Descending Road - NO, IT'S FOR ME by Dana W. Paxson

NO, IT’S FOR ME

1563 4D

“Look, just go drink and leave me alone for a while, okay?” Ezzar‘s voice was tight, hard.

Grendel looked closely at her. Ever since she’d shot and killed that cousin of hers, she’d been not right. He’d have to be very careful. “I saw a friend come in a little while back. I’ll go see what he’s been doing.”

“Whoever he is. You do that. I need to take a little time.” Ezzar stalked away, her back stiff, her hips not rolling the way they usually did. One thing was certain: her mood would switch in and out like a shadow in the woods.

Grendel found Jeddin drinking his Black Flag. “Ho.”

“Ho.” Jeddin motioned him to a seat, and twiddled fingers at the server. They drank in silence.

“I was dead for a while, I think,” Jeddin finally said. “It’s a long story.” He downed his Black Flag and smiled at the empty tank. “What about you?”

“Running,” Grendel said. He looked Jeddin in the eye, wondering what Jeddin meant by ‘dead’. “My lady is in business. She’s here with me on a job.”

“Ah.” Jeddin nodded, glancing around. “Still got your limp?”

“Came from the vat with it.” Grendel doused the flaming pepper in the brew, bit the pepper’s burnt end off, and emptied his tank. “And I’ll probably have it when I melt down. That is, if I ever get that far.” He shook his head slowly as the pepper’s heat filled him. Old scars in his leg sang. He jiggled his drink. “Still got your woman?”

Jeddin shuddered. “Later.” They propped themselves against their stools and drank quietly, submerging in the spume of noise, looking up now and then to plug into the sensi feeds. The Shiexxikh feed, masked and steganographic through other suppliers, anjived a report of substandard myoenhancement virus from ArCorp; the Kaliban feed, in human speech, presented interviews with staff of a Monford andro hospice; AmpliPhi, a feed from Novander Wye, Gellin Sintherou, and Sinantro Colls, showed a corpo raid on a coll school, bagging and hauling away a renegade andro in Naga Zone in the City, arresting the school staff en masse for harboring her.

The barman touched Jeddin‘s hand with a rag, and anjived, “Check the back door.” They looked over their shoulders to the left. Six uniformed men pushed their way in, heads bobbing, the noise around them increasing as they tried to shove through toward the bar.

Grendel calculated. He chirped to Jeddin in anjive, “They’re looking for me, I think, just like at JumpInto a month ago. Where’s the other doors here?”

Jeddin‘s high-pitched tones came back, “No, it’s for me, I had them after me yesterday.”

Two waiters collided with a brawny andro woman just in front of the shoving uniformed types, between two closely-set tables packed with human guests. The guests tried to look innocent and indifferent, much muttering passing between low-held dark heads as the waiters somehow got arms and legs and trays tangled, tanks of brew and food bowls caroming from side to side and slopping on the teetering trays as the woman tried to steady both men against the press of the uniformed intruders.

“Get out of the way, damn it!”

“Look out, don’t push him, he’s gonna fall!”

“Will you—“

A splash of steaming-hot nut sauce stained the foremost gray uniform red-brown. Its owner straightened up, his brown face darkening with anger, as the waiters both dropped their trays on the floor to dab at his chest with rags. He started shouting at the woman, who shouted right back at him in a surprising tenor.

He shoved her, hard. She staggered back, recovered herself, and stood as he approached her, his ballistic handgun drawn. She stood impassive as he whipped its barrel across her face. Grendel‘s hands tensed.

A human woman sitting at a table just between the two stood up, her eyes blazing. In a movement as quick as Grendel‘s moves in the knive game, she snatched the gun from the corpo‘s hand and stuffed it in his mouth, its long muzzle first. A ripping anjive screech came from her as he staggered backward, “Eat yourself, deadcock!”

Anjive from a human. The room went completely silent. Two of the uniforms stepped up, guns drawn, and shot the woman in eight places. As she fell, the three others helped the first one extract the gun.

Holstering his hand weapon, one of the shooters said loudly, “Nobody leaves here until we’re done searching. You people clean this up, and wash the area with Bioclear. And this is not to be talked about. Got it?” He scanned the room for signs of dissent, and stepped over the body and the blood. His boot grazed the woman’s nose, knocking her head sharply aside.

Grendel and Jeddin exchanged looks. The barman chattered in a silvery birdsong, “Down, right, hatchway behind end of bar.” Obeying, Grendel followed Jeddin as they turned right, ducked into a darker patch and found a trapdoor, dropping through into an oblong four-foot-high storage space with a blocked exit at one end. The trapdoor closed above their heads, the barman’s fingers lowering it softly and disappearing as Grendel reached up to catch the door and secure it.

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	NO, IT’S FOR ME 1563 4D “Look, just go drink and leave me alone for a while, okay?” Ezzar‘s voice was tight, hard. Grendel looked closely at her. Ever since she’d shot and killed that cousin of hers, she’d been not right. He’d have to be very careful. “I saw a friend come in a little while back. I’ll go see what he’s been doing.” “Whoever he is. You do that. I need to take a little time.” Ezzar stalked away, her back stiff, her hips not rolling the way they usually did. One thing was certain: her mood would switch in and out like a shadow in the woods. Grendel found Jeddin drinking his Black Flag. “Ho.” “Ho.” Jeddin motioned him to a seat, and twiddled fingers at the server. They drank in silence. “I was dead for a while, I think,” Jeddin finally said. “It’s a long story.” He downed his Black Flag and smiled at the empty tank. “What about you?” “Running,” Grendel said. He looked Jeddin in the eye, wondering what Jeddin meant by ‘dead’. “My lady is in business. She’s here with me on a job.” “Ah.” Jeddin nodded, glancing around. “Still got your limp?” “Came from the vat with it.” Grendel doused the flaming pepper in the brew, bit the pepper’s burnt end off, and emptied his tank. “And I’ll probably have it when I melt down. That is, if I ever get that far.” He shook his head slowly as the pepper’s heat filled him. Old scars in his leg sang. He jiggled his drink. “Still got your woman?” Jeddin shuddered. “Later.” They propped themselves against their stools and drank quietly, submerging in the spume of noise, looking up now and then to plug into the sensi feeds. The Shiexxikh feed, masked and steganographic through other suppliers, anjived a report of substandard myoenhancement virus from ArCorp; the Kaliban feed, in human speech, presented interviews with staff of a Monford andro hospice; AmpliPhi, a feed from Novander Wye, Gellin Sintherou, and Sinantro Colls, showed a corpo raid on a coll school, bagging and hauling away a renegade andro in Naga Zone in the City, arresting the school staff en masse for harboring her. The barman touched Jeddin‘s hand with a rag, and anjived, “Check the back door.” They looked over their shoulders to the left. Six uniformed men pushed their way in, heads bobbing, the noise around them increasing as they tried to shove through toward the bar. Grendel calculated. He chirped to Jeddin in anjive, “They’re looking for me, I think, just like at JumpInto a month ago. Where’s the other doors here?” Jeddin‘s high-pitched tones came back, “No, it’s for me, I had them after me yesterday.” Two waiters collided with a brawny andro woman just in front of the shoving uniformed types, between two closely-set tables packed with human guests. The guests tried to look innocent and indifferent, much muttering passing between low-held dark heads as the waiters somehow got arms and legs and trays tangled, tanks of brew and food bowls caroming from side to side and slopping on the teetering trays as the woman tried to steady both men against the press of the uniformed intruders. “Get out of the way, damn it!” “Look out, don’t push him, he’s gonna fall!” “Will you—“ A splash of steaming-hot nut sauce stained the foremost gray uniform red-brown. Its owner straightened up, his brown face darkening with anger, as the waiters both dropped their trays on the floor to dab at his chest with rags. He started shouting at the woman, who shouted right back at him in a surprising tenor. He shoved her, hard. She staggered back, recovered herself, and stood as he approached her, his ballistic handgun drawn. She stood impassive as he whipped its barrel across her face. Grendel‘s hands tensed. A human woman sitting at a table just between the two stood up, her eyes blazing. In a movement as quick as Grendel‘s moves in the knive game, she snatched the gun from the corpo‘s hand and stuffed it in his mouth, its long muzzle first. A ripping anjive screech came from her as he staggered backward, “Eat yourself, deadcock!” Anjive from a human. The room went completely silent. Two of the uniforms stepped up, guns drawn, and shot the woman in eight places. As she fell, the three others helped the first one extract the gun. Holstering his hand weapon, one of the shooters said loudly, “Nobody leaves here until we’re done searching. You people clean this up, and wash the area with Bioclear. And this is not to be talked about. Got it?” He scanned the room for signs of dissent, and stepped over the body and the blood. His boot grazed the woman’s nose, knocking her head sharply aside. Grendel and Jeddin exchanged looks. The barman chattered in a silvery birdsong, “Down, right, hatchway behind end of bar.” Obeying, Grendel followed Jeddin as they turned right, ducked into a darker patch and found a trapdoor, dropping through into an oblong four-foot-high storage space with a blocked exit at one end. The trapdoor closed above their heads, the barman’s fingers lowering it softly and disappearing as Grendel reached up to catch the door and secure it.