What would hell be without a little music?
Piper found herself musing on that thought, bumping her heel against the metal crate she sat on. Around her, the sweltering dockyard of Hadrian North's riverbank boiled with a noise despite the late hour. Fat, steam-spewing cargo ships crawled by like beetles on the murk of the river, its waters sin-black from decades of pollution. They had to add extra sheets of galvanised armour to the hulls just to get through in one piece. Cranes groaned and engines sputtered in the neon twilight.
Cutting through it all was the jaunty dance of Kirk's fiddle. She bit absent-mindedly into the greasy meat kebab in her hands, eyes sliding to his nimble figure as he pranced and whirled on the edge of the jetty. His right hand moved with the savagery of a saw as he played, a wry smirk plastered across his features, fire-red hair flopping and flailing in all directions.
Passers-by tapped their wrist bands and globecards against the little receiver set up in the metal violin case at his feet, transferring a dribble of crypts into his account. Piper chewed, watching and examining.
No great shine of Hadrian's mega-corporations at this end of dock slums, just a sludge of greys, blacks and browns; all trench coats, heavy boots and ragged clothes. Thick whorls of cigarette smoke formed a smog above it all. Piper watched the flow intently – she wasn't just here to admire Kirk's finger-work. Somebody had to be his spotter, just in case some asshole cutter tried to rob him blind while he played.
Today wasn't that day, happily. Kirk finished off the rapid jig and gave an enthusiastic bow to the small group that had stopped to watch his performance. Piper shifted along the crate to make room for him, sweeping errant locks of ink-black hair back behind her ears with her free hand. Once he'd finished packing up his gear she beckoned, patting the space beside her.
"Not a bad catch," Kirk said brightly, still panting from his exertions. He slung the violin case across his back and hopped up onto the crate to join her.
"That's my little dancer." Piper gave him a coy smile, shovelling her fingers through his tousled mass of hair. "How'd we do?"
Kirk flashed the screen of his wristband to her and didn't manage to maintain his smile. Her face dropped as she stared at the number. Low. Too low for them both.
"Tight bastards out tonight?"
"I guess." His mouth twisted awkwardly. "Everybody's getting squeezed a little harder these days."
"It's not enough."
"Yeah, I know." Kirk's mouth twisted awkwardly. "We'll split seventy-thirty tonight. Make sure your folks get some food."
"But-,"
"I'll be fine tonight. Dad's still got some waterscrap to drain out. Should get us a few crypts once its cleaned and polished."
"Kirk..."
He shook his head. "Piper, I'll be fine."
"Thanks," she said after a moment, unable to keep the sadness out of her smile as she handed him the kebab. "Then get some of that down you."
Kirk sighed, and swayed over to kiss the ghost-pale skin of her cheek, before ripping a hunk out of the kebab with his teeth and chewing voraciously. His own skin was flushed crimson after two hours of non-stop dancing and playing.
"S'not bad," he muttered around the mouthful. "What'd they have today?"
"Probably better if we don't know what's in it," she replied with a wry smile. "But it better be good. Skimmed me ten crypts for it."
"Bugger me." Kirk swallowed, tore another mouthful loose and handed it back.
She sidled closer, pressing her thigh against his and resting a head on his shoulder, biting into the kebab. Whatever it was, the vendor had lathered it with enough synthetic spices to make it taste pretty good.
She let her gaze wander past the docks. On their left, rising like a cliff was the great fortress bridge that connected the two halves of Hadrian, glittering with searchlights that revealed the silhouettes of corporate security patrolling its length. Massive guard towers climbed into the night, their eyes trained on the black wreckage across the water. Nothing and no-one crossed that bridge with out the corps' say-so.
"Look close," Kirk said quietly. "You can see the wraiths out there on the banks."
Piper followed his pointing figure. Squinting, she could just make out dark shapes on the far bank slouching back and forth with all the energy of a trance, their metal frames glinting dully as they reflected the neon-plastered shore of Hadrian North. The codewraiths: remnants of another time – a reminder that humans and AIs had once tried to share power.
The ruin of Hadrian South was testament to how well that had gone.
"Creepy bastards," Piper muttered. "Can't believe they're still out there after all this time."
"Right enough." Kirk sighed. "But that's those corporate spivs for you. Wreck a world and leave the mess for someone else to sweep up."
She nodded. At eighteen, Kirk was a year younger than her, but sometimes he seemed to have a weary old head on his shoulders. He could have filled books with every rant about the injustices in Hadrian.
They lapsed into silence, trading bites of the kebab and watching the wraiths' mindless procession until night took full grip of Hadrian. Eventually a cigarette-sucking dock supervisor shooed them away and they took off, hand in hand, scampering across the jetties, dodging growling forklifts and swinging cargo crates until they slipped into the narrow streets beyond.
Bright lights belched at them from stores that were little more than cupboards jammed into the outer walls. Metal-sheeted buildings formed a grimy labyrinth, its air thick with chemical tang.
Around here nothing could get more than a couple of stories high – the cheap crap the corps used to build the slums would implode if they put any more strain on them. More than once Piper had managed to stick a boot straight through the floor in her own house. Above it should could see the arrogant skyscrapers of Hadrian's self-styled rulers, hundred-storey advertising boards for each vampire at the top of the food chain.
She tried not to think about that right now. At least tonight she would be able to scrape together proper meals for her mother and sister. There was only room for so much fury in her mind each day. You could go crazy if you let yourself think about everything wrong with the world.
"Ahhh, you've gotta be kidding me."
Kirk's groan jerked her from her thoughts and she felt his hand tighten around hers. She looked up sharply and saw at a bend in the alley ahead, three figures had emerged. After a couple of seconds she recognised them.
"Shit, Kirk," she muttered, nudging him as they halted. "I thought we squared up with Barson already! What the hell did you do to him this time?"
"We did square up," Kirk muttered contemptuously. "Idiot just wants to play at being a big bad gangster like his daddy and shake down half the bloody bloc."
Piper pulled a sour face, one hand slipping into the back pocket of her jeans and closing around the solid grip of her flick-blade. As the trio of youths swaggered into place to block their path she eased it free, keeping it closed for now. The leader stepped forward – a gangly, narrow-eyed young man whose black overcoat hung awkwardly on his skeletal frame. His skull was shaven, and a feeble attempt at a beard darkened his chin. His mouth opened in a gross smile, revealing half a dozen metal teeth.
"If it ain't the dock's favourite little double act," Barson sneered. "Hoped we'd catch up to you tonight."
"I don't do private gigs," Kirk shot back. "And I'm pretty sure we already paid up for the month."
"Rates change." Barson shrugged. "And I reckon from your haul tonight you're good for an extra ten percent."
Piper felt rage creeping through her body. Barson was a bullying little shit who got away with what he did because of his father – a genuinely scary individual who ran the rackets on the eastern docks. They'd already paid their cut to allow Kirk to ply his trade. Barson was just trying to prove he was as hard as his old man.
"You should lay off the pills; they're missing with your RAM," she said icily, tapping her temple with one finger. "Take your ten percent and shove it right up your ass. You've got everything we owe you."
Barson's eyes turned to her; his smile broadened and he exchanged a mischievous look with the boys to his left and right.
"C'mon, Piper, y' really want to follow around this little folk wannabe for the rest of your life?" He sniggered, looking her up and down with a lecherous eye. "Bet you me 'n the boys could show you a real good time." He took a step towards them and Piper decided she'd heard enough. It had been a long day and the last thing she needed was this grandstanding prick.
In a swift motion she snapped her blade open with a flick of the wrist and stared Barson down, daring him to make a move – to lay a finger on her. She'd cut him in places he'd never forget. The leering boy on the left edged forward and her arm rose sharply, the glint of metal shining in the docklight as she pointed her blade between his eyes.
"Take another step," she challenged, cocking her head to one side. "Give me an excuse."
Beside her Kirk bristled; she could sense his stance shifting, ready to spring. He had a knife of his own somewhere, but the metal violin case was more than serviceable as a blunt weapon in a tight spot. Piper rotated slightly, ready to spring. Although Barson and his cronies were bigger than her, years of hard living on Hadrian's streets had given her a slim, ripcord of a frame. More than one would-be mugger had found out the hard way that she was stronger than she looked.
"Back it up, big man," Kirk grated. "I do business, and I pay my dues, but I'm not gonna piss myself and bend over cos you think you can hack a little extra off the side. I don't give a shit who your dad is. Keep this up and I'll send you back to him on a fucking slab."
Barson's face twisted in anger and he slipped a curved knife from the sheathe at his hip. The others followed suite; blades appearing, shining in the half-light of the alley.
But before anyone could move, a high-pitched screech of static blurted across the air, stinging Piper's eardrums. She let out a hiss of pain, clapping one hand to her ear and looking around for the source.
Then something clunked into view at the far end of the alley.
Something big.
Barson and his lackeys turned towards the figure, and Piper felt a chill of pure terror crawl up her spine when she saw just what had come stomping out of the night.
The thing had a blister of red lighting nodes where its eyes ought to have been, and its vaguely humanoid frame dripped acrid river water; a mess of angular black metal swaddled in ragged fabrics. It had clawed feet that cut into the paving of the alley and where hands ought to have been, there were two club-like appendages of mangled metal, whirring and twisting mindlessly.
A codewraith.
Piper could barely believe her eyes. How the hell did it get here? Even a wraith couldn't swim the polluted waters of the river – it would have been corroded and swept away into nothingness before it got halfway across.
But possible or not, it was standing right in front of her. The red clump of eyes swivelled with a mechanical whirr, and Piper felt them lock onto her; felt it in her bones, like a prickle of needles.
It moved before anyone could react.
The speed of it was frightening. It lurched towards them and one bucket-fist struck the side of Barson's head, snapping his neck with contemptuous ease. The crack echoed through the alley and Barson spun drunkenly for a couple of eerie seconds, his head lolling at an unnatural angle. Then his body seemed to deflate, crumpling in a limp heap on the damp concrete.
Piper just stared. Her mouth hung agape. Her brain frantically scrambled to catch up with what had just happened. For a moment no-one moved. The hesitation cost one of Barson's cronies his life as the codewraith swung again, smashing the spindly youth out of its path and flaying his chest open. Blood sprayed the alley walls. Frozen in place, the surviving thug stared in terror at the wraith.
But he wasn't in its path. Obstacles removed, the codewraith stalked past with deliberate steps, its clustered red eyes focusing on Piper again. She stepped back instinctively, raising her knife for all the use it would be.
Then something grey and bulky flew out of the corner of her eye. An instant later Kirk's violin case smashed into the thing's head with an echoing clang of metal on metal. The sturdy case stayed intact, bouncing off their attacker and clattering to the alley floor. The codewraith stumbled backwards, a blurt of enraged binary code ripping through the air.
A hand clamped down on her wrist and pulled.
"Piper, RUN!"
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