Spares - Michael Marshall Smith [56]
Not a very clever trick; but then he hadn’t been a very clever man.
Feeling slightly smug I turned around, and saw that I was standing in a forest. The elevator’s light condensed then diffused until it was only a far-off blue glow, barely visible through the trees. It was cold and yet unpleasantly clammy, as if I was wearing too many clothes in a snowstorm.
No, I thought, in a childlike and horrified whisper. I’m not back here. I can’t be.
I whirled and saw the forest stretching in all directions around me, cold and fetid and dank. The distant light wasn’t trustworthy; sometimes it appeared to be there, sometimes not. The bark of the trees ran like tiny vertical streams, the gnarled surface rubbing amidst itself with sudden slimy hissing sounds. Or perhaps the sound came from the sweat working against my skin, crawling like a patina of tiny liquid creatures. There was no one in sight and I swallowed tightly, feeling as if I was dropping into the center of the earth. I’d gotten cut off, and the unit had run away into the trees, fighting in the only way they knew how: running, howling in silent terror, remembering me for no more than a second as someone else who had been lost. I looked down at a rustle below me to see faces in the leaves, huge grins twisting around my feet, and then—
I was in the elevator, hearing only a slight swishing sound as we shot up through the floors. The elevator was bright, walled with glass, sane: an elevator. Nearly was regarding me dubiously.
“You okay, big guy?” she asked, head slightly on one side. As usual, her attitude toward me seemed to be one of mild amusement.
“I don’t know,” I croaked, turning my head to check that everything was as it seemed.
“Looked kind of flaky for a moment there. I’d offer you a line of coke but you look like you’ve got enough weirdness going on already.”
“Flashback,” I said, shivering. One of the most vivid I’d ever had. I reached for a cigarette, lit it with shaking hands, and pulled deeply, yanking as much smoke as possible into my lungs, I felt truly dreadful, and Suej was staring at me strangely.
“Smoking in an xPress elevator is not permitted,” said a droid voice, and Nearly rolled her eyes.
“Fuck off,” I requested, taking another deep pull. I was having this cigarette if it killed me. The elevator immediately halted between floors.
“We’re not going anywhere until you put that out,” the voice said primly. “Cigarettes cause death, illness and death. And they smell.”
“What do you care?” Nearly said, lighting up one of her own just to be difficult. “You don’t have any lungs.”
“No, but subsequent elevator patrons will have, especially those from the higher floors. Please extinguish all cigarettes.”
“Where are your cognitive centers stored?” I asked, racking a shell into the barrel of my gun with jittery hands. “And can the elevator function without them?”
“Yes, it can,” the elevator said, with an air of slight puzzlement. “And I’m behind the red panel on your left Why do you ask?”
“Because,” I said, “if you don’t shut the fuck up I’m going to blow you to shit and then spend the rest of the journey smoking in comfort. I may even have a cigar.” To drive my point home, I held my gun at arm’s length so that the barrel was aimed straight at the panel it had referred to. “And a tip for the future—think before you answer questions truthfully.”
There was a pause, and then the droid spoke again. “A valuable piece of advice, and in recognition of that I shall permit you to continue your journey as requested. Please stand by.” A slight hum, and then the elevator started to ascend again. “Though I still think you’re very naughty.”
I laughed, a short quavering bark which had nothing to do with amusement I think it was a first for “naughty” in probably thirty years, I turned to Nearly and Suej, and noticed that they seemed to be looking each other up and down. Suej does look