First draft

Doc Ruby

Raw and uncut, let me know what you think...


The first thing I noticed was the dead girl on the table.

Blood had spread like a lopsided crimson chrysanthemum on her blouse, pooling under one side of her and dripping to the floor. A tang of disinfectant hung in the air, as though the grimy little apartment wanted to smell like a morgue to match the decor. Maybe it was coming from the half empty bottle of arkhi that stood beside her.

Normally something like that would grab your attention as a big neon sign that the deal had gone sour, but not with these jokers. I wondered briefly if she was a gen-job they had splattered for effect, but that would have been too highbrow, easier just to grab some streetwalker or maybe an unfaithful girlfriend. Domestic disturbance callout, code thirty two, some dark and wretched part of my mind giggled.

I'd been expecting some kind of lockup etiquette gesture, and they hadn't dissappointed.

The one in the middle there, with the white pleather jacket rolling over a perfectly spherical belly like a scoop of greasy ice cream, he was called Uto, and he had a face even his mother wouldn't vote for. The other two looked on with the flat shark eyes of muscle everywhere.

I'd come this far on a rattletrap converted c-hauler to the Khövsgöl border of the New Mongol Republic, the Switzerland of Mongolia, latest member of the North Asian Combine, to do a deal with the border gutters and get my hands on some vintage gentech documents from before the sea rose up and swallowed the dreams of utopia, agri-gen that would put a smile on the faces of whichever shareholders picked it up. Things were still toothy out this part of the world, with hill farmers and former hardliners turned smugglers holding out on the Combine Inspectorate, narco and live beef fetching equal prices for the enterprising sons of the steppe.

My sub was waiting back at Baicheng on the coast. My contact Tomasz hadn't made the meeting, which was two parts bad one part worse.

I gazed levelly over the sepia toned mass of her hair at Uto to let him know it didn't bother me. Maybe it should have. Maybe it did. The same instinct you grow like a callus that keeps you warm also keeps you cold. Until later, but you can stay one step ahead of later for a long time. Keep your cool, like Cap had told me in that way of his, nobody can take nothin' away from you son, that you don't let 'em.

A piebald sallow gold smile stretched under dark eyes and lank hair, which he pushed aside with a hand like a shovel.

"You come at time, this is good. So where your friend, we meet two of you here. Maybe I make a call to check this okay."

Deliberately and languidly I looked at my wristpad, causing one of the two apes to reach for something behind his back, they were younger guys, all swagger and bluster. Stupid. Uto waved his hand palm down, flicking a glance edgeways, and the buzzcut with the pinprick pupils relaxed a little.

While the wristpad looked like the kind of throwaway piece of junk that people bring to these dinner parties, I'd had it fixed to scan and decrypt all bands in the area. There was something on passive in one of the gang's pockets, but nothing active.

"Sure, he couldn't make it. So what, I've got everything that matters here in this bag."

Unlocking the briefcase I gently placed it on the table next to the dead girl. She didn't seem to mind. Taking in the solid purple stacks of neopac credits, Uto smiled again, with a glitter in his eyes this time. He pulled out the documents I wanted, and laid them on the table.

"One only," he said, "one-of-a-kind, very special. This is your lucky day ha. Haha!"

Maybe it was, but that didn't make me feel any better. Collecting the documents, I gave a tight little smile and turned away slightly, figuring I could double check the details with Tomasz. When his tone rang out of the pocket of the jumpy bodyguard, I felt a whole lot worse, and right then it all went to hell.

pickarooney

Love the tone of the piece. Some of the descriptions are bang-on

a perfectly spherical belly like a scoop of greasy ice cream

a face even his mother wouldn't vote for

, others collapse under their own weight

flat shark eyes of muscle

A piebald sallow gold smile

and a few other things had me scratching my head

some kind of lockup etiquette gesture

Is this where it begins or is it from part-way into the story?

Doc Ruby

pickarooney wrote: »

Is this where it begins or is it from part-way into the story?

Its kind of a narrative cut from an ongoing piece I'm playing around with, I was trying to capture a kind of noir feel while doing a near-future techno thing, a touch of Gibson with his impenetrable slang, after global warming has done its worst. I read a few well known noir short stories to get the pace and turn of phrase, then just wrote that up in one sitting.

There are about fifty places I'd change and edit it now though, in hindsight, short as it is!

Thanks for the thoughts and criticisms, any more would be welcome!