After the Revolution, page 13
“Ayeah, ayeah,” Skullfucker Mike grunted, “Topes and I got some medishit in our trailer. We’ll getcha. Just suck it up a bit longer and— Oh!” He popped open the glove compartment. Inside it Manny could see a handgun, a battered can of Miller High Life, and a large bottle of pills. Skullfucker Mike passed the bottle back.
“Oxy. Printed ’em out myself like, two weeks back. Probably shouldn’t take more than two or three unless you’ve got a robust fuckin’ narcosuite in your brainmeat.”
Manny took two. Reggie took four. Topaz guided the little buggy through the organized chaos of the encampment and toward a big silver airstream parked about a dozen feet away from what Manny guessed was the backside of Rolling Fuck. He guessed that because someone had bolted a twenty-foot tall license plate to that end of the city. It said, “HONK PLZ,” in glowing white letters.
The buggy slowed to a stop and Skullfucker Mike hopped out. He put out a hand as Manny and Reggie started to stand.
“Hold up, guys. Y’all’re just covered in pieces of dead people.”
He went up into the Airstream and came out moments later with one arm full of towels and a large jug of hot, soapy water. Manny and Reggie washed their hands and faces, pulled off their shirts and scrubbed the blood from their chests. The Brit looked over at Topaz when it came time to take off his pants.
“Erm,” he said when she made no motion to hide her face.
“Hmm?” she asked.
“Would you mind turning around?”
“Oh!” She seemed surprised. Her face went a bit red, but not with embarrassment at their impending nudity. “I’m so sorry; I didn’t even think about it. You people come from the world.”
She turned. Reggie and Manny scrubbed most of the blood off their aching, wounded bodies. Skullfucker Mike brought them a pair of fluffy white robes, bundled them up, and ushered them inside the airstream.
It was tame by comparison to the grand, weird, wheeled city above them. The gleaming silver vehicle had been modified with a rooftop greenhouse that was filled with pot plants and some squat bush with red berries Manny had never seen before. The back had been extended and the stainless steel replaced by an enormous bay window. As he entered Manny was hit by a wave of cold air and the strong smell of marijuana.
Roughly half of the trailer’s interior was taken up by a huge papasan bed covered in velvet blankets and dozens of furs. A circular table started right where the bed ended, and the rest of the trailer was a large, glass-walled combination bathroom/bar. There did not appear to be a kitchen.
Manny’s leg had started throbbing as soon as he stood up to exit the buggy, so he dropped into the first seat he could find, a little padded bench by the table opposite the bed. Reggie sat down on the other side of the table. Manny noticed then that he looked nervous. Sweaty. The journalist’s hands shook just a little. His skin seemed pale.
Topaz came in after them, followed by Skullfucker Mike. She hopped over the table with the grace of a deer jumping a fence and, in one smooth movement, spun ’round and settled into a cross-legged sit on the plush mattress. Skullfucker Mike walked up to the bar and pulled down a large white bottle with the word “ROOFIES” written across it in black marker. He took two pint glasses, filled them three-quarters up with the white liquid, and then added a splash of cranberry juice to each glass.
“Skully.” Topaz sounded reproachful. Mike stiffened, then dropped his shoulders in contrition. He turned toward them.
“Sorry guys, my manners’re burnt out. Would either of you like a G-tini?”
Neither of them answered for a long second. It was Reggie who finally responded.
“G…tini?”
Mike laughed. “Yeah, that’s what Topes and I call GHB and cranberry juice. It really hits the spot after shooting something. I can make you guys some, uh, human-sized portions.”
“No, thanks,” Manny and Reggie said at the exact same time.
The big man handed one glass to Topaz and belted down the other himself. The woman took two gulps to finish hers. She handed her cup to Mike, and he walked back to the bar to fill both glasses again. Reggie looked shocked.
“I’m fairly sure you both just ingested enough GHB to kill two normal humans.”
“Eh,” Topaz shrugged. “I’d say what we’ve had so far is only about 70 percent of a fatal dose for someone of your size, metabolism and modifications. Skully’s better at drugging people though.”
Skullfucker Mike finished pouring two more G-tinis and nodded. “She’s about right. The Brit drinks more, though. I’d say he could take a heavier dose than– what’s your name again?”
“Manny,” Manny gasped out. “And, um, would it be too much to ask for like, some medical care? We are both in tremendous pain.”
Topaz and Skullfucker Mike looked ashamed.
“Ah jeez,” Topaz sighed.
“Fuckin’ hell guys, we’re so sorry,” added Mike. Then he grabbed a long knife from his belt and gouged it deep into his wrist. Reggie damn near jumped out of his chair. Manny kept still. The pills had started to help but he was in too much pain to react to anything with gusto.
“It’s alright,” Topaz assured them in the kind of voice Manny remembered his mom using on their cat when it was sick. “I know it looks weird, but he’s helping.”
“Helping–?!” Reggie gasped as Skullfucker Mike positioned his open wound over a shot glass, jammed the knife slightly to the left, and let a thick strand of his syrupy red blood fill the glass. He filled a second one in the same manner. Then he pulled the knife free, set it on the bar counter and handed the shots to Manny and Reggie. By the time he reached them Manny noticed that the big man’s wounded arm had already scabbed over.
“Don’t worry,” Skullfucker Mike smiled, “my blood’s pretty sterile. And it’s full of good robots. They’ll take care of ya.”
Manny took the shot right away. He knew it was working when he felt pain from the wounds in his back again. That meant Mike’s blood had fixed whatever godawful thing happened to his knee well enough that it barely throbbed.
“Mierda santa,” the curse slipped out. Manny felt better. Great, in fact. But kinda queasy at the same time? He felt somehow…in motion, almost as if his whole body were shifting and burbling like the contents of his gut. The fixer glanced at his journalist and nodded to the empty shot.
“It’s, ah. It’s good.”
Reggie looked terrified. His knuckles were white. The journalist gripped the edges of the table like he was holding on for dear life.
“I. Am. Fine,” he gritted out.
“Aw dammit, Skully,” Topaz said. “You’ve scared the poor kid with your damned wizard-blood.”
“Shit,” said Skullfucker Mike. “Sorry. We were tryin’ real hard not to trip your head.”
Topaz nodded. The gesture looked a little telegraphed, as if she were out of practice with making it.
“Stock sapiens, like yourselves, don’t always do well around folks like me’n Mike. We move too fast, or we’ve got too many weird extra parts, I dunno. It’s probably different for every one of us. But your brains definitely read ‘monster’ when you see us.”
“Oh,” Reggie croaked. “You’re not monsters. You’ve both been very, erm, polite. Perfect hosts.”
“Ah,” said Mike, “it’s got nothing to do with how nice we are or aren’t. It’s how your brain reacts to the way we look and move…”
“It’s because we’re fuckin’ monsters, Skully.” She fixed her eyes on the journalist. “I don’t mean that in a bad sense. But like, we’ve taken a big damn step out of anything near to nature. Nothing is supposed to be the way we are. It’s normal for humans to feel weird when they’re around us for the first time.”
“Oh, well,” said Reggie, “maybe don’t slice your wrists open in front of company in the future. Or at least do it behind a screen?”
Mike nodded as if that had been a profound suggestion. Then he handed Topaz her second G-tini and belted down his own. They were both visibly intoxicated now. Topaz’s eyes looked unfocused and she sprawled out backward on the bed and cuddled absent-mindedly with one of the fur blankets on her bed. Mike drifted off too, tapping his foot to a beat Manny couldn’t hear and drumming his fingers on the bar top to what looked like a completely different beat.
The journalist stared at his blood shot. It looked like it had begun to clot. A thin rind had formed across the top. Reggie was in obvious pain, but he was just as obviously too squeamish to drink a stranger’s blood. Manny felt a lot better though. It was weird how fast Mike’s blood had worked. He found himself worrying at the scab on the gash he’d received on his forearm, only for the scab to fall away and reveal clean new skin underneath. An hour ago it had been a bleeding wound.
“It really works man,” he told Reggie. “Just trust me. Choke it down.”
Reggie didn’t look convinced.
“Think about what a story this’ll make for everyone back home,” Manny said. “You escaped a killer drone and drank the blood of an immortal. You’ll dine out on that for years.”
Reggie still looked pale and rather disgusted. But he put his fingers around the shot, closed his eyes, and then gulped it down. Manny heard him retch once, and then twice. Tears beaded at the corners of the journalist’s eyes. But then he swallowed and slumped back in his chair.
Skullfucker Mike was hard at work mixing up another batch of cocktails. These ones seemed to just be normal gin and tonics, four of them. “There’s not anything fucking crazy about those drinks, is there?” Manny asked.
Mike shrugged. “Two shots of gin. Splash of tonic. Nothing you normies can’t handle.”
“Neither of us asked for a drink,” Manny said.
“Yeah,” Topaz yawned from her place stretched out on the bed, “but you almost died today. You should always have a drink after almost dying.”
“Listen to Topaz,” said Mike as he passed out the drinks. “She’s almost died more than almost anyone I know.”
Reggie came alive as his hands touched the drink. He gulped it down faster than either of the post-humans. Manny took a couple slight sips of his own (it was heinously strong) before he sat the glass down and asked, polite as he could manage, “So, uh, why are we here? And why were you there? That kinda luck doesn’t just happen. And now we’re just, what, all gonna hang out in your trailer getting lit?”
“Would that really be so bad?” asked Mike.
“Skully,” Topaz said in a warning tone. “He’s right. And it’d be rude for us to pretend we’ve got altruistic motives here.” She looked Manny in his eyes. It was a little unnerving, because her left eye was a notably different shade of brown than her right one. And then there were her metal fangs.
“Look kid,” she said, “we got a duty to help strangers in immediate need. It’s Rule #1 for all the monsters here. But we were out there because we were looking for someone like you.”
“A fixer?” He felt dumb as soon as he asked. To her credit, Topaz just smiled.
“A citizen. Of the Republic of Texas.”
“One who’s not afraid of dangerous work,” Mike added. “And judging by the day you’ve had, I’ma guess you’ve a certain familiarity with danger.”
“What about me?” Reggie asked.
Mike put a hand on the journalist’s shoulder. Manny guessed it was meant as a calming gesture, but the Brit still flinched at the contact.
“Don’t worry guy,” said Mike. “We’ll get you back to Austin, or wherever’s got an airport that’ll fly you home. Your friend’s the only one whose help we need.”
“What help do you need?” Manny asked.
“The best person to take that question is up in the city,” Topaz said. “You guys up for a little bit of a trek?”
Manny stood halfway to test the strength of his knee. It felt good. As good as new, in fact. His back and shoulders, which had been peppered with shrapnel, just itched now. He didn’t even feel particularly tired. On the other side of the table, Reggie looked to be doing well too. He worked his formerly-dislocated shoulder in its socket and gave Manny the thumbs up.
“Apparently so,” he said.
Rolling Fuck had not been built by the minds, or for the comfort, of mortal men. That much was obvious the second the elevator doors closed. The narrow metal box launched up with the force of a rocket. It climbed six stories in the space of about a second. By the time it stopped and the doors slid open with a pleasant “ding,” Manny and Reggie were both on the edge of vomiting.
“Ah shit, Topes,” Mike said. “You forgot to drop the speed back down to normal.”
Topaz looked genuinely distraught. “Fuck me with a splintery dick,” she cursed. “I’m sorry, guys. This is the nearest elevator to our trailer. It doesn’t normally take humans.”
“The city’s got an elevator under each spindle,” Mike explained. “There’s also a big lift under the main roller—that’s what we call the big building on treads in the middle—and another behind the rear roller. Humans tend to stick to the rollers. It gets weird up in the spindles.”
“Weird?” Reggie asked.
“Weeeeeeeird,” Skullfucker Mike leaned down and hissed out the word into the journalist’s ear. He winked at the Brit in a way that somehow suggested both coitus and violence. Topaz punched Mike’s shoulder in annoyance. She gestured for Manny and Reggie to follow her down the narrow metal walkway.
“We live life on a different scale than the rest of you,” she said. “We see more colors, hear more sounds, most of us have at least a thousand times as many nerve endings and no fear of mortality to draw the line between pleasure and pain. The kind of environments we enjoy can be…intense, to unmodified humans.”
Right as she said “humans,” the group emerged from the hallway into a wide, open gantry way. There was no ceiling above them now, and a huge rectangular metal frame loomed over them, connected to the other spindles of the vehicle-city via thick, metal tension wire. The surface of the spindles had been covered in colorful bits of metal and wood, welded and nailed into dozens of crude structures that stippled up the iron frames like technicolor mushrooms. Everything was covered in lights and screens and buzzed with the hum of a thousand speakers.
Reggie’s pace slowed. The journalist’s jaw was slack. He mouthed what must have been a curse and then asked their guides, “Is it OK if I record?”
Skullfucker Mike grinned and clapped him on the shoulder, “Of course it’s OK. If y’ask nice, I might even let you film me in one of the Fondleboats.”
“What the hell is a–” Reggie started to ask. But then the first Fondleboat came into view. At least, Manny assumed that’s what it was.
A very large lifeboat hung off the gantry, as if it was the deck of a cruise ship. The interior of the boat was all soft cushions, pillows, blankets, and about two dozen writhing naked people. Some of them were surely having sex, but it was hard to tell exactly what was going on. Manny saw several tails curled around limbs or jerking spasmodically in the air. His eyes were drawn to one mechanical limb that looked like a large metal chicken’s foot. He watched it kick, repeatedly, into the chest of a young woman. She cried with joy at every impact. The whole mass of coiled post-humanity gleamed wet in the morning light, coated with a mix of blood and what looked like motor oil.
“…Christ,” Reggie whispered. Manny was at a loss for words. He felt a bit nauseous. He’d never considered himself a prude, but something about what was going on in the Fondleboat just seemed wrong. In the physics sense, not the moral sense.
“Probably best not to watch,” said Topaz. “It can make humans sick.”
“Er. Yeah,” Reggie coughed. “Is that a common sight?”
Mike shrugged, “It’s not uncommon. We try to keep stuff like that on the outside spindles, away from the rollers. As a courtesy.”
They walked on, past the boat and through another covered section of the gantry way surrounded by a half-dozen little buildings that looked like shops. Manny saw fruits and vegetables hanging in one, an assortment of labeled decks and other electronic gewgaws on tables in another. It had the look of a Middle-Eastern bazaar, but with no shopkeepers present.
“Y’all want food?” Topaz stopped and gestured at the shop filled with produce.
Manny held up his left hand, which had his cash-chip implanted in it. “I’ve got Republic of Texas currency and some Californian crypto, if you guys take either.”
Mike and Topaz both laughed, and then Mike grabbed an apple and tossed it Manny’s way. Manny caught the fruit, although it was a near thing.
“We don’t use money, not within the city,” Skullfucker Mike explained. “We do sell a lot of what we grow for foreign monies, but that’s mostly used to book bands or buy stuff we can’t make. Nothing costs anything here. Not to us, and not to our guests.”
“Y’all’re guests,” Topaz clarified.
Manny hadn’t really had time to think about his stomach in the hours since their explosiony wake-up call. They’d been on the run and in danger the whole time. But now that he had a moment to think, he felt a mild gnawing sensation in his gut. The journalist must’ve been in the same way, because he immediately set to piling fruit, bags of nuts, and a paper sack of vat-grown jerky into his arms. Manny went for a bag of shelled pistachios himself, and the two munched as Skullfucker Mike and Topaz led them across the spindle’s gantry and down toward the main roller.
The main roller had once held the control center and engine room for the gargantuan strip-mining vehicle. In its conversion to Rolling Fuck, two new levels, built from a half-dozen sorely abused airstream trailers, had been added to the top. Four of the spindles met on the roller’s roof, which also hosted a lively cafe. There were around a dozen patrons drinking at the circular center bar, and perhaps another dozen lounging on cushions around low-slung, morrocan-style tables. Most of the customers looked human to Manny’s eye. They wore an assortment of colorful loose-fitting garments: sarongs, skirts, long shirts, and keffiyehs. Most of it looked hand-made although Manny was hardly an expert on such things.
