gentle way to break the news, so I just said it.
‘I’m moving on today.’
Teece froze. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’ve got some urgent business to attend and I’m going to base myself in Jamon’s old place.’
I held my breath, unsure if I was right to gamble on him following me.
He trembled and then took hold of himself. ‘I wondered how long it would be, Parrish. I only had you on loan, didn’t I?’
His words stung, but then the truth is famous for being a first class bitch.
I shrugged. ‘I’ll lose my salvage rights if I’m not seen there. And there are some other . . . matters.’
I stepped away from him, over to his comm cache, not wanting to see his hurt, and tapped in a Vivacity home code.
A plump man with pink skin and a flirtatious mouth appeared on the screen. Ibis.
‘Parrish, darling? How lovely.’
I smiled at him. ‘What are you like at interior decorating? ’
‘Brilliant, of course!’ Then, ‘Where?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘Here. In The Tert.’
His cheeks, paled. For a second I though he might faint. ‘Are you insane?’
Chapter Three
I left Teece sulking with his bikes and ran east towards Torley’s, urgency claiming me. I had to find a quick lead on the karadji and Larry Hein’s snoops were the best on the northside. He just might need to be persuaded to help me.
I reflected on my approach to Larry as I took in the landscape. From ‘Teece’s Bike Hire’ biz to Torley’s stretched a jumble of conjoined villa sets, long eroded of style and robbed of any dignity. These days The Tert was a sprawl of detritus architecture. Art Crappo.
But it didn’t end there. The Tert boundaries spread peninsular-style to the south of the supercity, Viva. Slick and sick Fisher Bay on one side, the ailing Filder River on the other: a despoiling one hundred or more klick strip of rabble - animate and inanimate.
It was once a massive engineering works site that got ripped down and disguised as a villatropolis - until the locals started showing signs of heavy metal poisoning from the industrial landfill.
Now it was a weird territory for serious offenders. Every kind.
A sterile strip of wasteland like an excessive firebreak divided it from the rest of humanity.
To look at, nothing much had been altered by the short, intense war. The already patchwork human dwellings that had been damaged were now repatched and as functional as they would ever be. Not so their inhabitants.
Nearly a thousand people died in a few days. The stink had got so bad that they’d allowed the Militia in to clean up. The mass cremations happened on the wasteland near Teece’s patch. Sometimes when I woke up in the night I could still smell it.
The media gave all the death a heap of airtime. One-World, Common Net, Out-World - you name it. Nothing like a stack of burning, expendable bodies to boost the ratings!
Priers - pilot/journos and their intrusive cam-cording ’Terrogators in fruited-up ’copters - supervised the whole affair jostling their Militia lackeys out of the way for the best close-up footage. Image scavengers!
I became so desperate to lay my hand on some anti-aircraft hardware Teece had practically chained me up to stop me chucking grenades at them.
I jogged until my energy waned, then I walked. Eventually I hauled my arse into a café for beer and food. Transport was around: scooters and Pets. I’d never been a fan of Pets. It didn’t seem right riding on a back of a kid even if it was half mekan. A more pragmatic person would have said, ‘Yeah but you’re putting cred in their pockets.’ But practical isn’t always my bag.
More like hyped-up gut reaction!
And getting worse.
The food was average but the beer was good. Funnily enough it was one of the few things in The Tert that always was. Humanity might be on the fast track to hell but the beer in Tert town’d always be cold. I sipped my way through it and enjoyed being alone for the first time in
‘I’m moving on today.’
Teece froze. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’ve got some urgent business to attend and I’m going to base myself in Jamon’s old place.’
I held my breath, unsure if I was right to gamble on him following me.
He trembled and then took hold of himself. ‘I wondered how long it would be, Parrish. I only had you on loan, didn’t I?’
His words stung, but then the truth is famous for being a first class bitch.
I shrugged. ‘I’ll lose my salvage rights if I’m not seen there. And there are some other . . . matters.’
I stepped away from him, over to his comm cache, not wanting to see his hurt, and tapped in a Vivacity home code.
A plump man with pink skin and a flirtatious mouth appeared on the screen. Ibis.
‘Parrish, darling? How lovely.’
I smiled at him. ‘What are you like at interior decorating? ’
‘Brilliant, of course!’ Then, ‘Where?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘Here. In The Tert.’
His cheeks, paled. For a second I though he might faint. ‘Are you insane?’
Chapter Three
I left Teece sulking with his bikes and ran east towards Torley’s, urgency claiming me. I had to find a quick lead on the karadji and Larry Hein’s snoops were the best on the northside. He just might need to be persuaded to help me.
I reflected on my approach to Larry as I took in the landscape. From ‘Teece’s Bike Hire’ biz to Torley’s stretched a jumble of conjoined villa sets, long eroded of style and robbed of any dignity. These days The Tert was a sprawl of detritus architecture. Art Crappo.
But it didn’t end there. The Tert boundaries spread peninsular-style to the south of the supercity, Viva. Slick and sick Fisher Bay on one side, the ailing Filder River on the other: a despoiling one hundred or more klick strip of rabble - animate and inanimate.
It was once a massive engineering works site that got ripped down and disguised as a villatropolis - until the locals started showing signs of heavy metal poisoning from the industrial landfill.
Now it was a weird territory for serious offenders. Every kind.
A sterile strip of wasteland like an excessive firebreak divided it from the rest of humanity.
To look at, nothing much had been altered by the short, intense war. The already patchwork human dwellings that had been damaged were now repatched and as functional as they would ever be. Not so their inhabitants.
Nearly a thousand people died in a few days. The stink had got so bad that they’d allowed the Militia in to clean up. The mass cremations happened on the wasteland near Teece’s patch. Sometimes when I woke up in the night I could still smell it.
The media gave all the death a heap of airtime. One-World, Common Net, Out-World - you name it. Nothing like a stack of burning, expendable bodies to boost the ratings!
Priers - pilot/journos and their intrusive cam-cording ’Terrogators in fruited-up ’copters - supervised the whole affair jostling their Militia lackeys out of the way for the best close-up footage. Image scavengers!
I became so desperate to lay my hand on some anti-aircraft hardware Teece had practically chained me up to stop me chucking grenades at them.
I jogged until my energy waned, then I walked. Eventually I hauled my arse into a café for beer and food. Transport was around: scooters and Pets. I’d never been a fan of Pets. It didn’t seem right riding on a back of a kid even if it was half mekan. A more pragmatic person would have said, ‘Yeah but you’re putting cred in their pockets.’ But practical isn’t always my bag.
More like hyped-up gut reaction!
And getting worse.
The food was average but the beer was good. Funnily enough it was one of the few things in The Tert that always was. Humanity might be on the fast track to hell but the beer in Tert town’d always be cold. I sipped my way through it and enjoyed being alone for the first time in