Descending Road - IT'LL PAY WELL by Dana W. Paxson

IT’LL PAY WELL

1560 4D

I counted the jars I’d retrieved. My father would need the arma virida most of all. It cleared the mucus from his throat, pushed lung regeneration. Just one jar, the one with the arma, was missing.

I stared around. Maybe the arma fell along the edge of the street, maybe it was lying by the wallvine roots in the narrow gutter. I’d spent nearly all my money on the drugs, and the arma had cost more than all the others put together. I kicked my way along the streetwall, prodding with my toe. Nothing. I retraced my steps to the jolt of the music, zagged about the loss.

The jar was gone. Three large upcity men bumped past me, their streetboys bouncing in tow, knocking me into the vines. I found my balance. A vine leaf had snagged itself on the shoulder of my dark-green coverall. The leaf stuck to my shoulder. I swiped at it, but it stuck tighter.

It wasn’t a leaf, but a chatbird. Its wings spread flat and green on my outfit, its beak was narrow and dull yellow. The bird peered up at me with sharp black eyes, and said in a small clear soprano, “She says meet her at Joovlies, at halflight and a half. It’ll pay well.”

I stared. The bird chirped, shot into the air and flew off up the slope, a green streak skimming just below the street ceiling lamps, dipping and rising in time with the underbeat of Tanmar Fest.

This message had to be for someone else. But I couldn’t go back without the medicine. It’ll pay well, the bird had said. I kicked away my fear. What would I have to do to for the money? If things ran to slime, I could just run away.

My father didn’t like the medicine coming late. His coughing would go on for hours, as if he was saying in that sour tone of his, See, Lejina, you can kill me if you don’t do this right. My mother had died just after my second year started.

Way past halflight, so I had about fifteen minutes to get to Joovlies, wherever that was. I said to a passing couple, “Can you tell me where Joovlies is?”

They ignored me.

“It’s up at Rockswell Track, left.” The voice came from a face near the street’s surface. A head and arms and upper torso sat in a wheeled tray. A halfdroid. By its right hand a plate with a few small coins lay, next to a sixteen-string jitar leaned against the wallvines.

The halfdroid‘s olive-toned face had the jaw and stubble of a man, but absolute perfection of proportion. A bioandroid of the City.

“Thanks,” I said, bending down. “Here.” I fumbled up a five-piece and dropped it among the other coins in his plate.

“No trouble.” His large right hand came up to pat my shoulder. “I’m Tavenal Tain.” A nice tenor voice. His large eyes warmed me inside. My face flushed.

I muttered, “Thanks again,” and headed off up the slope, counting the side streets and passages, reading off their names.

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


	IT’LL PAY WELL 1560 4D I counted the jars I’d retrieved. My father would need the arma virida most of all. It cleared the mucus from his throat, pushed lung regeneration. Just one jar, the one with the arma, was missing. I stared around. Maybe the arma fell along the edge of the street, maybe it was lying by the wallvine roots in the narrow gutter. I’d spent nearly all my money on the drugs, and the arma had cost more than all the others put together. I kicked my way along the streetwall, prodding with my toe. Nothing. I retraced my steps to the jolt of the music, zagged about the loss. The jar was gone. Three large upcity men bumped past me, their streetboys bouncing in tow, knocking me into the vines. I found my balance. A vine leaf had snagged itself on the shoulder of my dark-green coverall. The leaf stuck to my shoulder. I swiped at it, but it stuck tighter. It wasn’t a leaf, but a chatbird. Its wings spread flat and green on my outfit, its beak was narrow and dull yellow. The bird peered up at me with sharp black eyes, and said in a small clear soprano, “She says meet her at Joovlies, at halflight and a half. It’ll pay well.” I stared. The bird chirped, shot into the air and flew off up the slope, a green streak skimming just below the street ceiling lamps, dipping and rising in time with the underbeat of Tanmar Fest. This message had to be for someone else. But I couldn’t go back without the medicine. It’ll pay well, the bird had said. I kicked away my fear. What would I have to do to for the money? If things ran to slime, I could just run away. My father didn’t like the medicine coming late. His coughing would go on for hours, as if he was saying in that sour tone of his, See, Lejina, you can kill me if you don’t do this right. My mother had died just after my second year started. Way past halflight, so I had about fifteen minutes to get to Joovlies, wherever that was. I said to a passing couple, “Can you tell me where Joovlies is?” They ignored me. “It’s up at Rockswell Track, left.” The voice came from a face near the street’s surface. A head and arms and upper torso sat in a wheeled tray. A halfdroid. By its right hand a plate with a few small coins lay, next to a sixteen-string jitar leaned against the wallvines. The halfdroid‘s olive-toned face had the jaw and stubble of a man, but absolute perfection of proportion. A bioandroid of the City. “Thanks,” I said, bending down. “Here.” I fumbled up a five-piece and dropped it among the other coins in his plate. “No trouble.” His large right hand came up to pat my shoulder. “I’m Tavenal Tain.” A nice tenor voice. His large eyes warmed me inside. My face flushed. I muttered, “Thanks again,” and headed off up the slope, counting the side streets and passages, reading off their names.