzy. He’s a bit odd about names. Won’t give his real one out all easy and quick the way we do.”
The alien could not seem to help a little gasp when Maura said Rees’s name aloud.
“Oh yeah?” Rees looked with interest at the alien.
Fuzzy was staring at Maura. “You are as free with the names of others as you are with your own? What a strange alien place this Wheel is where such liberties are taken with gens.”
Rees grinned. “Rees ain’t a very tip-top name.”
The alien turned back to him. “You also have no gens?”
Rees looked at Maura to translate.
“I’m thinking he’s meaning something like progenetor families.” She gave a one-shoulder shrug.
“Well,” Rees looked a little militant, “I do have kin, they just lost me is all.”
“Rees has delusions of being chipped. He keeps on thinking someone made a mistake not giving him the implant.”
“You are — how do you say — crudrat as well?” The alien eyed Rees’s blue hair.
Rees nodded.
Fuzzy cocked his head to the side. “If this one may ask — how did you manage it? What did you use for the vent clogging? This one was favorably impressed by your successful execution of the plan.”
Rees and Maura looked at each other.
“I’m thinking you probably don’t want to know what,” said Rees finally.
“It’s a substance,” said Maura right about the same time. “Subgenetors make good use of it ‘round portside. Very sticky, holds nice and sure even in a vacuum. Scuttles use for repairs mainly. The handlers always keep a back-store. We lifted a bit of it from tunnel sites they don’t rightly know about. Smells somewhat awful, of course, but us crudrats have found it most handy in the past, so we like to know where-abouts it might be at any given tick.”
“So long as we avoid thinking where it came from on the get-go,” added Rees, sporting an evil smile.
The alien looked mighty curious, for a fuzzy-faced beastie. “So, what is it?”
Maura sighed, crossed her arms and glared at Rees.
“Murmel plop,” said Rees proudly, hoping for a rise out the alien. He did like to shock people.
The alien didn’t look shocked, just more confused. “What’s a murmel?”
Right on cue, because he always did have perfect timing, Maura’s murmel stuck his blue head ‘round a side tunnel and squeaked at them all, imperiously.
Maura gestured. “That’s a murmel. Don’t you have them on your skiffs or ships?"
“No.”
“Gosh,” Rees was now the one shocked, “how’d you control crud?”
“What’s crud?”
“We speaking the same tongue?” Rees asked Maura.
“He’s a funny accent but yes.” Maura gestured all about, at the blue dust permeating everything and explained to the alien. “You know, the blue death, plaguing scythers and stopping air. You must have crud. Everything afloat in space has crud.”
Something bumped into Maura’s heel and chittered at her.
“Ah!” The alien nodded. “Residual dark matter particulate. DMP my people call it. Most certainly we have it. We use a flushing mechanism to clean the harvesters. Doesn’t the Wheel do the same?”
