From the Street to the Stars (Andy Nebula: Interstellar Rock Star, Book 1)

Chapter 20: Fangs

I might have given up hope then, except I knew The Dealer was wrong. Meta could get back in. She still had the keychip.

I wriggled around until I had a clear view of the door, and waited for it to open. Any minute now, she'd come in and free me, and then—there had to be some way to get help, some kind of emergency communicator, or some way to talk to the computer, or—

But Meta didn't come back, and didn't come back, and didn't come back, while my legs and arms tingled, then grew numb. I wriggled, trying to force blood into my limbs, but the hydra's tanglegun had netted me too tightly. If Meta didn't come soon, I might not even be able to walk.

She didn't come soon. They've found her, I thought bitterly. The Dealer would show up soon, addict her to flash to ensure her cooperation, and then use her as a hostage to ensure mine.

And the scary thing was, I knew it would work.

Back in Fistfight City I'd avoided making "friends." The kind of friends you made on the street were worse than a nuisance. They died, or disappeared, or cheated or robbed you the first chance they got. I'd taken care of myself and liked it that way. Back then, I wouldn't have lifted a finger to save a rich kid like Meta, or anyone else. Other people weren't my concern. I had my own problems.

But Meta... Meta really was a friend, the first real friend I'd ever had. She'd already rescued me once. If The Dealer had her, I would do anything to free her—even sign a legal contract.

That's it! I thought suddenly. If he has me legally, it won't matter what she tells anyone. He'll let her go!

And I'd be like poor Paris Paradise, like the frozen figure of Paul Jerez, still streaked with sweat from a dance that he'd performed hours ago in real time, drugged, hypnotized, locked in a bubble of alternity.

Better that than Meta addicted to flash, or simply murdered.

The adrenalin of being captured drained away, the fear of what would happen next and the expectation of Meta's entrance followed, and in their absence, my body took a notion to do the natural thing—sleep.

I woke in terror and thrashed around wildly, coming out of a horrible dream where I was surrounded by hydras trying to stuff gigantic wafers of flash into my mouth—and rolled right into Meta, who squeaked and fell over. I blinked at her over my gag as she crawled back to me and went to work on my bonds with my knife. "Mmmmph. Mmmmmmmmph!" I demanded, and she pulled off my gag, taking what little facial hair I had with it. "Took you long enough," I grumbled.

"That big hydra was outside for hours. He finally went away—had to go to the bathroom or something, I guess." She stopped clipping for a second. "How do hydras go to the bathroom?"

"If you don't hurry you'll be able to ask The Dealer himself!"

She redoubled her efforts, but the sticky green web from the big hydra's tanglegun didn't yield easily. It took several minutes to free me and it was several more before I could stand, on legs that burned and tingled. I swayed. "Can you walk?" Meta asked anxiously.

"If I can't, I'll crawl. Let's get out of here."

I almost did have to crawl. My legs didn't want to work, and twice I stumbled on the way to the door. I hesitated there for a minute. Should I wait for my legs to recover? If the big hydra was back, we'd have to run for it—

But then I remembered just how fast that hydra could move. If we had to run, we were already caught. Our only hope was that the hydra had been called away by something more than nature—or else that hydras took a long time to go to the bathroom.