Skin (12 page)

Imogen was
preening herself, taking in the adoration of the crowd and blowing
them kisses. She wore a silver outfit that looked part swimsuit,
part medieval armour, ignoring the rules of the standard issue
fight uniform.

She was
beloved by these people and now I was going to make certain that I
bested her, that I would be beloved by the end of the night.
I
’d never seen her fight before, but from what I knew
of her, what I’d seen from her on the floor, I knew it would be a
careful blend of theatre and grace and sex.

We met in the
centre of the cross and the alien soldiers issued their cry to let
the games begin. I readied myself for what was about to come out
from beneath the stage, taking deep centring breaths.

I
lowered myself into a fighting crouch stance and for a brief and
startling second the crowd fell away and I was ten years old in the
old boxing ring at my mother
’s gym and she was
teaching me that very same crouch as Dimie looked on.

“
You get
low so it gives you a space to spring from,” she said. “But not too
low, you don’t want to waste even a slice of a second by having to
get up any further, plus you don’t know how long you’ll be waiting
there so you don’t want your legs getting tired from just standing
around.”

“
Like
this, Mama?” my child self said as he took on the same stance that
my adult body was now locked into.

“
That’s
great, my boy. You’re a natural.”

The
vision snapped away like it had been popped. I blinked and tried to
shake the memory of it out of my head. That was more than a few
lifetimes ago. I wasn
’t called Rev then.

I waited for
the beast to appear and saw too that Imogen was starting to look
around, both of us wondering why nothing was emerging from beneath
the stage or lowered from above. I started to relax out of the
crouch stance, something was wrong. The stage must be broken.

The crowd saw
it first, their hush of awe disconcerting. I looked all around,
Imogen doing the same, and then we saw it too. From the exact
centre of the cross, a small device about the size of my fist, had
appeared, rising up like a sprinkler valve. A black mist oozed out
of the gasket, a dark gas hovering half a foot above the stage. It
was formless but stayed massed as a cloud. How was I meant to punch
a cloud?

The mist
swirled up into a tall funnel shape and then shot downward,
spreading about our feet.

Wading
ankle deep in a formless enemy, I shouted
“What the
hell is this?”

“
Demon,
I’m guessing,” Imogen said. “Or maybe a ghost. I don’t know, Sveta
is the wildlife expert, not me.” She was taking high, horrified
steps through the black smoke like a cat stepping through cold
water.

I tried
kicking at it. I tried swiping a slap at it, hitting into nothing
with my palm. The mist just dissolved around me and reformed,
swirling, dark and even without any kind of face or expression, it
was clearly angry.

The mist
swirled like a miniature tornado and came at me. There was no
impact as the thing moved right through my body, just pain like
fire scalding me right through into my deepest self. I reeled and
watched it do the same thing to Imogen, knowing by the twist of
anguish on her face that she was feeling that same hurt.

This
wasn
’t fair. How were we meant to attack something
that couldn’t be touched? Maybe it was some kind of joke on Sveta’s
part, some kind of punishment against me, but for what? It had to
be a test, to prove I was really worthy of her. But why take that
out on Imogen? She danced about, slapping at the stuff as I had
done.

If only it had
a body, something I could lay my fists into. I would’ve preferred
to be set against one of those slathering werewolves or another
million insects, at least I’d know how to hit one. I imagined the
mist solidifying into the form of a werewolf, hardening like dark
rock and as I did, Imogen’s hand collected with the stuff with an
undeniable thud of impact. The cloud howled and Imogen looked at
her hand in shock.

“
How’d
you do that?” I yelled over the noise in the arena.

“
No
idea!”

Was it
time? Had the thing become corporeal eventually and
that
’s why she’d been able to get a hit in? I tried it
myself but just as before, my hand travelled right through it as if
it wasn’t there. The crowd laughed and it cut through me with more
force than the demon mist of whatever the hell it was. I needed to
hurt it, I needed to feel something collide with my force and see
this ridiculous thing sent reeling back into whatever weird hell it
had been ripped from. I thought again of what it would be like if
it were solid, a set form like lava hardened into rock and imagined
shattering it into a thousand pieces. Imogen hit it again,
collecting it with a punch and then following just behind with a
swift kick.

“
I’ve
got it,” I yelled at her. I tried again to imagine the thing as a
solid body and again, Imogen kicked the mist and sent it flying to
the long end of the cross.

“
Imagine
it has a body,” I yelled to her. “Visualise it as something you can
hit and then you can.”

Imogen nodded
that she understood. The mist collected itself and tore again
towards me. There was no way I was letting that heat inside of me
again. As the thing came to me, I shoved at it and could only pray
that it would work. My hands connected with something hot and hard
where before they had just felt air and the demon mist shot
backwards, howling in rage.

Imogen shot
after it and I followed. From either side we attacked, blow for
blow until the thing began to separate and dissolve, all the while
howling in an ear splitting screech. The pieces fell smaller and
soon stopped trying to reconnect. We had killed it together.

The
crowd cheered. I was breathing hard and barely able to stand
without my legs shaking. Imogen looked just as beat.
I
’d was set against the seemingly unbeatable and I’d
still won.

The crowd was
ecstatic and I was not far behind them. Imogen held up my hand,
clasped in hers as we turned and drank in the cheers. I pulled her
into me and kissed her passionately on the mouth. The crowd went
even more wild. I felt Imogen at first stiffen and resist but then
soften, kissing me back voraciously. It was all just for the show,
of course, but even under the lights, in front of those thousand or
more eyes, I felt myself get hard.

Imogen
pushed me back, slapping me on the cheek and wearing an impish
smile that said she hadn
’t completely disagreed with
my bold move, but now it was time to start round two.

Imogen
too took up a ready stance. She was waiting for me to make the
first move, something I didn
’t want to do but the show
had to move forward so this time I would play her game. I went in
with a swift punch, just a light jab to see how she would react.
Imogen deflected it effortlessly and replied with her own sting
that sailed right through into my shoulder. I took another swing
and, like before, left myself wide open and she threw her heel into
my guts, smiling all the while she knocked me windless.

Hit her,
I chanted to myself as he peeled my body off the mat. The fight
with the demon ghost mist thing had left me drained. The
combination of the mental energy it took to hold the thing in firm
form and smack it at the same time was exhausting, but Imogen
didn
’t seem to be lacking strength.

I crouched
again and this time didn’t need to wait for her to move. She shot
at me, her fists flailing in a blur and while I managed to duck a
few, I wove myself into her path and again I fell. Again the crowd
jeered and laughed.

Get up,
I ordered myself. Get up and smack her down. Imogen did not wait
for me to get back up before she set on me again, kicking at my
ribs with those fur covered legs that I had, on more than a few
occasions, imagined sliding my hands up higher and higher past her
thighs and higher still, curious at what I might find. It
wasn
’t that the demon had worn me out, I suddenly
realised. It was Imogen. I didn’t want to hit her. I wasn’t allowed
to hit her.

The
chant of Imogen
’s name came from the crowd as a single
voice. The only time I heard my name called was in taunting insults
and screams for me to fight like a man. It was more than I could
stand. I rolled and grabbed onto her ankle, reefing her hard to the
ground with surprise on his side. She fell hard on her back and I
climbed on top of her, pressing my knee into her throat, holding
her down in forced paralysis.

“
Do you
yield?” I said. Imogen swatted at me, struggling to breathe, but it
was useless, she was beaten. I hadn’t even needed to hit
her.

The Guardians
gave their pronouncement that I was the victor and I let her rise.
The crowd erupted into a cheer and once more, I drank in the sound
of my new name being praised on their call.

I was starved
after the fight and Sveta had Simone bring us a spread of fruits,
cheese and dried venison. I barely tasted it as I shovelled it into
my face. We sat in the room she called her den on either end of the
long hard settee. There was no TV, just the seat and a low table
scattered with nature and science periodicals from all over the
world, none of them in English. Mariosa snoozed at her feet and
Quiello, the tiny colour changing monkey, jumped and playfully hung
off my body in the same way as I had hung off the ropes and webs on
the cross.

Quiello
was my favourite of Sveta
’s pets, and one of Sveta’s
favourites too. An empath marmoset, she called him. His golden fur
changed colour to match the moods of whoever was closest. It
flickered green with me, hazing into silver and flashing into the
deep red of annoyance. I tickled his ear and he soothed back into
gold.

The only
window in the room was a view to her indoor atrium and
that
’s where she stared, chewing slowly and not
listening to a word I was saying.

“
Did you
hear me?” I said.

She
shook her head and gave me that little coy smile that makes her
look a lot younger and drives me wild as a kind of apology and it
almost worked.
“I’m sorry darling, I’m distracted by a
few things, what were you saying?”

“
I said
that it was a bit of a letdown that Imogen fell quite so easily
once I got a hold of her. Don’t you think? It would’ve been good
for it to drag on a bit longer, give a much better show. Plus we
didn’t exactly get to go into anything interesting. I would’ve
liked to see her fight when she was really pressed with her back
against the wall. And you’re not even listening to me.”

There was
something not right about her. I was starting to get peeved, she
was staring at the space between us.

“
You’ve
been weird since yesterday. You mind telling me what’s got your
attention?”

“
Oh it’s
nothing you’d be interested in,” she said and looked embarrassed.
She leaned over to take another fig off the platter on the low
table and that’s when I saw it. A padding of surgical dressings on
the back of her neck, concealed by her long hair, leading down
under her top. How had I missed that before?

“
It’s
nothing,” she said, touching it lightly with her fingertips. “Now,
you were talking about Imogen?”

I knew
by her evasion what was underneath that dressing. More Animus
features. That
’s why she didn’t want to show me or
talk about it. She thought I’d judge her on it. And damn well she
was right.

“
Show
me,” I said. “What is it? Some kind of fur? Maybe some of those
little horn things that a lot of them are getting.”

“
Them?
You’re always so quick to separate. Them and you. Is that the way
it’s going to be between us? You’re always going to see me as one
of “them” some arbitrary distance separating you from anyone else
based on something so superficial? We’re all people, Rev, and
you’re more like one of
us
than you know.”

“
Just
show me,” I said, trying to make my voice sound soft despite the
annoyance I was feeling. Where did she get off giving me a lecture
about social inclusions and acceptance of Animus. I’d made out with
Imogen in front of everyone. I was living with her wasn’t I? If I
was the bigot she was trying to make me out to be, surely I
wouldn’t be shacked up with a woman I would have not that long ago
called a snake eyed freak.

“
Please?”

She
sighed.
“OK, you can look, but you can’t say
anything.”

I agreed and
she stood, unbuttoned her blouse and gently removed the dressing
and turned around with her back to me. I let out a quiet gasp.

She stood
before me, naked from the waist up, the delicate muscles of her
perfect back rising up to those sylphlike shoulders that now
glistened with the delicate shimmering serpent scales. Where her
human flesh met her snake skin was red and raw around the
edges.

I wanted to
reach out and touch it, touch her, but I stayed sitting, looking,
drinking in the sight of this exotic beauty and thinking of nothing
else but making love to her.