Descending Road - LYING ON THE CARPET by Dana W. Paxson

LYING ON THE CARPET

1560 4D

Essa says through the steel door, “Fuck off, Yudo.”

Yudo? Probably her tenth new guy since I got frozen. Sounds like an eleventh is on the way. “Essa, dis Tomas.”

“Yudo, I said--“

“Essa, I walked out on my ma.”

A short silence. “Tomas? What’s your ma’s favorite drink?” She’s screening. Must be a bad area. I check the empty street for the scuffling noise I just heard.

“I don’t know, that blue shit you guys serve, come on.”

A long pause, a sliding sound and a click, and the door opens out toward me. She’s standing in the entrance, that sleek body of hers looking back at me through her thin black watersuit as bad as pyro does inside me.

“The drink’s a Loc-Ceru,” she says, beckoning me inside, “but I don’t think you care right now. Welcome back. You’re out of stat? And running from Rask again, right? The Pit, look at your skin. Come here, I’ve got some soother.” She wiggles on ahead to the sitting room, decorated with her favorite deep-view treescapes. They make me dizzy.

I don’t care right now, not even about Rask or the Argaz, not even about my ma, not even about Nadienne. I’m watching Essa sit down very slowly on a long soft couch in the middle of the room, soft light glowing from the low dome ceiling to give her old-ivory skin a golden sheen. Six months and more. This rush isn’t pyro, but I fight to remember why I came.

“Essa, I--“

“--need metal, right? That’s what brought you up here last year, for the only time.” She adopts a wounded look and pulls a sprayer from a side table.

“Yes.” I wish she wouldn’t remind me how dumb I am.

“How much this time? Should I just add it to last year’s? Or should I put it on Rask‘s tab?” She gives me this heartless grin. “Come here, I’ll fix you up.”

I remember Nadienne giggling over “streetrat", and I turn around so Essa won’t see the color of my face. “Forget it. I’ll go back and find it where I live, bitch.”

“Wait, Tomas. Aren’t you afraid they’ll catch you again?”

“They did once. I lived through it. Forget it, Essa, I’ll just go down and find Jackie B and he’ll connect me.”

“Jackie B is dead. Rask shot him.”

My knees remind me that I haven’t eaten anything since waking up, and I don’t have any family or friends, and I still have those enemies, and I’m destroying the very last good thing I’ve got. I sink down on Essa‘s carpet and tears run down my face.

It takes a while. She massages the soother into my peeled areas and feeds me some Zill burgs and some sweetwater, and I tell her about the stat and Nadienne and my ma, and she tells me how Rask played with Jackie B before he died. I don’t tell her about flushing the pyro down the lat box. She slips off her suit.

She makes love to me, slow and gentle and full of tears and clutches, right up through the beautiful places that never used to last, going on and on now until I fall asleep with her legs woven across mine, flat on the deep pile of her purple carpet.

“Pyro takes all this away.” My own words. I stare at the sounds as they leave my mouth. Loving on pyro is so fast, an explosion. This is new.

She nods lazily. “I found that out years ago.”

Banging on the door. Essa jumps up and grabs for a coverall.

“You expecting anyone? Yudo, maybe?” I’m back on my feet, wobbling and fumbling into my bodysuit.

“No,” she snaps. More banging.

A woman’s muffled voice. “Essa? Essa?” It sounds familiar.

“Who are you?” Essa has a clipgun in one hand, the door handle in the other. Clipguns spit twenty nail-shaped bullets in a second — useful for close encounters with door-to-door bad manners.

“Nadienne. Please let me in.” Her voice is ripping with fear.

Essa looks at me; I nod. Damn. She opens the door a crack, then reaches out and yanks. In flies Nadienne, looking back, and she says, “Cover!”

Essa slams the door and rams the big bolts, and we all scramble back to the sitting room and get out of the line of the door, our backs against the two-meter-thick stone pier of the City that stands between the arches of the street and the dwelling spaces.

“It’s—" Nadienne begins, but the stream of bullets roaring past us says it: Rask. Molten steel splashes against the opposite wall, chews Essa‘s treescapes into clouds of green shreds that float softly down, and spits ricocheting sparks and fragments of stone and metal all around Essa‘s place. Incendiaries in the stream kindle flames in the carpet. We duck and grovel, squeezing together. Essa screams and stops.

I hold my breath, not moving, trying not to tremble as the smoke thickens. No sound except a distant rattle of cartridge casings kicked across a stone floor, and a curse. Then just the crackle and shrivel of the carpet, and the soft fall of firequench mist from the ceiling nozzles. The firequench adds a musty floral smell to the cooked carpet’s odor.

Nadienne‘s rigid face shows clenched teeth as she arches her back and digs bloody fingertips into the carpet, trying to stay silent; the firequench rakes her nonexistent skin with pain. I take a chance and get up and step through the still-sizzling spots to find Essa‘s medbox. I bring the ‘caine back and drench Nadienne with it. She looks up gratefully.

Essa lies face down in the wet carpet pile, her pale puff of hair now slicked against her head. She looks like a tanned version of Rask. The tiniest nick, with just a drop of blood at one end, shows on her left temple. Her clipgun rests a hand-length away from her fingertips.

I put an ear to her back, same place I was a little while ago, while the firequench trickles into my other ear. Nothing. I listen again. And nothing.

“She’s dead,” I whisper to Nadienne.

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


	LYING ON THE CARPET 1560 4D Essa says through the steel door, “Fuck off, Yudo.” Yudo? Probably her tenth new guy since I got frozen. Sounds like an eleventh is on the way. “Essa, dis Tomas.” “Yudo, I said--“ “Essa, I walked out on my ma.” A short silence. “Tomas? What’s your ma’s favorite drink?” She’s screening. Must be a bad area. I check the empty street for the scuffling noise I just heard. “I don’t know, that blue shit you guys serve, come on.” A long pause, a sliding sound and a click, and the door opens out toward me. She’s standing in the entrance, that sleek body of hers looking back at me through her thin black watersuit as bad as pyro does inside me. “The drink’s a Loc-Ceru,” she says, beckoning me inside, “but I don’t think you care right now. Welcome back. You’re out of stat? And running from Rask again, right? The Pit, look at your skin. Come here, I’ve got some soother.” She wiggles on ahead to the sitting room, decorated with her favorite deep-view treescapes. They make me dizzy. I don’t care right now, not even about Rask or the Argaz, not even about my ma, not even about Nadienne. I’m watching Essa sit down very slowly on a long soft couch in the middle of the room, soft light glowing from the low dome ceiling to give her old-ivory skin a golden sheen. Six months and more. This rush isn’t pyro, but I fight to remember why I came. “Essa, I--“ “--need metal, right? That’s what brought you up here last year, for the only time.” She adopts a wounded look and pulls a sprayer from a side table. “Yes.” I wish she wouldn’t remind me how dumb I am. “How much this time? Should I just add it to last year’s? Or should I put it on Rask‘s tab?” She gives me this heartless grin. “Come here, I’ll fix you up.” I remember Nadienne giggling over “streetrat", and I turn around so Essa won’t see the color of my face. “Forget it. I’ll go back and find it where I live, bitch.” “Wait, Tomas. Aren’t you afraid they’ll catch you again?” “They did once. I lived through it. Forget it, Essa, I’ll just go down and find Jackie B and he’ll connect me.” “Jackie B is dead. Rask shot him.” My knees remind me that I haven’t eaten anything since waking up, and I don’t have any family or friends, and I still have those enemies, and I’m destroying the very last good thing I’ve got. I sink down on Essa‘s carpet and tears run down my face. It takes a while. She massages the soother into my peeled areas and feeds me some Zill burgs and some sweetwater, and I tell her about the stat and Nadienne and my ma, and she tells me how Rask played with Jackie B before he died. I don’t tell her about flushing the pyro down the lat box. She slips off her suit. She makes love to me, slow and gentle and full of tears and clutches, right up through the beautiful places that never used to last, going on and on now until I fall asleep with her legs woven across mine, flat on the deep pile of her purple carpet. “Pyro takes all this away.” My own words. I stare at the sounds as they leave my mouth. Loving on pyro is so fast, an explosion. This is new. She nods lazily. “I found that out years ago.” Banging on the door. Essa jumps up and grabs for a coverall. “You expecting anyone? Yudo, maybe?” I’m back on my feet, wobbling and fumbling into my bodysuit. “No,” she snaps. More banging. A woman’s muffled voice. “Essa? Essa?” It sounds familiar. “Who are you?” Essa has a clipgun in one hand, the door handle in the other. Clipguns spit twenty nail-shaped bullets in a second — useful for close encounters with door-to-door bad manners. “Nadienne. Please let me in.” Her voice is ripping with fear. Essa looks at me; I nod. Damn. She opens the door a crack, then reaches out and yanks. In flies Nadienne, looking back, and she says, “Cover!” Essa slams the door and rams the big bolts, and we all scramble back to the sitting room and get out of the line of the door, our backs against the two-meter-thick stone pier of the City that stands between the arches of the street and the dwelling spaces. “It’s—" Nadienne begins, but the stream of bullets roaring past us says it: Rask. Molten steel splashes against the opposite wall, chews Essa‘s treescapes into clouds of green shreds that float softly down, and spits ricocheting sparks and fragments of stone and metal all around Essa‘s place. Incendiaries in the stream kindle flames in the carpet. We duck and grovel, squeezing together. Essa screams and stops. I hold my breath, not moving, trying not to tremble as the smoke thickens. No sound except a distant rattle of cartridge casings kicked across a stone floor, and a curse. Then just the crackle and shrivel of the carpet, and the soft fall of firequench mist from the ceiling nozzles. The firequench adds a musty floral smell to the cooked carpet’s odor. Nadienne‘s rigid face shows clenched teeth as she arches her back and digs bloody fingertips into the carpet, trying to stay silent; the firequench rakes her nonexistent skin with pain. I take a chance and get up and step through the still-sizzling spots to find Essa‘s medbox. I bring the ‘caine back and drench Nadienne with it. She looks up gratefully. Essa lies face down in the wet carpet pile, her pale puff of hair now slicked against her head. She looks like a tanned version of Rask. The tiniest nick, with just a drop of blood at one end, shows on her left temple. Her clipgun rests a hand-length away from her fingertips. I put an ear to her back, same place I was a little while ago, while the firequench trickles into my other ear. Nothing. I listen again. And nothing. “She’s dead,” I whisper to Nadienne.