Читать книгу Sing Down The Stars - Nerine Dorman - Страница 11

At first when she woke, Nuri wasn’t sure where she was. She missed the sway of her hammock, and what stood out was the utter silence. So much so that she could hear her pulse beat in her ears. While she’d slept, the lights had dimmed, but as she sat up in the rumpled blankets on a strange cot in an unfamiliar, bare, ceramic-walled room, the room grew lighter. Not that it helped. Her prison was still grim as all hell. She wrinkled her nose at the marshy, muddy stench of her clothing, and the way everything itched. She could use a bath. And she desperately needed to pee.

Only she couldn’t move. Besides the fact that her body still felt as if she’d been stomped by a stampeding pandor, she simply couldn’t summon the energy to move from the relative comfort of the bed. Day one of captivity, she supposed.

The interrogation from the day returned to her. So, they’d mind-wipe her? Keep her locked up unless they found a patron for her? As if they were running a business here, finding an avatar for a star-jumper seed. If only she’d paid more attention to the news reports, but what happened to Citizens was so far removed from her life in the barrens that she never wasted her time with idle speculation –she and her fellow runners were too intent on their tasks.

Thoughts of her pack brought her back to Vadith. What would he do? It was not as if she’d spilled any of his trade secrets; these people apparently knew enough about her thrilling life of crime without any of her help.

But what now? Fear beat a hollow drum in her chest. She wouldn’t give in, wouldn’t show these people that she was terrified of what would happen next. If only she could go to sleep and wake someplace else, with none of this having happened.

So she waited.

* * *

Nuri had no idea how much time passed nor what time of the day it was. More sleep proved impossible; she simply wasn’t tired anymore. Maybe her captors were so busy debating her fate they hadn’t opted for the mind-wipe yet. This brought cold comfort. She was still sitting here, alone. What if they forgot about her?

No, no, no. Nuri wouldn’t chase that idea down any deep burrows.

As if she would ever be allowed to bond with a star-jumper as an avatar … whatever that meant. Maybe it was like being possessed. Ugh. Who knew? There were horror stories about telepaths who could ride other people, usually cooking their brains in the process. Nightmare fuel.

Besides, star-jumpers had always been a thing you saw in movies – remote and vast and alien. Transport for the super-wealthy; not even mere Citizens. And certainly not for a barrens rat like Nuri.

What now?

If they locked her up, would she ever run again? The only freedom Nuri ever tasted was when she was running along walls or rooftops, often with pursuers nipping at her heels. There was the near weightlessness of making that impossible leap no one else was mad enough to try. Or having to make a split-second decision about how much weight she’d put on the balls of her feet before she launched herself at a crazy hand- or foothold. It was a freedom of sorts, even if she was indentured to Vadith. When she was running, he couldn’t catch her.

Now it looked as if she might never run again.

Staring at the unpainted walls soon grew old, and Nuri really did need to pee. The bathroom was set in an alcove behind a sliding door that rattled on its track. And there was a shower cubicle. Folded on top of the toilet cistern lay grey coveralls, clean underwear (grey), a pair of socks, a towel and a toiletry bag that had all the essentials. White sneakers had been set on the floor, so painfully new and bright they hurt her eyes. So, the facilitators meant for her to clean up. That was all right. Nuri smelled ranker than a fen mole.

A wicker basket stood next to the door, and Nuri deposited her clothing there because it felt wrong to dump it on the floor. Maybe they’d have a laundry in this place. The first, dim flashes of hope came to her.

But, ancestors, it felt good to be clean. Her skin soon gleamed and even if the soap was harsh-smelling and chemical-like, she’d at least gotten rid of the bleeding swamp stench.

A pair of guards appeared after her shower and brought her a packed meal. One took the laundry basket, though he didn’t promise to bring back her things. The guards were firm but aloof, and their hands twitched often towards the stunners they wore at their belts.

And then she waited.

Of the siren song that had landed her in this trouble to start with, there wasn’t so much as a peep. It was as if she’d imagined it all, and that was kinda scary. Or maybe she was so far beneath the ground that the psi-call couldn’t reach her.

Four meals she counted, always brought by an unsmiling guard who refused to answer any questions. In between those times, Nuri paced. She did exercises to work out excess energy. She tried to sleep. Once she even cried, but stopped when she figured they’d be recording her behaviour. Not that she could see the camera, but you never knew.

“You can’t stress about things you can’t change,” Nuri said to herself. “Can’t, can’t, can’t. But you can breathe and try to be calm. And figure things out.” That was what Shiv had told her once when they’d been on a hectic job that hadn’t gone according to plan.

Eventually her captors came for her, when she wasn’t sure if it was day or night. Nuri was marched along the passages, into an elevator, and brought to that same anonymous reception area from the first day. From here she was marched out into the grounds, between the hulking buildings.

So it was noon. Despite the smog, the sun’s brightness was near blinding.

Nuri scrunched shut her eyes and had to blink rapidly before she could peer at the world around her. The facility was so sparse, so perfect, without even a scrap of litter. They walked along neat ceramic-paved pathways bordered by grass clipped to such uniformity by the roving maintenance bots that it might have been green velvet. The grey of the prefab walls, in regular rectangular rows, was so different from the chaos of the barrens. Teens of various races moved between the structures, all garbed similarly to her. They didn’t pay her any attention; everything was so quiet, so orderly.

She was guided into one of the larger buildings – it looked a little more permanent than the others and went up three storeys, its upper levels consisting of sheets of black solar glass. The interior was cool and smelt strongly of industrial cleaner. Her sneakers’ soles squeaked on the polished poured-stone floors.

The J’Veth drone at the reception desk waved them through a set of double doors that brought them into yet another long passage. The stark white of the walls made Nuri’s eyes ache. Then a sharp right turn into a space that reminded her of the waiting room in the clinic when they’d taken one of her pack-mates after he’d broken his arm.

The guards made her sit in a chair next to a potted plant with glossy leaves. The strip lighting here made everything look artificial.

Three closed doors, and nothing else. Not even a screen to scroll through the media feeds. If there was a Net signal, Nuri had no way of telling. She’d left her AR glasses back at the Den, so there wasn’t even any AR for her to log in to. Not that she liked AR much – it always left her slightly queasy. If she had an implant it might be another story, but so far Vadith hadn’t thought it necessary for her.

Nuri should ask what was going on, but she had a feeling they’d just tell her to keep her mouth shut, which was embarrassing. At any rate, it was better to watch and wait, and see what sort of opportunity might come up. Her instincts warned her that while she might’ve broken in to the facility easily, getting out might not be as effortless. Especially since they were keeping a close watch on her.

A door opened about five minutes later, and the guard nudged her to her feet.

Alda stood at the threshold, smiling. “Come on in, child.”

I’m not your child, Nuri wanted to say. But now was not the time to be contrary.

The guards did not follow her in, into what was clearly Alda’s office. For a moment, all Nuri could do was stare at the room with its pale-cream finish and an entire wall that currently showed a semi-desert landscape scene where rock formations contorted into strange arches against a painfully blue sky. The air here was warm and smelt faintly of resin.

Nuri would’ve gone straight to one of the comfortable armchairs in front of the big wooden desk, except that she saw who was seated in the chair to her right. It felt as if all the blood rushed right out of her head and into her toes.

“Fadhil Tien,” she whispered. Of all people, he was the last she’d expected. He was most likely here to find out why she’d broken into his house.

The man was more imposing in real life than in his pictures, and as he rose to his feet, flashing her a broad, white smile, she had to fight the impulse to turn and run for the door. A futile effort, in any case. She couldn’t let on that she was terrified, though she was sure it showed.

Fadhil’s laughter was rich and deep. Belly laughter.

“Come now, Nuri, I’m not going to eat you.” Fadhil grinned as if he was in on a secret joke.

“Come take a seat. We have much to discuss,” Alda said.

“What’s he doing here?” Nuri squeaked. She still hadn’t moved.

“I’m to be your patron, if you’ll have me.” Fadhil held out a hand for Nuri to take, and all she could do for a few heartbeats was stare dumbly at his fingers. His smile reached his eyes, and when she dared to snake out a bit more of her psi-awareness, she didn’t pick up any immediate animosity.

“Y-y-you’re not mad at me?” she asked. How had he even found her here?

“Not you.” There – a small frown, gone in an instant. “Perhaps with Vadith, but then we’ve had plenty of water under the bridge over the years. Let’s just say that he and I are former business partners. I can’t be mad at you for following orders, can I?”

Nuri sucked in a breath, then tentatively reached out and accepted Fadhil’s hand. His grip was firm and then he indicated for her to go first to sit down. As if she was some la-di-dah lady.

Alda settled herself in an enormous wingback chair that was more like a throne – all honey-coloured leather. “What would you like to drink, Nuri? I’ve got the server bringing some coffee. Would you like coffee? It’s not synth.”

“Real coffee?” Ancestors, that stuff was worth more than most folks made in a year.

“Only the best.” Alda smiled.

They were trying to buy her, weren’t they? Nuri dared to cut a glance in Fadhil’s direction, but he was sitting with his left leg crossed over the right, big hands clasped loosely in his lap. Not quite watching her study him. She turned back to Alda.

“Yes, please.”

Alda’s gaze grew distant for a moment while she communicated via her net connection, and then she focused on Nuri again.

“I know that you must be deeply afraid and confused, but I would like to reassure you that you will not be harmed. Indeed, we’d like to offer you an opportunity available only to a select few.”

Nuri licked lips that had gone dry. “I thought you were going to have me mind-wiped?”

Alda spread her hands. “Consider this the alternative. Your arrival here was unprecedented and entirely unexpected, and it just so happens that Citizen Tien here” – she opened the fingers of her hand closest to Fadhil – “has graciously stepped into the breach.”

“He’s a – ” Nuri stopped herself from saying “gang boss”.

“An astute businessman, who knows an opportunity when he sees it,” Fadhil finished for her. His damned smile was so charming.

Nuri hadn’t even mentioned Fadhil during the earlier interrogation, and there was no need to bring Vadith’s long-standing rivalry with Fadhil further into the picture. Not unless Alda or Fadhil brought it up, which she suspected they wouldn’t. Not here. Not now. She had a feeling it wasn’t relevant and that these people knew full well what Fadhil was all about.

“Thank you, Citizen Tien.”

Just then a server droid came in – a sleek model that moved on anti-grav so that it didn’t make a noise. The brushed-steel dome irised back to reveal the promised coffee, as well as a tiered stand loaded with pastries, both sweet and savoury.

Nuri had only ever seen such perfect treats on the public screens. The few times she’d tasted anything even resembling the flaking crusts with their glistening fruit-preserve hearts, they’d been days-old, cast-off fragments that had found their way into the barrens. They’d still been delicious.

“Have as many as you like,” Alda said.

Nuri moved to help herself but hesitated halfway, and despite her growling tummy, thrust her hands under her armpits. “What’s the catch?” she asked through narrowed eyes.

Fadhil’s laughter brought her up short. “There’s no catch, child.”

“There’s always a catch,” Nuri hissed.

“Child, child,” Alda said. “I know your background, and I can assure you that this is nothing like where you came from.”

“But you want something from me,” Nuri said.

“I do admit that yes, you have something special, but it is to all our benefit.”

“What’s he doing here?” Nuri jerked her head in Fadhil’s direction.

Fadhil remained amused. “If all goes according to plan, I will be your patron.”

Still going on about the patron stuff. Whatever that meant.

“Why?”

“Because you’ll need one if you’re to stand among the Chosen. You want your Citizen implant, don’t you?”

“A –” Nuri’s mind was awhirl.

A chance to be a Citizen. To be logged on to the database. Basic medical care, a home. Education. All things she’d assumed would forever be beyond her reach.

“Why?” she whispered.

Alda spoke. “We have many Chosen here at the facility, all waiting to bond with the star-jumper nymph when it emerges. You, Nuri, are the only one it has called. The only one who’s found her way here of her own volition. We have to honour that, but we have to be fair, and follow the correct protocol. Those who’ve been put forward by their patrons for the emergence will still stand on the day. We must offer the new star-jumper as many suitable potential avatars to choose from as possible. And each Chosen has a patron, a consortium or a family to whom they owe fealty, and who will represent their interests. You need a patron who will provide the financial backing for the duration of your stay … and your training.”

Nuri’s world faded while she processed this new information. Chosen? That she was more than space trash? With Fadhil as her patron …? Little facts clicked into place.

She turned to him. “I’m your opportunity? You’re gambling on me? On the off-chance that I’ll be one of these … avatars?”

“I think it’s more than just a gamble,” he rumbled. “And I think we all know it.”

“How did you know about me here?”

“Did you think you’d make it all the way back to Vadith’s without being watched? I was most fascinated to see where you went afterwards.”

Nuri firmed her lips. A drone probably. Following at a discreet distance. She’d suspected their escape from his home had been too easy, considering the level of security they’d breached.

“Whatever is in your past, is in your past,” Alda said. “I would suggest you grasp this opportunity to transcend your origin and, dare I say” – she gave a polite cough of laughter – “reach for the stars.”

Nuri’s heart felt as if it was going to hammer its way out of her chest, and she swallowed hard. “And if I succeed?”

“Then you will be a Citizen, and an avatar. A privilege for a rare few. There are perhaps a dozen avatars in existence that we know of, and a mere handful of human birth.”

“And if I fail?”

Fadhil shifted in his seat. “Then I will formally adopt you, and you will retain your Citizenship.”