Filaria - Brent Hayward [52]
The dark god said nothing for a long time. Lights from the room and from within its odd, smooth head played across its face. It did not move. Tran so discerned hints of textures inside the god, depths he could not imagine.
“Detainees have been liberated from a holding cell,” the god said quietly. “There’s been a break out. Prior to their questioning. I’m afraid the situation we talked of is escalating. I must go.”
“Am I free to leave?”
“No. Like the others we have interviewed, I cannot locate your retina pattern on my database. You lied to me. Every answer you gave me was a lie.”
“What?” Tran so Phengh had been working the cables of the device around his fist while they talked. Now, as he yanked on them, they tore free from the god’s chest with a loud popping sound and fluid erupted, spattering Tran so’s face as he was already getting up from the chair. Bellowing, the god clutched at itself. A stain spread down the front of its shirt. It reached out to grab Tran so but Tran so backed up, pulling furniture down as he went.
“Escapee, escapee!” The god spoke into its collar, shedding chairs and desks like water as it rose to its full height. “Brothers, assistance required. Assistance required!”
Tran so was already at the door. He pulled it open, feet sliding on the tiles. To his relief, the dark gods he had seen out in the hall earlier were gone. He looked at the curved wall of the tube and then away, along the bank of closed doors next to him.
From the room behind him came the sounds of furniture being splintered. Had the dark god tripped, buying him a few seconds? He bolted, and the god, roaring in frustration, quickly pursued.
3. LOVERS
PHISTER, L19
Red lips, parting slowly, revealed white. Breath, expressed into his face, sweet and intoxicating, like the aroma of rotting moss. The girl leaned in close to whisper, “Would you like to see a trick? A special trick?”
Young Phister, who had seen more than his fair share of tricks lately, nonetheless muttered, “Sure,” and showed his own nervous, toothless grin. “But, but you’ll still give us breakfast, right?”
Not only hunger drove Young Phister to the verge of desperation: his ever-simmering consternation had been aggravated to a boil by recent events, not the least of which was the sudden appearance — after turning the initial corner — of this mysterious girl and her ragtag associates. Sure as shit, they had stopped the car. Followed by brief introductions, the extension of hospitality, an offer of breakfast.
That’s when love uncoiled in Phister. She was gorgeous, after all, and Phister’s heart, like the hearts of most young men, was an eager muscle, collapsing into great depths of despair but soaring just as fast at the first hint of beauty.
Memories of Crystal Max, popping up against his will, were immature, spotty, pale by comparison. Besides, he was coming to understand, in a sort of slow-blooming epiphany, that finding Crystal Max was an issue very separate from visceral, face-to-face interaction like this: locating his old friend was an act of civic duty. Granted, it was propelled by these memories . . . A lost romance, but not active love. All Crystal and he had really ever shared was a vague history of getting high and one awkward kiss. He saw that clearly now, in the green eyes of this stranger’s alluring face.
What had brought him to this point of sophistication? Affection for a girl such as Crystal would no longer be easy, maybe not even possible; Young Phister was worldly, getting worldlier all the time. Here he was on his third level. And this exotic girl — with her dangerous gang in the background, her heady scent, her evident aura of threat — with her hair, for goodness sake, and her teeth! — was his new type. Perverse to admit it, titillating even, but the foreignness alone of her looks, anathema to all he had known over the course of his life, stirred his insides.
And they carried knives, these people. Knives, and other weapons. The girl had a long blade, dangling at her hip. He had spotted it right away, from a distance, before