Houses of
the Holy
By Recca Phoenix
**this is my EXCLUSIVE intellectual
property, licensed under Creative Commons.**
The highlighted portions I have marked for revision, they
sound awkward.
Crossed-out portions are to be cut, I have kept them there
for later reference.
Last update: 10/1/07
Chapter 8 added
Minor revisions
CONTENTS
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
In the faint violet-white shades of the streetlights filtering through the window, I lay on my stomach on the cold, cracked linoleum. Another hit successfully completed. I opened the top of a black plastic storage tube Id saved as part of that nights disguise and stowed my rifle inside between some half-painted rolls of white card. I hid the spare rounds Id brought inside some empty tubes of paint and put them in my canvas bag. I gathered up my bag and the tube, putting some stray marks on my clothes and hands with colored chalk to complete the disguise.
The Peoples University for the
Cultural Arts was nearby, and students often returned late from the
studio. It was a perfectly blended
shadow of a plan, another one-time disguise that wouldnt elicit the slightest
reaction from a pole, and that was on the off chance that one would even be on
duty at that leaden, wearisome hour near the U campus. As far as I knew, most of them simply
snuck off to the late-hour cafs during night duty and drank coffee as they
struggled to stay awake. Thered
be a story in the paper almost every month of heroic bravery by some fat,
red-eyed pole foiling a break-in at a late-nighter. It made me smile to myself as I walked down the silent
asphalt passages, the thought of the bewildered expressions those half-asleep
sods always wore on the front-page photos. I was entertaining this train of thought when the event, the
encounter, entered my life. It was
as if a stray ball had stopped at my feet and I stood there wondering to the
empty air around me.
A piece of rusted piping swung
towards me furiously out of the blue night air. My heart beat frantically against my ribcage as I leapt back
and tried to pull the tube from my back to defend myself. I backed away, looking for an escape
route as the shadow came closer.
The attacker lunged to one side, giving me the chance to escape in the
other direction. I ran backwards a
few steps then turned and sprinted when Id evaded the reach of his pipe. I faced arrest every day and had certainly grown up in
dangers shadows, but this threat sent horrid bolts of fear through my
body. I tried again to loosen the
tube from my back but Id strapped it too tightly and had no time to fumble
with the buckles. My heart surged
with frantic spasms of dread as I reached the end of the alley. I turned and saw my attacker approach
slowly, a crazed look of bloodlust, greed, and childish delight reflecting off
his toothy grin. I stood my ground
and kept my composure, hoping to intimidate the boy into leaving me alone. As he drew closer, he laughed under his
breath like an ogre child in a sweet shop. Id
never have thought myself a gang victim, my brain shouted in terrible,
ironic melancholy. I bit my
lip, holding back the floodgates of cowardly, pathetic self-preservation
rooting me to the spot.
As the boy drew closer still, I observed the gray dress suit and black armband of a gang member. My eyes grew large in frantic hope as I held up the sign of the assassins guild. My hands trembling slightly as I looked through my crossed fingers, I saw him laughing in smug amusement.
Making up signs wont help you,
girlie, he laughed. I searched my
mind for other signs wed used – perhaps hed been out of the loop?!
He couldnt have been any older than myself. My breaths grew tight and audible as I backed into the wall,
still holding up the sign. I
flinched as he cut across my blouse with a folding blade, still laughing in
horrible amusement. I was seized
with an angry hollow desperation. I am not about to become a rape victim, not on my life. I
wrested the tube from my back as I tried to sidestep the gang member. I heard shouting, a girl screaming and
crying, and a rush of feet in boots echoing eerily off the
alleyways. My attacker tried to
cut me again as I darted to the side, the strange sounds fluttering in my ears
like bats.
I sighted a flicker of relieved
hope as I attempted to escape to the side, but the boy elbowed me into the
wall. Through the hot, throbbing
pain in my shoulder where it had smashed into the case and the wall, I
desperately tried to fend him off with the sign again. He laughed like he was winning some
childish game and swept the pipe down towards me, his unkempt hair forming
a wild halo around his leering face.
I was able to block it with my tube this time, but terror crept in
around the edges of my vision like a spreading stain. I heard the heavy footsteps grow closer and said in that
unnatural, wavering tone of fear and defense,
Do whatever you want, you stupid bastard, but know that my family will destroy you and every last member of your petty organization.
I shut my eyes, trying to close off my mind and face the impending darkness with dignity.
I opened my eyes as I heard my
attacker shout in pain.
What?! he shouted in an accusing
tone, standing up to face another young man in gang uniform. I still had my hands up in the sign,
the fear clutching at my shoulders like talons. I started to come to, catching pieces of the argument
between the two gang members. I
gradually fell back into my usual calm demeanor. My attacker stomped away, pouting and leering at the other
gang member, who turned to smile confidently at me as I rose.
The assassins guild, he stated
somewhat boastfully. I checked my
bag to make sure nothing had fallen out.
I had no idea how few of you there were left, and Im truly sorry for
my companions behaviour.
Oh, nice. Someone else knows how pathetic our
numbers are.
After securing my bag, I turned to
look at him. His eyes were a
shining walnut colour that exuded an old-world aristocratic air, and his hair,
though slightly longer than most boys, was clean and fell neatly to his neck. Still, he was a gang member, I thought as I tried to think of a way to leave without
offending him. A rapist,
probably. A criminal, most
certainly. But I did owe him something. As he owed me, for if I hadnt been intrigued by his
politeness and in too vulnerable a state to lash out, Id have sent the guild
after every gang member in that uniform in the city.
I owe you, I said reluctantly as
I tried to leave. The boy stepped
in front of me, smirking. He had
the air of a mischievous upper-class schoolboy, but I felt there was something
dark and threatening under the surface, like a lion cub toying with its prey
before the kill. He inclined his
head and stared me straight in the eye.
As I do, he replied, almost in a
whisper. I know the scope and
talents of the assassins.
Something to be respected.
I was too tired from my close call to reply with the usual sarcastic witty
rebuke, so I nodded my acknowledgement and walked past him.
I felt something touch my back and
stopped, ominous shivers slowly creeping up and down my body.
Art student, returning home late
from the studio said the boy as he ran the point of his umbrella up and down
my back. He returned the umbrella
to his shoulder and stepped to my side again. Clever disguise, girl. Completely plausible.
Well, unlike you schoolkids I
cant afford to wander the streets in uniform, I said.
He laughed smugly to himself.
I suppose Im not facing a death
sentence like you are.
I looked at his self-confident
smile and noticed he had drawn around his eyes with dark eyeliner. It gave him the look of a gothic
prince.
I should be going.
The nights still young, Miss
Assassin. Why the hurry?
I have classes tomorrow.
He looked genuinely surprised.
You pursue a normal citizens life He smiled
again with a strange curiosity.
Interesting, chicky. That
disgusting familiar term, I thought,
containing my offense to avoid any confrontation.
I suppose thats the fundamental
difference between the gang member and the assassineducation, training,
lifestyle he continued.
It could be helpful to know a
gang leader, I mused momentarily, quickly
dismissing the idea as I recalled my ordeal several minutes earlier.
Thanks, comrade, I mumbled.
No problem at all.
What are you doing, Ciel, get
out of there, I chided myself, walking
quickly and cautiously into the concrete night.
I walked home in a daze of thought,
staring off into space. I was
relieved that Id come out of the encounter unhurt, but embarrassed and angry
that I hadnt been able to defend myself.
When I finally arrived back at my apartment, I fell into bed and slept
in a single motion like a lead weight.
The shrill, harsh sound of my alarm
clock severed me from sleep the next morning. I stumbled into the bathroom, rubbing my eyes. I noticed the tear in my blouse and the
cut from the previous night, and the terror of the experience flashed coldly in
my mind. Being calm helped me to
sort things out, and I devised a plan to prevent that type of blunder in the
future. I located a small folding
blade and stuffed it into my bag.
I took a long, hot shower, letting
the tension, blood, and fear wash onto the yellowing tiles as I listened to the
usual morning drivel on the radio.
Heeeey comrades! Its time to wake up with your
number-one digiradio pop traks stream, COMET-K! Its Marta and Chris in the morning!
Wooo! This is Marta
and Chris
coming to you live on Comet-K!
And we got a smashing new trak from Roxana! Roxana, my best friend, was something of a celebrity these
days. Which wasnt too surprising,
I guess, for such a choir
standout and constant hummer.
*past stuff?* We both found the others profession quite useful in the
event of an emergency, but more importantly had been able to talk freely in
each others company since childhood.
It was difficult for an assassin to have this kind of relationship with
anyone, even inside the guild.
Roxanas cheerful, natural voice launched into an upbeat tune, the usual
working hard with friends tale, the kind of trak that earned government
approval easily and therefore streamed on the digiradio easily as well.
Summer sun in the workers park
Dancin and playin till the sky turns dark
Worked so hard to earn this relaxation
Yeah!
Comrades, brothers, sisters, its you!
Comet-K,
your NUMBER ONE digiradio pop traks stream! This is Chris
and
Marta in the morning! And now for
the news, direct from PBC, the Peoples news you trust!
I
picked through my straight champagne-coloured hair with a comb, wondering what
ridiculous story of government success in industry theyd scoured the area for
today.
So,
Marta, I hear that the Peoples U of Pre-Rev ranked last among the Us for
student happiness
Oooh,
well its no wonder.
Whys
that?
How
are you going to be a good citizen if all you do is study what happened before
the Revolution?
Hah,
thats true, comrades!
I
sighed in annoyance as I looked at the rings under my eyes in the dingy
mirror. It cant be helped
The council did everything it could to discourage the prospective U
student from going into any field with an element of history. Ironically, it was the one field that
most of the better students found interesting. Well, it never stopped me from going to P.U.P.R.S., I thought, laughing to myself.
Well,
weve already heard Roxanas new single here Chris said cheerfully.
and
its great as usual! squealed Marta.
Why
do you like Roxana, Marta?
Well,
shes a real person for one!
Have
you been to one of her concerts yet?
Yeah! I couldnt believe it, she had an
actual band playing different instruments! I had to admit, even though Roxanas songs were as stupidly
optimistic and simple as the rest at times, it was nice to know she wasnt an
airbrushed face with someone elses voice dubbed in, or worse, completely
synthetic.
I
dressed in my uniform, a white button-down shirt and a pair of shorts. I grabbed my books and, making sure I
had my keys and wallet, walked out the door.
I took the newspaper from under the
door and read it as I went down the eight flights of stairs that led outside to
the streetcar stop.
Roxanas picture caught my eye on
the front page. Shed dyed her
hair a seamless, deep blue and she wore her usual skirt, lace boots, and Party
hat. She posed artificially with
one hand on her knees and the other held up in a V-sign. Everyone had become so accustomed to
this kind of cuteness from the airbrush stars, even the actual humans were
copying it now The article praised Roxanas new album and went into a
survey of public opinion.
Roxanas appeal lies in her
humanity, says Professor () of
P.U.M.A., Pre-Rev Music Dept.
Sure, you can achieve perfection with your voice-chip mods and synthvox,
but Roxana is real and does just as well.
Shes the only real person on the charts these days, isnt she? She gives concerts all the time as
well, and chooses to use musicians and instruments, which I havent seen since
I was a boy. It may be
old-fashioned but its different and most importantly, it brings music back to
the people. Roxanas agent told
THE PEOPLES BANNER that her concerts were designed to do just that – to
share music with her comrades, the people of our city. Comrade Roxana is a true granddaughter
of the revolution, says Council Music Minister Cho, She doesnt insist on
some pretense of her humanity or try to criticize the revolution like these
purist groups. She loves the Party
and the people. Above all, she
wants to serve them, and I think thats something the kids nowadays can learn
from.
I saw Roxanas coy pose on a newly
erected billboard in front of the aging office building on campus as I stepped
out of the streetcar. I laughed to
myself as I walked into the library to cram in some extra studying before
classes began. Pre-Revolution
Literature, now there was an amusing class. Anyone could earn a fairly good mark simply by criticizing
every work assigned. 1984
is a presumptuous piece of pretentious speculation that shows a typical
pre-revolutionary ignorant fear of new government, I wrote after scanning the summary at the top of the KomPage on the
book. I wondered if the government
deliberately chose to write longer, duller summaries for the older books to
deter people from reading them. I wouldnt be surprised take out?
I arrived home after a somewhat
interesting day of Pre-Rev Lit and fell back onto my bed. I pulled out my KomPage processor and
logged into the historical research hub.
Purists insisted on gaining the multiple levels of Party clearance
needed to access the paper copies of documents and the visas needed to travel
and find even more documents, but the great majority of professors and the
entirety of students read the KomPages on the subjects, easily searchable and
conveniently filtered for reactionary content. Unique perspective could hardly be called a criterion in
research anymore.
I had to squeeze and pressure
myself into research mode in those rare instances of free time when I wasn't
searching for or carrying out my guild assignments.
The ring of my phone sent bolts
through my concentration. I picked
it up, my heart still pounding.
Comrade Corovya?
I recognized my guild advisors
voice speaking the keyname, so I switched on the signal interception device
near the phone. Id disguised it
as a lightswitch to avoid questions.
Ciel Angelique Heaven, keyname
acknowledged.
Hello Ciel. How are you?
Normal.
I suppose that means good?
You know what I mean, Orion.
But its true, no? If things are normal for you, then its
good.
Right, Id get suspicious if
things were good, I laughed. I
gave my usual report of assignments and their results to Orion. He was only four years older, a small
age difference that never would have existed between an advisor and an
un-pledged guild member had we not been short on numbers. It made for a more comfortable
relationship, though, as he was easier to approach when problems came up.
Your earnings are a bit low this
term, Ciel, he said with detached criticism. I felt a stab of cold realization. You cant afford to be choosy about jobs in the coming
months.
I thought Id made more than
enough last term
You did, Ciel, but I decided to
deduct your equipment fee because of that. Youre still making average progress at the moment, but
youve got to be careful.
I see. Thank you.
Youre welcome. Goodbye.
I retrieved the details of the job
and looked them over, but I found my mind wandering. Id be pledged and a professional at my age if the
assassins guild, our glorious Heaven family, was once again its former self,
triumphantthis shadowy, secret existence and the councils rabid persecution
of our brothers and sisters had reduced the age and expectations to pledgebut
the decisive, cold severance and murder of any suspicious member remained an
ugly, hovering shadow threat for every Heaven. And the days before thatbefore the council and the
restriction of guilds before even the revolution? Id be adopting new members into the guild, long since
pledged at my age. Id be adopting
and training those from outside the blood family, competing with rival guilds,
teaching and watching my students die senselessly in warfare between
guilds. So perhaps it was
fortunate that our family had fallen so.
Still, the dying, decrepit numbers cried out weak and sickly for us to
pledge as young as possible. As
soon as I finish school, theyll be breathing down my neck to pledge into the
guild, I thought. Surely, Id be ready
I
prepared my disguise for the job Id received through Orion the previous week,
trying to clear my head about the fate of the Heavens. This assignment was in the PUCA campus
area again, but further North, closer to the Black District. I dressed myself this time as an
insomniac photog student out taking night shots. It was a plausible lie; Id known my share of photogs and
they loved the old light fixtures in that area of the U campus. It had been converted from a few of the
former college buildings on the periphery of the Black District, after all,
and the dirty stoops were still covered in bullet marks from the revolution
days. The council discouraged that
type of sentimental architecture and its association with needless, pretentious
knowledge, but theyd been short on building funds and were forced to repurpose
those few blocks. As if
counter-revolution ever came from architecture
I
pulled on some worn jeans and a black sweater, stowing my rounds in film
canisters and my rifle in a tripod case.
I painted my shoe soles with a light layer of shadow grease, just enough
to reduce sound but not so much as to cause suspicion if a curious pole stopped
me. I closed the curtain on my
sooty window and stepped into the chill grey breezes of the early Autumn night.
Pools
of violet-tinged light from the Heligen streetlamps illuminated the dark blue
streets of the PUCA campus. My
target was a writer of council policy, according to the brief, vague
description sheet the client had filled out. I looked at the photo Id been provided to familiarize
myself with the mans silhouette.
The paucity of information didnt interfere all that much with the
assignment, as guild agents retrieved all the relevant address and location
details; the more degrees of separation between assassin and target the
better. I recalled my older cousin
Geoffrey Heaven lecturing me as we played screengames in the moldy VR
arcade. It should get to the
point where its mechanical.
Automatic. Like shooting
the pictures on the screen, Ciel.
Good timing! Id been no more than nine or so at the
time, Geoffrey a pledged assassin.
He trained me occasionally, and on the days when I seemed bored with the
usual exercises hed sneak me into the VR arcade, sit me on a peeling vinyl
stool, and let me play the shooting screengames until my eyes hurt.
I
continued this train of thought while ascending a rusted-over fire escape in
the oil-black shadows between buildings.
I scoped out the distance between my chosen stakeout room and the
targets windows. Perfect. The
unsuspecting pole wouldve seen nothing but an eccentric photog-in-training
trying to get an interesting angle from the fire escape. I prided myself on these disguises
– like a glass window, they were just invisible enough to overlook. I suppose I made up for my physical
shortcomings with clever planning and cautious intellect. It had saved me when the council
screened Heavens through physical fitness tests in the grade schools and the
unusually swift and agile children disappeared. After all, I only had one chance to make a shot. A minute of caution or a lifetime lost
to a death sentence or worse
Wonderful
train of thought before an assignment, I
mused, trying to nonchalantly cast off the gravity of the situation. I lined up my sight with a glass panel
in the targets bathroom window.
Id seen him remove his shoes and Party jacket in another room and drawn
conclusions accordingly. He was a
young, untidy man with a halo of curly, electrified brown hair and a thick
mustache like a brush. The
council lets its own look this unkempt?
I smiled in amusement as the man
walked into the bathroom and I steadied the crosshairs.
Click.
The
silent peregrine 52-7 special round pierced the glass cleanly and took down its
target like a practice panel, out of my scopes view. What happened outside of that circle was no concern of
mine.
I
felt a rush of satisfactory relief course through my body like a massage. I quickly disassembled and hid my
equipment, sliding out of the room like a ribbon.
I
was physically exhausted after the hours of rapt attention that day, but the
beaming warm content of a job well done kept me alert as I headed home. I heard shouting and eerie laughter
echoing off distant buildings along with the distinctive, deadening sounds of
beating down a human body. The
sounds took on the character of a demonic ritual as they rebounded off the
walls. As I made my way through
the alleys, I saw black shadows blown out of proportion on the apartment
complex walls in the lights of flickering Heligen lamps and yellow Safelamps. U
students, probably back from a night of studying the various stages of human
inebriation, no doubtreplacing their
various artistic blocks with post-party angst the morning after. Probably just a drunken brawl, I mused as I meandered around some toppled
trashcans. Silence. Then the unsettling distorted voices
returned as I moved into a different street.
Big
haul, Rex! Wheres your little
brothers share? said one voice, deranged and mocking.
The
minute you start treatin him like a big
brother youll get it, replied another voice caustically. Some confused shouts rang out and I
heard the scuffle of boots as another fight of some kind escalated into
shouting and beating. Id departed
the U area at this point – some barricades and stages had been set up for
a street fair the next day and Id been unable to go by my usual routes. I scanned my surroundings, reminding
myself of the absence of poles in the Black District, which drew dangerously
close.
A
blinding light obstructed my field of view as a heavy blow like a door slam hit
my upper arm. I blocked the
following blow with my rifle case, coming face-to-face with a grinning boy in a
black Chinese silk jacket. He wore
an ash-coloured beret on his unruly blond hair. He swung his wooden bat forcefully in my direction with all
the grace and control of an umbrella in a hurricane. Another gang member,
I realized, spotting his purple armband.
I sidestepped his next blow and located my switchblade in the front
pocket of my bag. I ran, only to
nearly meet another weapon. I
backed into a nearby wall to avoid the second attacker, the cold, damp bricks
seeping fear into my back. The
second attacker set upon the blonde boy with the ferocity and glee of some
hellish jackal, repeatedly and without calculation. Transfixed by both the novelty and the utter shock of this
violence, I found myself unable to turn away and run. The jackal boy turned towards me when hed finished with the
blonde boy and threw his body weight into his weapon. I blocked his blow with my case, struggling to fend him
off. I ducked towards the side to
catch him off balance, giving me enough time to flash the Heavens sign.
Miss
Assassin? the jackal said quizzically as his posture sprung back to
normal. I recognized the refined,
youthful drawl of the upper-class gang leader whod saved me that time. Ho, not too bad with this type
of thing either, are we? He
smirked and lunged towards me again with his umbrella-weapon, a playful
expression in his dark-rimmed eyes.
He reminded me even more of a jackal now, his toothy grin and
Egyptian-looking eyes showing a kind of jaded sadism.
I
heard the approaching, distinctive high-pitched whine of a Bluebell shaft and
instinctively dove for the ground, taking the boy down with me. The shattering explosion nearby knocked
us into some trashcans. I quickly
righted myself and saw the glinting, metallic shards of the missed Bluebell
hissing and fizzing on the pavement several paces away. The boy rose and brushed off his suit,
twirling his umbrella into his hand.
I noticed it was the variety with a blade concealed in the shaft, as it
had come unsheathed when it hit the ground. The boy smiled as he faced me and said,
And
that is why you dont give an assassins weapon to-
someone
like you? I suggested, picking up the film canisters that had fallen from my
bag. The sooner I left and the
less I said to him the better.
Besides, no self-respecting assassin would waste their notes on
Bluebells, theyre too noisy, I grumbled. What was I doing talking to this pretentious sadistic brat?
The
sounds of the nearby fight cross-faded into moaning and self-indulgent whooping
laughter.
I
suppose that was meant for me chuckled the boy, but what a miss! Im sure that poor idiot spent a whole
months haul on that thing. I
couldnt help but laugh, picturing a young gang member throwing a tantrum at
wasting the one shaft hed been able to afford.
Ah,
see, were both human beings with a sense of humour, the boy said in a low
tone, drawing nearer. He sauntered
over to me like a hungry jaguar. I
nodded and turned to leave, but the boy sidestepped in front of me. I reluctantly decided to play along and
avoid any confrontation. Im very
grateful to you He stalled,
raising his intonation to imply an introduction. I sighed tensely, wondering whether to give him my
name. I avoided eye contact as I
tried to wander away from the problem as my mind suggested. The boy leaned forward, trying to meet
my eyes.
Rex
Corona, he said quietly, raising his eyebrows in anticipation of a reply.
Ciel
Heaven, I mumbled, looking at my feet in embarrassment, my posture sinking
with my nervous, grudging spirits.
The
sky and the heavens, Rex said pensively, looking into my eyes with a kind of
wistful curiosity. I suppose your
middle name follows that beautiful standard as well? He looked me over with a kind of lusty ennui, and I felt
myself tense like Id been caught in a cold rainstorm.
Angelique,
I said, trying to shrug off my nervousness and irritation in idle chat.
French,
isnt it.
Im
surprised you knew that.
Well
he said confidently, his piercing mahogany eyes tracking me like a
searchlight. I looked around,
waiting for him to turn away so I could leave. I looked down at the unconscious blond boy and snatched his
beret.
Disguise
piece, I suppose? Rex inquired, squatting next to me, attempting to penetrate
my eyes again. We stood up and
came face-to-face. I bit my lip
and stared back, feeling prideful and stubborn. I reallycant begin to think how I can repay you, Rex
said with a wavering sincerity that caught me off guard. Butyou didnt pull any strings over
our little misunderstanding? It
was halfway between a question and assertion, a translucent shade of
threat. He gripped his umbrella
handle.
No,
I said flatly. His posture
relaxed. I was moved, somehowgang
member or not, Id never met anyone outside the family with a realistic degree
of respect for the Heavens, driven to the shadows and weakened as we wereI was
lucky hed even recognized the sign, now that I thought about it.
I
owe you something too I mumbled, trying to conceal my impressions.
No,
no Rex said, shifting his weight.
Ive got an idea. I
inclined my head slightly, curious as to what he was thinking. He scribbled something on a wrinkled
piece of paper he took from his suit pocket. He then searched through his other pockets and handed me a
small black metal cylinder on a ribbon.
This, he said, handing me the paper, is my KeiT
number. And that, he said,
touching the cylinder, is a completely pole-proof UCCAPSys.
He explained to me the password and sequence for activating and
operating the UCCAPSys. This way,
if youre ever in trouble somewhere, I may be able to lend you some
manpower. He swung his umbrella
to accent his point.
I
cant thank you enough, I laughed nervously, immediately regretting the
frankness of my reply.
I
cant even imagineno hospital use. I suppose you cant use any government service, even
Rex said, showing an innocent, friend-like concern.
Thank
you, I said again, leaving quickly.
As I briskly walked home, I examined the UCCAPSys. It looked standard, and besides, it
wasnt within the ability or budget of a gang member to hack one into a homing
signal. I checked to make sure it
was de-activated and stuffed in in my jeans pocket. He had nothing on me, it was finebut who exactly was he? Sadistic, gang member, petty criminalof course. All of them were. Protests when the government took over
had reduced the poles to something to be laughed at, a costly leak for public
funding, and as attention turned to eradicating the assassins, the gangs grew
in size and number. And as long as
they stopped short of organized crime or terrorism, the government would
continue to overlook them. But RexI
sensed something odd there, like a laid-off professor in a soup line. Odd, but intriguing.
As
I dragged my leaden feet back into my apartment, I hid the UCCAPSys in the safe
box with my KeiT and Rexs number.
The safe box severed all signals and deactivated transfers. Butwhat was I thinking taking a
UCCAPSys from a gang memberI suppose he risked just as much as me by giving
his name, but.if I ever happen to see him again, Ill run away.
I
shook my head spasmodically every few minutes, trying to clear it of the dull,
throbbing pain that kept blurring my vision. Itd been two and a half weeks since my last assignment and
I needed money to buy the latest chip for my KomPage processor. I couldnt afford to skip an
assignment, sick or not. Id
decided to walk along the roofs in a blackout suit to save time and disguise
money. Besides, there were no
poles to cut into my work and no late-night drunkards broken songs to spoil my
concentration. I peered onto the
street below to double-check my whereabouts, feeling a stabbing dizziness sweep
over me as I bent down. I took a
few deep, labored breaths to regain my balance and continued over the
roofs. I thought back to the last
few weeks to keep my mind off the growing nausea I felt as I stumbled along:
Id
seen Rex on the street below from the top of the billboard as I left the
assignment, and took great pains to make sure I came down from the building in
a dark and secluded spot. Hed
appeared out of the shadows like
a ghost, his underlings chatting behind him, scaring me half to death. I walked away without a glance back
only to meet Rex alone at the next corner. He stared at me with a kind of sad detachment, as if he
wanted to talk to me. As I turned
to leave he flicked a strand of my hair and whispered in my ear,
Keep
at it. I just wanted to thank you
againfor saving my life.
Cold prickles of panic struck me as
he lightly ran a finger across my neck.
I saw him smiling deviously as I looked back. I ran, cursing the idiot for trying to talk to me again. Good thing I sealed off that
UCCAPSyshes probably trying to catch me alone so he and his lackeys can have
their way with me
Id
run into him again another night on the way back from a history seminar across
town, almost drawn into the tail end of a brawl with a few chain-wielding boys
in moth-eaten wool Revolutionary Army coats. All I had was my switchblade, which I knew would be useless
against the brutes. I ran,
straining against the limits of my speed and approached the Heligen-lighted
pool around the other end of the alleyway, the boys too absorbed in their fight
to notice. I stopped to catch my
breath as I came out into the main street, a slight breeze stirring some
discarded flyers for a Kiki Momo concert on the sidewalk. I heard footsteps approaching and drove
my blade into the assailant behind me, who stumbled painfully back into the
alleyway, bloodstains spreading onto his overcoat. I saw Rex stepping away from the brawl, eyes wide in
amazement as his underlings chased away the remnants of the overcoat gang.
Oooh,
that ones a looker! said one of them, eyeing me playfully. I flashed my switchblade as they
approached and walked away. Wanna
play with a real weapon, lolly?
I gritted my teeth in
irritation. I hated the
saccharine, familiar terms that had become so prevalent and somehow generally
acceptable.
Come
on, come on, Rex, lets have some fun whined another one of them like a
little brother tugging on his mothers skirt. We can take the bird, all shes got is that puny blade.
Yeah
and we need something to cut off the clothes with anyway, a third one
howled. I increased my pace as I
heard their footsteps playing on the edges of my perception.
Not
today, boys, Rex said
with an artificial loudness.
You never know when you might meet someone again. There was an awkward silence as they
paused, confused.
What?
said the first boy. Annh,
nevermind, Im too tired to do some on a fighter
Fighters
are fine once you hurt em enough, grumbled the third boy. I took off into the night saved by the
whim of a criminal.
I
felt another wave of pounding, staggering nausea creeping in, and I crouched
behind a nearby air vent to vomit.
Nothing happened, and the feeling clung to my insides like talons along
with my uncertainty over Rex.
Biting my lip, I rose and attempted to walk forward. I couldnt have more than a few blocks
to go, and I could rest at my stakeout point
Blue
and black clouds spotted my vision and my legs shivered violently as I plodded
across the next roof. A wave of
hot pain pushed me over, the metal air ducts next to me faded from view and my
sharp breaths gradually left my ears.
Blurred
shapes and garbled sounds returned after the indefinite darkness: a rusted
ladder, the terrible sound of a metallic ringing in my ears. I somehow made it over to the ladder on
the edge of the roof and climbed down onto a nearby fire escape. The cool metal felt soothing to my burning forehead as
I lay down on it. I saw gray
and white shapes stirring in the alley below. Fever ghosts, reappearing to dance around my field of view I slipped again into a pulsing
unconsciousness, my soft cry fading away from my ears.
Ciel,
said the voice as someone lightly shook my shoulders. I felt my eyes open, but the blurred shapes assaulted me
with dizziness and I shut them tightly again. Ciel. The
dizziness drained away as quickly as it had approached and I opened my eyes
again. The blurred face looked
over its shoulder to see some fuzzy silhouettes depart the alleyway. It turned back to me when theyd
left. I clutched at the air,
looking for something – anything – to help me stand up. A warm hand rested on my forehead as
the voice became clearer , the
overwhelming heat blinding me again.
Be strong it said
quietly. I flailed my arms weakly,
trying to speak something, beating against the darkness with all the strength I
could muster. Stop it, stop it!
the voice whispered, holding back my arms.
I glimpsed a scorching desert
dancing in mirrored heat mirages, pounding my head with the sound of an empty
oil drum. A black jaguar ran
silently out of the wavering mirage clouds, boring into me with its predatory
eyes. The cat took my collar in
its teeth and dragged me away, the lost hunting falcons circling overhead like
observers at a murder scene. I
kicked wildly as the border to the conscious came into my view, breaking away
from the jaguar. I stumbled and
collapsed onto something hard, my knees stinging in agony. I fell back into the darkness as the
jaguars booted feet approached, blind fear draining the last of my
energy.
I
awoke in a completely white-walled room in a soft, cheap bed. I couldnt raise my head to look around
further, so I strained my ears to listen for any sound. Unfamiliar places were the most
dangerous situation for a Heaven, and I needed to escape, but I was tied
down by my own fatigue and illness.
I heard footsteps in the distance and felt dread rising in my throat as
they approached. I grasped weakly
at my pocket, trying to locate my switchblade. I heard someone gasp as they drew nearer. I saw a blurred face look down at me
from above. I squinted, the
features slowly revealing themselves
Ciel,
its me, Rex said softly, noticing my look of fear. Can you talk? I tried to protest, but my voice
emerged as a weak groan. He sat on
the edge of the bed and offered a glass up to my face. I turned away, my head pounding from
the effort. Its water, he said,
turning my face back and forcing the water on me with his hand. The terror gradually left as I drank
the water. Nothing in here I heard
Rex walk away and take off his jacket and tie. His footsteps returned and he came into view again, giving
me two more glasses of water. I
tried to raise my head again, but it felt heavy and swollen. When I found that I was able to turn it
to the side comfortably, I did so, closing my eyes again. I heard Rexs footsteps grow quiet and
turned to the left to survey the room.
It was painted entirely white, with two round black pebblechairs in the
opposite corner. A desk held a
stack of some square plastic cases and some antiquated audio equipment, along
with a more modern D-card player and some small black wireless earcasters. Rexs dirty black boots leaned against
the desk lazily, the bottoms caked in dirt.
I
was surprised by Rexs gentle care.
Surely, Id be in much worse trouble if it wasnt for- I was
overcome by angry tears. What
goods this going to do, I thought, trying
to calm myself down. My breathing
gradually slowed as my brain relaxed its frantic pace. Still, I have to be carefulI
dont know what hell try when Im weak like this. Hes probably just waiting for me to get well enough to
attack I heard a heavy front door
close. My alertness and caution
had beaten me to exhaustion like waves on a cliff; I fell into sleep
immediately, the warm darkness of rest cradling me like an overstuffed feather
pillow.
The
sound of the front door closing jolted me awake. I saw Rex walk into the room holding a plastic bag. He sat down in a chair at the desk and
took a small brown frosted-glass bottle out of the bag. He retrieved a glass of water from
outside the room and briskly walked back.
Meticulously measuring a spoonful of the murky liquid out of the bottle,
he turned to face me.
Relax,
its just standard head-fever medicine, he said, showing me the bottle. I couldnt make out the text on the
label from my position and I felt a shiver of icy paranoia run through my
body. I turned away when he tried
to give me the spoon. He furrowed
his brow in frustration then started to laugh. How old are you, seven? He met my eyes with a sharp, self-confident stare and
grabbed the back of my neck gently, forcing me to drink the medicine. Seethat wasnt so bad, he
laughed. His smile faded into an
innocent, childish look of worry.
I felt somewhat relieved, and didnt fight him when he offered me more
water. His expression became
somewhere between the satisfaction of reprimanding a child and an evil
domineering voyeurism. Thats a
good girl. Now get some
rest. I wanted to close my eyes
and collapse into sleep right there, but Rex remained in the desk chair next to
the bed, looking over at me every few minutes. I turned to the right wall to face away from his chilling
gaze.
The
next day proceeded at some unknown, hazy pace as I floated in and out of
consciousness. At one point, I
came out of a horrible, twisting, burning fever dream to see Rex sitting on one
of the pebblechairs in the opposite corner, watching me intently. He eventually walked over like a
leopard and started moving strands of my hair out of my face with an eerie
gravity. In the fever, I saw Rex
looking at me with slit golden cat-eyes, keeping me alive for his amusement. He
started tracing up and down my spine with one of his fingers, and I began to
cry hot, angry tears. He stopped
without a word after several agonizing minutes and departed the room like an
owl.
I washed up onto the soft shores of
morning the day after hit by a shock of ravenous hunger, forgetting the
dreamlike events of the day before.
Rex,
I said weakly. He came in from
outside the room to see me clutching my stomach in pain. I need to eat. The words came out garbled, and Rex
spent a few minutes frowning at me as the meaning worked itself out in his
head.
Right,
he said, eyes wide in surprise. He
came back in carrying a half-eaten plate of fried eggs, some kind of fruity-smelling chai, and a piece of steam bread. He broke the steam bread into pieces as
he watched my reactions. I found
that I was able to lift my arm enough to take a piece of steam bread from Rex,
who smiled as he handed it to me.
He then gave me some of the chai and eggs, feeding me like a child. There was something amusing about it, yet something utterly,
dreadfully humiliating as well, like watching a baby try with all its might to
stand up. Still, I started to
feel indebted to Rexhed saved me three times already, now looking after
me like a younger sister. I felt
the tension in my body melt away drowsily as I drank the warm chai. Rex
noticed me relaxing and cast a sly look my way as he gathered up the dishes and
left the room. I watched him come
back in and sit in the same desk chair next to the bed, bending slightly to
look at me.
Well,
he said. How about some
music?
Sure,
I replied. It would give me
something to think about other than how Id failed a job and become indebted to
a petty criminal.
Rex
went into the other room and raised the volume on some crackly piece of music
that began with a seesaw, lusty old-fashioned electric guitar and went into an
easy, seductive beat. Some
pre-revolutionary tune, and not a bad one at that The lyrics moved something in me, driven by a raw, rusty,
passionate voice. Never in my life,
I thought, letting it envelop me, seal me
off, mesmerize me with its gently driving melodies.
Let me take you to
the movie
Can I take you to
the show
Let me be yours
ever truly
Can I make your
garden grow?
As
the song ended, I slowly rolled out into the world. I felt as if it had sparked some raw, animalistic craving
deep inside me.
Rex, I said, can you play that
song again? Rex smiled knowingly
at me like a fox as he returned from the other room and rifled through some of
the plastic cases on the desk. No, I thought, he wants this. The song began again and I fell into
its spell, this time noticing the rough, ecstatic energy of the analog
instruments. I felt as if the
music was filling some need, some urge deep within me, but I also I felt
like the music had driven a need into me that had never existed before, some
unnatural hypnosis. This song I
began, losing my sentence in the trancelike complexity of the trailing electric
guitar passage.
Ah, you see the superiority, the
passion of real music, Rex said heavily
like a dense perfume. Ive
collected these over the years, forgotten little treasures the council doesnt
want us listening to.
As I recovered, I became
intoxicated by the richness of Rexs music collection, particularly the first
song hed played for me. Hed
noticed this and played it more often than the others, slyly gauging my
reaction out of the corner of his eye.
Something about it taunted and intrigued me, and each time I heard it I
plunged deeper into its hypnotic melody.
I sat in Rexs makeshift kitchen,
sipping mineral water through a straw.
He dusted the obsolete audio equipment intently and lovingly, humming to
himself in the absence of music. I
picked up one of the square card sleeves as I sat on the floor, examining the
picture on it. A gray and nondescript
building from an older concept of urban space loomed over a shadowy man hunched
forward on the stoop. I couldnt
make out the red letters in the windows or what was attempting to be spelled,
as the man on the stoop absorbed my entire attention. Rex slid over to investigate which of his precious
possessions was holding me captive.
Physical Graffiti, he said,
taking the cardboard sleeve from me.
Hm? I said, the photographs
spell dissolving.
Thats the name of the album.
What?
The album. This album. He held up the
sleeve.
Whats an album?
Rex stared at me like he was about to discipline a
naughty puppy.
This was one way of putting songs onto the market back then. Singles for two songs, albums for a collection of
songs. The companies sold them
this way, people couldnt make their own back then, either.
Oh, so this sleeve holds the
Mchips?
No, Rex said, a hint of
impatience darkening his voice as he gingerly pulled a thin black disc out of
the sleeve. The album is recorded on a record, in this case.
How does it work?
Its a simple analog device
Rex brushed some dust off a large
square machine with a glass cover near the wall, placing the disk on a spindle
in its center. It began to spin as
he turned it on, a crackly silence descending into the sensual attack of my
song.
My eyes wandered back to the picture on the record sleeve as I fell
back into the now-familiar coma.
The man on the stoop seemed overwhelmed by the gaping black hole behind
him and the utter bleakness of the dirty brick landscape. The song seemed to jokingly ridicule
the poor man as it taunted my infatuation with it, boastfully asserting its
dominance over me.
Whats
the name of this song? I asked Rex, handing him the sleeve.
Houses
of the Holy, he said.
Houses
of the Holy, I repeated, wide-eyed at the titles simple beauty.
So,
he said, staring at me with grave concentration, do you feel like listening to
more of the album?
I
suppose, I said, unable to break free of our mutual glaring.
Youre
feeling better, right? he said, placing his hand on my forehead.
Yeah
I said, turning away and busying myself with throwing away the empty water
bottle.
I
think youll like the rest of the album since youre so taken with Houses,
Rex said professionally, turning the record equipment on again. A driving, two-beat rhythm stepped
confidently into the room as it strutted about like a pole in a disciplinary
school. As I looked down at the
soiled plates in the metal mop sink, I noticed the bandages on my palms. Whatwas I doing? The days surreal strangeness
overwhelmed me like a briny swell, washing the captivating music out of my
consciousness. The dizziness
returned with mocking irony, crushing the small glimmer of escape. I stumbled into the bedroom to sleep,
the music aggravating my headache like a mischievous imp.
I
awoke after a fuzzy indeterminate sleep, still vulnerably blanketed in
drowsiness. Rex and I ate unevenly
burnt toast in his sitting room.
As the food settled in my stomach, my energy came creeping back slowly,
like a bear awakening from the winter.
I gazed out the window, absorbing the soft pink morning sunbeams. For the first time since Id arrived at
Rexs apartment, I noticed the worn, elaborate faades of the buildings
outside. Crows cawed as they
scuffled over the dented drainpipes, which were green with age. Below the drainpipes, masks with gaping
eyes screamed silently in tragedy, festooned with bunches of grapes and ribbons. What kind of decadent
Interesting,
isnt it? Rex said, smiling.
Hard to believe they used to put so much effort into
architecture. He looked up at me
deviously as he sipped his hot chai.
Isnt
it dangerous to live in the Black District I muttered, turning back to the
window.
Oh,
come now, Rex said, his stare reducing me to a disobedient kitten, you know
as well as I do – no, probably better
than I do – that not everything the council says is true.
Yes,
I replied angrily, but still-
Oh,
Ciel he groaned, Look, Ill explain it. He paused to take a long drink of chai in preparation. The Black District was counter-rev central during the
revolution. It used to be the old
college and they wanted to save all these fine old buildings. But you probably know all that-
I'm
at P.U.P-R.S I interrupted, hoping to cut his tale short.
Oh,
really? he smiled, giving me a quizzical, mysterious look. but, of course, after the revolution,
the Council had no use for the college and no funds to demolish it. They didnt want anyone strolling
around here, reminiscing about the past, admiring the buildings, so they created
a deterrent. He paused, savoring the impact of his words. Stay out of the Black District,
comrades, its flooded with crime!
The gangs have reclaimed it!
Were fencing it in! Yea,
it was true for a while – no poles here to catch us – but no one to
rob eitherand no one to rob equals dead territory. Id
say onlytwenty or so gang members live in the entire district. And some miscellaneous odds and ends of
society, of course. But dangerous? I
think its more dangerous in the
council members quarters! He
laughed sardonically.
And
besides, he continued, words like dangerous mean nothing to you, right?
I
shrugged, my thoughts turned inward, appraising my health. I discreetly set about locating my
possessions, relieved to find them untouched in a corner of Rexs kitchen.
Leaving?
he asked, appearing behind me suddenly.
Yes,
I replied, gazing at a dark spot on the floor.
Are
you sure youre all right? he asked, frowning ominously. I at once felt cornered, pushed back
into shadow.
Mm,
I said, scouring my brain for something to break the tension. Determined as I was to get home and
resume my life, I sensed a hole somewhere, like when you leave for a trip and
cant help feeling youve forgotten that one thing.
Oh,
before I leave, I ventured meekly, Id like a copy of that song.
Of
course, Rex smiled vaguely, pulling a tangle of cables out from under his
record player. Hed moved it into
the sitting room since the day before.
I observed him attaching it to a dusty Mchip recorder.
Er
I protested. I saw a Dcard
recorder in your roomcant you use that?
Its
broken, he said mysteriously, looking defensive and irritated. Dont you have an Mchip player?
Ithink
so, I replied, recalling a moldy box full of forgotten technology in my
closet. But theyre so bulkyand they dont even last past twenty plays. Something about Rexs insistence felt
dark and deceptive.
Well,
thats all I have, he said lightly, almost as if to irritate me into
accepting. I sighed angrily.
Okay.
Here
you are, he said after several minutes, handing me the large, lipstick-shaped
chip.
You
know I said, recalling something Id wanted to ask him, hoping to alleviate
the tension I sensed. I wonder if
theyll ever bring back that all-digital system they used to haveI just think
its really fascinating that people used to be able to put traks directly onto
players from their, er
computers?
Rex suggested.
Rightbut
I dont think itll happen. They
split up that network-thing so much that-
Yea,
the inter-net? I heard that when
the council first set up the filters and exclusions after the revolution, the
music business skyrocketed.
Especially after they brought in the Asian model.
Oh,
yes, creating stars... I said with disgust. Well, I suppose it keeps everyone happy, and brings in
profits for the Music Ministry
They
used to have a special network for buying digital traks, you know. I think they called it the musicnet.
I
guess it didnt stop anyone from copying traks once they bought them, though.
People
still copy the Mchips Rex said.
I
dont think anyone really cared about that, they dont last all that long
anyway.
Right,
and the blank Dcards are so damn expensive now
Yea.
A
much lighter silence permeated the air.
Thank
you so much- I said far too frankly, embarrassedly averting my eyes.
Rex
waved his hand in dismissal.
Dont
even mention it, he said. He drew
closer, backing me into a wall.
You spared my life, dont forget. Despite his admission of debt, his tone betrayed something
threatening that could turn for the worse at any moment.
If
you ever want anythingmusic, help he trailed off ominously and suggestively,
whispering in my ear, all you have to do is return.
I
twisted away without a word, looking at the door. An embarrassing revelation surfaced.
How
do I get back to the U area I muttered.
Ill
show you, Rex said, opening the door for me. I stepped out into a high-ceilinged stone landing and spiral
stairway, its corners covered in dusty cobwebs. A brown sparrow sitting in the slit stone window opposite
Rexs door tilted its head at me quizzically. The shame returned in waves, the stifling heat making me
anxious to depart. I looked
around, searching for some far-off corner in which to conceal my thoughts from
Rex, to divest myself of that wavering self-guilt.
It
used to be some kind of church complex, Rex said flatly as we descended the
stairs, ignoring any uninterest he may have perceived, that was at one time
converted to apartments, but obviously abandoned until they fenced off the
Black District
We emerged from the spiral
staircase into a well-kept courtyard.
The healthy colours of the multiple species of flowers and trees puzzled
me as I walked among them slowly, wondering who would bother to maintain
anything in the Black District.
It doesnt look abandoned to me
I murmured. Something white
amongst the browning trees caught my eye.
I spotted a girl with long, wispy gingerbread-coloured hair examining one of the trees
in the opposite corner of the courtyard.
I looked at Rexs face, seeking an indication of her identity.
Cherry over there takes care of
it, he said to me quickly. He ran
quickly to the center of the courtyard, waving his arms around. I followed him slowly, confused by his
strange actions, filled with some kind of unfounded ominous fear for the
girl. She watched Rexs face
intently as he spoke to her, nodding intermittently.
Cher-ry, he said, meeting her
eyes attentively like an older brother, this is my friend Ci-el. He over-enunciated each syllable, as if
practising a foreign language with a child. The demeaning attention hed paid me during my illness came
to mind as I watched the girls innocent attention. I suppose she wasnt a girl per se, but her frail figure
and white sundress made me think of her that way.
Cherrys
mouth opened in a silent greeting.
Shes
a mute, Rex said quietly to me.
Oh
I said, realizing the reasons for his strange conduct. Cherry smiled as she turned and spoke
to me, mouthing the words more slowly this time.
<Im
Cher-ry,> she said. <Nice to
meet you.>
Oh,
you too, I stammered.
She
stays here, its safe Rex said to me as Cherry turned back to her tree,
snapping off branches here and there.
She has some job at the florist as well.
Rex smiled as he watched Cherry
work. I couldnt help but feel
that something was odd, that the situation was far less innocent.
So
what does she do for you? I said, surprised at my sullen interjection. Rex laughed, taking me aside.
Do
you really think the council would bother giving someone like Cherry the extra
support she needs? he said darkly.
He didnt seem to have heard my question.
So
you help support her.
Yes.
And
what does she do?
Rex
frowned in confusion. Perhaps he
was trying to come up with a euphemism to explain the kind of favors she no
doubt provided for him. I walked
off in disgust.
Take
a right when you leave the complex and follow that road, it should take you to
a gap in the fence, Rex said quietly, walking away from me.
As
I walked through the dead quiet of the Black District, I felt my head swimming
with the dull pain of confusion. I
ran, hoping to exhaust myself into peace.
I
returned to my apartment that night with a horrible languid urge to sleep as
much as I needed. I surrendered to
the impulse, promising myself that Id work nonstop to make up for lost time.
The
mountain of assignments quickly allowed me to forget about my strange
ordeal. I worked a horrible
self-imposed schedule of homework, classes, homework, and the occasional guild
assignment. My shortage of income
combined with my time at Rexs had enslaved me to the telephone and InkTel, Orions
icy, businesslike tone bringing a twisted feeling of relief as I took each
measly assignment regardless of my schedule. In the rare minutes of silence I found throughout the day,
my mind wandering as I mechanically walked to class and waited in lines, the
tune returned to gaze down at me condescendingly, its powerful rhythms drumming
into my skull. I took every
opportunity to pull out my antiquated Mchip player and retreat between my
earcasters, each session uncovering some new pleasure from the song.
I
began to notice the prongs wearing down on the Mchip after a few days, and
tried to limit the number of times I listened to the song. Rexs smug face flashed in my mind,
laughing at my dependence on a trivial piece of music
I
shouted, throwing the Mchip player across the room as I gripped my
textbook. No, this is
ridiculoushow could such a simple, self-indulgent tune... I took
several deep breaths to calm myself and returned to reading Analyses of
Failed Revolutions and Counter-revolutions.
It is believed that the violent
music the Blackbridge Hundred listened to incited their radical
activities. Robert Yakov, a
witness of the Blackbridge Riots, said that those damn Blackbridge hooligans
were always playing that ridiculous *expletive deleted* music over the public
speakers when they took power.
Indeed, the normalizing counter-revolution immediately banned the works
of the three main musicians associated with the Blackbridge Riots after their
coup the following year.
I paused, wondering if my song held such power. I quickly dismissed the thought,
reminding myself of the councils ridiculous insistence on the dangerous
intoxicating potential of earlier art forms. I stared at the Mchip player lying disheveled in the corner,
powerless. Yet somehow, the echoes
of the many times Id listened to it remained lodged in my brain, flying back
and forth like drunken bats. I
slammed the book shut and dove into my bed, turning my sleepwave generator on
full volume, hoping to sleep off the vile influence of Rexs music.
Even
without the music to listen to, the song
still echoed in my mind. I needed to hear it again, I ached for it. I felt a hollow dread break out as the
Mchip broke in half inside the player.
Cheap piece of I hurriedly taped it back together, but
it refused to play. I was
probably listening to that stupid song too much anyway, I thought, trying to calm myself down.
Every
free second, the song returned to mock me, disrupting my reading, driving me to
seething frustration when I studied.
This is ridiculous, I thought as
I lay awake one night. If I could
just listen to it one more time I
refused to return to Rexs. I had
to think of my future in the family and my schoolwork. Wed repaid our debts to each other and
I had no more reason to subject myself to his leering presence.
Roxana.
Of
course; a student at P.U.M.A. would probably know more about obtaining rare
pre-rev traks than the average person.
This novel is in no way affiliated with the band Led
Zeppelin (performer and author of the song Houses of the Holy.) The title is being used purely as
literary allusion. Excerpts of
songs (centered in italics in the text) are:
Chapter 6, 17 – Houses of the Holy, Led
Zeppelin
Chapter 10 – Rock and Roll, Led Zeppelin
I am not seeking to profit off the work of the above
artists, only to allude to their wonderful music. I checked the legality of this action by looking at Haruki
Murakami books, which regularly reference and quote popular songs, in
particular his novella Norwegian Wood, which is titled after a Beatles
song.