Read Online Steel Sky by Andrew C. Murphy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Andrew C. Murphy
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says quietly, “is that you can never be really sure it’s been fixed. You may think it’s airtight, but really it’s leaking slowly, until one day — Surprise! — everybody wakes up to a blue tongue breakfast!”
The old man crawls to Ready and grabs the hem of Ready’s jacket with both hands, eyes wide with fear. “Please. Please do not hurt us. I swear what I have given you is all I have. Please, I am only a poor man trying to survive!”
Ready turns his head and spits with disgust. “All right. For Koba’s sake, let go of me.” The man lets go and buries his head at Ready’s feet. “I’ll let it go this time, but next time I come ’round you’d better have a little more for me.”
“I will,” the man mumbles into Ready’s feet. “I swear I will.”
“All right, all right. Let’s go, Hoon.”
Ready pushes through the flap separating the family’s room from the rest of the basher boxes. There aren’t many doors in the basher boxes, just holes cut from one space to another. The rooms are built helter-skelter on top of one another, with never more than a few meters of level floor at a time. The rickety walls are built of whatever material is handy: corrugated metal, plastic, cardboard, or even bits of broken glass glued back together.
Hoon giggles as they push through the junk houses. “Good work, Ready,” he says.
Ready says nothing. What kind of a life is this? He wonders if they would take him back at his old job. He wonders how long he could work there without killing himself.
He passes through a hanging metal sheet into a long, dark room lit by a single globe. The floor is sturdy metal. This place was actually built . Perhaps it is part of the maintenance tunnels. “Hey, Hoon,” he says, “do you know where the fuck we are?”
Hoon does not reply immediately, and Ready turns around to look at him. Hoon has an odd look on his face, as if the question is outrageous. His big eyes look even weirder in the dim light. With a grunt, he lowers his head and runs headlong across the floor. His head hits the wall with a loud reverberation. The impact makes a large dent in the soft metal.
Ready guffaws. “You crazy bastard! What the hell was that?”
Without a word, Hoon picks himself up off the floor and bashes his head against the wall again. It crumples further with a deep creaking groan. Something in Hoon’s collar breaks, and the glowbands on his jacket flicker out. He slumps to the ground, his eyes shut and his mouth open.
Ready feels a drop of fear trickle down his spine. Even Hoon isn’t this stupid. Something is wrong. “Hoon,” he says, keeping his voice soft and level, “what the hell are you doing?”
Hoon gets up again. No, that’s not right. This time Ready can see that Hoon is floating up, like a puppet on strings. He swings backward, and now Ready can see it clearly. Hoon’s collar is distended and crumpled, as if someone is holding him up by the collar of his jacket. He is swept forward, and his head slams into the wall one more time. The wall is visibly bowed now, close to collapse. Hoon’s head leaves a long, red streak as he slides to the floor.
“Hoon!” Ready feels sweat tickling his scalp between the rows of his stripecut. He runs across the room to his friend.
He sees the motion an instant before it hits him: a wild movement in the air, a furious rush of elemental force. It explodes in his face, throwing him backward. He lands hard. Bits of broken plastic from his respirator are stuck in his cheek. With his tongue he can feel the sharp edge of one that went all the way through.
The invisible thing grabs him by the collar and swings him around. Ready trips backward over Hoon’s body and collides with the wall. This time the battered wall collapses inward, and Ready lands in the hole, half in the room and half out. Smoke swirls around his head. It’s a chimney vent, he realizes. He can feel the heat rising from far below on the back of his head and
The old man crawls to Ready and grabs the hem of Ready’s jacket with both hands, eyes wide with fear. “Please. Please do not hurt us. I swear what I have given you is all I have. Please, I am only a poor man trying to survive!”
Ready turns his head and spits with disgust. “All right. For Koba’s sake, let go of me.” The man lets go and buries his head at Ready’s feet. “I’ll let it go this time, but next time I come ’round you’d better have a little more for me.”
“I will,” the man mumbles into Ready’s feet. “I swear I will.”
“All right, all right. Let’s go, Hoon.”
Ready pushes through the flap separating the family’s room from the rest of the basher boxes. There aren’t many doors in the basher boxes, just holes cut from one space to another. The rooms are built helter-skelter on top of one another, with never more than a few meters of level floor at a time. The rickety walls are built of whatever material is handy: corrugated metal, plastic, cardboard, or even bits of broken glass glued back together.
Hoon giggles as they push through the junk houses. “Good work, Ready,” he says.
Ready says nothing. What kind of a life is this? He wonders if they would take him back at his old job. He wonders how long he could work there without killing himself.
He passes through a hanging metal sheet into a long, dark room lit by a single globe. The floor is sturdy metal. This place was actually built . Perhaps it is part of the maintenance tunnels. “Hey, Hoon,” he says, “do you know where the fuck we are?”
Hoon does not reply immediately, and Ready turns around to look at him. Hoon has an odd look on his face, as if the question is outrageous. His big eyes look even weirder in the dim light. With a grunt, he lowers his head and runs headlong across the floor. His head hits the wall with a loud reverberation. The impact makes a large dent in the soft metal.
Ready guffaws. “You crazy bastard! What the hell was that?”
Without a word, Hoon picks himself up off the floor and bashes his head against the wall again. It crumples further with a deep creaking groan. Something in Hoon’s collar breaks, and the glowbands on his jacket flicker out. He slumps to the ground, his eyes shut and his mouth open.
Ready feels a drop of fear trickle down his spine. Even Hoon isn’t this stupid. Something is wrong. “Hoon,” he says, keeping his voice soft and level, “what the hell are you doing?”
Hoon gets up again. No, that’s not right. This time Ready can see that Hoon is floating up, like a puppet on strings. He swings backward, and now Ready can see it clearly. Hoon’s collar is distended and crumpled, as if someone is holding him up by the collar of his jacket. He is swept forward, and his head slams into the wall one more time. The wall is visibly bowed now, close to collapse. Hoon’s head leaves a long, red streak as he slides to the floor.
“Hoon!” Ready feels sweat tickling his scalp between the rows of his stripecut. He runs across the room to his friend.
He sees the motion an instant before it hits him: a wild movement in the air, a furious rush of elemental force. It explodes in his face, throwing him backward. He lands hard. Bits of broken plastic from his respirator are stuck in his cheek. With his tongue he can feel the sharp edge of one that went all the way through.
The invisible thing grabs him by the collar and swings him around. Ready trips backward over Hoon’s body and collides with the wall. This time the battered wall collapses inward, and Ready lands in the hole, half in the room and half out. Smoke swirls around his head. It’s a chimney vent, he realizes. He can feel the heat rising from far below on the back of his head and
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