White and Other Tales of Ruin (58 page)

“
I guess they’re just looking for you now,” he said to Honey. His voice sounded shallow and vague.

“
What happened?” Honey said.

“
I think I died.” Tom smiled at her. Already, the mysterious threads were coming together. “Let’s go. If we escape, we can talk about it then.”

“
You could hide,” she said. “You could leave me, let them come after me and catch me if they can —”

Tom did not even honour this with a response.

Skin led them to the rear of the stage and across a narrow metal walkway, connecting the stage platform with the blank outside wall. There was a flimsy handrail, the only thing between them and the floor a hundred feet below, but it had been distorted at several points by bullet or shrapnel impacts. None of them trusted it.

Tom felt naked and exposed, expected the intrusive kiss of a bullet at any moment. The way Honey moved ahead of him — shoulders hunched, arms pulled in, legs slightly bent — he thought she did too.

The Slaughterhouse had gone amazingly quiet since the mercenaries killed Tom’s doppelganger. Tom could still hear the clambering, clanking footsteps of the hunters as they searched for Honey, but the clubbers had all fallen silent, either dead or shocked dumb. Perhaps they feared that now the killers had found and killed their target, any slight sound would merely set them on the rampage again.

Tom, Honey and Skin reached the wall. Skin led them through a door, cleverly concealed in the shadows of a concrete overhang. It emerged onto the head of a staircase. Tom stood on the landing and looked down, down, until the flights disappeared in a grey haze. It seemed far deeper than the club.

“
It’s the only way I can think of to get you out,” Skin said. “It goes straight down to the basements. The theatres. From there you can get out onto the streets or down into the sewers and tunnels … just about anywhere.”

“
They’re only looking for me now,” Honey said. “Tom, who
was
that?”

“
The Baker.”

“
I thought he was dead?”

Tom nodded, waved his hands to clear his confusion. “He is, he is! But … remember at the lab, that cabinet? Me. My clone. The Baker not only gave me love, but ensured it was protected as well. He knew that if I ever had cause to return to the lab it would be because I was in trouble. How he could have known … how he could have
imagined
…”

“
You really meant the world to him, didn’t you?” Honey asked. It was a strange thing to say. Tom didn’t know how to respond.

“
Don’t mind me,” Skin said, “but can we talk as we walk? It’s very quiet in there…”

They stood silently for a few seconds, listening for sounds of pursuit, listening for
anything
. Maybe the two mercenaries were motionless now … standing somewhere in the club … listening … listening for the sounds of escape …

“
Quietly,” Skin whispered, slipping down the first flight of stairs. They’d descended eight flights before Tom spoke again.

“
They think I’m dead.”

“
They’ll probe the corpse,” Skin said from in front. “Genetic tests.”

“
The did. The Baker would have thought of that. It’s a clone of me, it’s …
me
.”

“
He really was a crazy old bastard, wasn’t he?” Skin laughed, before turning and starting down another flight.

“
What? What makes you say that?”

Skin stopped and looked back up past Honey at Tom. He didn’t look any more welcoming than he had when they’d first arrived a few minutes before, but now there was a hint of humour in his eyes. Cruel humour.

“
He’s a bit of a legend, in some parts,” Skin said. “Places like this. To people like us. And you, too. The artificial looking for love. Almost a fairy tale!”

“
Skin!” Honey said quietly.

“
Honey? What’s he on about?”

She looked at Tom and shook her head, looking so sad.

“
Honey?”

“
Let’s get the hell out of here,” Honey said, not looking at either man. “Tom, the basements may interest you. It’s where some of the chopping takes place.”

Skin started on down again, followed by Honey, Tom bringing up the rear. Tom thought of making love with Honey, hugging her, being with her … and it all felt one way. He looked at her bloodied back and blood-caked head as they hurried down the stairs, trying to see inside. He wasn’t sure he’d like what he saw. She hadn’t changed, she’d
expanded
. She’d been right. He didn’t know her at all, and any sense that he did was misplaced, a falsehood brought on by love and his
need
to love.

After a few more flights, when it looked as if they’d evaded the mercenaries, Tom asked: “You don’t love me, do you?”

Skin snorted, but Honey turned and looked at him with wide eyes.

“
How could I not love the man who risked everything to get me away from that bastard?”

“
But you don’t. Not
really
. Not
truly
.”

Honey averted her eyes, looking down at her feet. It was answer enough for Tom, but she had to go and spell it out, had to destroy whatever illusion he could rescue from what had happened here. “Tom … I can’t. I’m artificial. Artificials don’t love.
You
know that.”
“
I’m
artificial!” he said. “
I
love. The Baker made sure of it, he gave me a virus, and I’ve given it to you and–”

“
You really are priceless,” Skin said. He was standing on a landing looking back up the stairwell, a grin splitting his face. Tom couldn’t tell whether he’d been chopped or not. If he had, it was internal.

“
Why did you come to him?” Tom asked, nodding at Skin.

“
I told you, to say goodbye.”

“
I don’t believe you.” Tom was flushed now, jealous, embarrassed at the rejection, angry at Honey’s use of him.

“
It’s true!” Honey said again. “ To say goodbye and … ask for his release. Skin and I are connected. Psychically. He likes to watch me sometimes when I’m working, it’s his vice and he paid me well and that’s it, I swear!”

“
Swear all you want. You used me to escape, you lead me on, you told me everything I wanted to know. Fuck off. Fuck off with your human lover and –”

“
Tom,” she said quietly, softly. His heart sank. The Baker’s virus had worked on him for sure, because he felt such an emptiness when he saw the lack of love in her, such a sense of abandonment. “Tom, I’m so sorry. I had to get away from Hot Chocolate Bob. You came along and offered me that, how could I not take it? But I feel like …. I
could
love. You. Maybe it’ll take longer to have an effect on me. Maybe it’s more than a virus. It’ll grow, not like something fake or artificial.”

“
We could have been killed!”

“
You already have,” she said. “Thanks to the Baker, everyone thinks you’re dead. So you’re free.”

Tom thought about this. And he thought about how the Baker’s virus had had years to affect him. “The Baker told me it would be perfect,” he said.

“
Mad old fuck,” Skin said, shaking his head. Honey spun on him.

“
He may have been mad, but at least he sought the right thing. He found it in Tom. Let me go, Doug.”

She turned back to Tom, and she was crying artificial tears from artificial eyes.

“
So what do we do now?” Tom said. “Are you leaving?”

“
Yes.”

“
I’m going with you.”

“
Tom, you’re free, Hot Chocolate Bob thinks you’re dead, you can—“

“
I’m going with you. I still believe in the Baker. That is, if …”

Honey smiled and to Tom she was beautiful, even after everything. Even her tears.

“
How about planting a seed first?” she said. “I need a charge and … well, it’s the least we can do.”

“
What do you mean?”

Honey turned back to Skin, who stood leaning against the wall like a petulant child. Tom could see now how he’d been chopped: dazzling blue eyes; perfect designer stubble; a squared jaw which did not suit his face. Vanity personified.

“
Doug, does this place still have the buzz units?”

“‘
Course it does,” he said. “Did you see the state of some of those artificials out there? Buzzed to fuck and couldn’t care less.”

“
We need them.”

“
Honey, I can access the net anywhere, we don’t need—“

Honey smiled up at Tom even though she was still leaking tears. She could stop, he knew that, she could control their shedding. But as she’d said before, she so wanted to be human.

“
Love’s the answer
,” she said, “
whatever the question may be
. I heard that once. A stupid idea, especially for the likes of me, but it made me jealous.” She stared up the stairwell, seeing nothing there and apparently liking that. “I’ve been a whore for as long as I can remember, Tom. The start of my memory is my creation. Imagine if love stopped the need for plastic bitches like me.”

“
The world would be a nicer place.”

She nodded. “And that shithead pimp would be out of business.”

“
What the hell are you two robots talking about?” Skin asked. Effectively dismissed by Honey, his anger was rising now, a red-faced attitude burning its way through his altered good-looks. Robots was as derogatory as he could have been.

“
We need a buzz unit to bleed Tom’s virus onto the net. And Doug, I need you to let me go. You’ve had your fun. Your time’s up. Let me go.”

Skin looked at Honey, at Tom, back to Honey. There was so much potential in his eyes — for violence, hate and betrayal — but in the end he simply sighed, pulled a small egg-shaped thing from his ear and crunched it under the heel of his boot.

Honey winced slightly, then smiled. “Thank you, Doug.”

“
Fucking robots,” Skin muttered as he walked back up the stairs.

Tom watched him go.

“
Come on,” Honey said, grabbing his hand. She pushed open a door and they entered a long, dimly lit corridor. “I’ve seen them used a couple of times … I’m sure I can find them.”

Tom was lost. He felt abandoned and loved, led and in charge, alive and dead … artificial and human. He wished the Baker could explain, but he guessed that even the old man would have made little sense of all this. Honey was leading and he was following, and this wasn’t how he had imagined it at all.

“
What if the mercenaries find their way down here?” Tom asked. “If they catch Skin they’ll make him talk in seconds.”

“
Don’t know,” Honey said. “I suppose that’ll be it.” And that’s all she offered. She was, Tom realised, as out of control as he.

Honey’s mention of needing a charge had started to make him feel weak, as if his muscles and byways and synapses had responded to her words, his bones thinning, his lungs withering. He could hook straight to the net and give them both a clean charge, but Honey’s idea to spread whatever he had — virus, madness, disease — onto the net … well, it was what the Baker had always wanted. Spreading a fire of love. The old man could never have imagined that the smouldering stage would have taken fifteen years.

The corridor twisted and turned, opened up into wider areas, narrowed again, sloped up ramps and down steps dripping with condensation and slime. The basement was the guts of The Slaughterhouse, Tom thought, a maze of rooms which all had closed doors. He was glad for that. This was where the chopping took place, Honey had said. From the extremes he had seen in the club, Tom did not want to know.

“
Can you find your way out again?” he asked. Honey paused and glanced back at him. She looked stunned.

“
You mean you haven’t been remembering our route?”

“
Oh Jesus …”

“
Come on,” she said, “I think we’re almost there.”

They must have been way down now, staggering through the depths of the club’s basement. And this far down the club must have felt safe … because some of its doors were still open.

Most of the rooms were empty, full of dank air and dark potential.

Some had rudimentary furnishings, beds in the centre or equipment burnt into a congealed mass in the corners.

A few were occupied.

Tom wondered how they survived, these victims of chops gone wrong. He saw heads and feet and pricks and stomachs, insides outside, pieces enlarged or shrunk or missing altogether. He saw other things too: appendages he could not identify; globes of flesh with eyes and vaginas; spider-limbs stretched around a webbed parcel; eyes on stalks, ribcage exposed. One person had limp pricks sprouting from his nether regions like a porcupine’s spines, dozens of them dribbling in profusion. A woman, startlingly beautiful where she lay uncovered in her bed, seemed to be fused to the bed itself, flesh and bone arms merging somewhere with the metal frame, legs overhanging and disappearing into the ivory tiled floor.