Yarn (29 page)

"Eight," shout-whispered Xavier as the ship began to shudder. I could hear the motors whine.

"Five!… Four!"

"Vada," I said as I heard several fabric tears.

"Three… two…"

"I'll always want you." The cloth above our heads ripped.

"Zero! Jump! Now! Destination! Target!" Xavier's voice was a pistol discharging into the air.

We were above the far edge of the mosh where it met a glass fence at the edge of the amphitheater. Beyond was only the sheer drop of the tower, an ocean of vapor, and, far below, the hard earth. I tried to find Vada's eyes amid the shadows and darkness to see if she had heard, but except for the shape of her dress, the puff of a sleeve cap, and the wrinkles of her bodice everything was black.

"Now!" shouted Xavier. "Jump now. Jump now!"

Re-grasping the rope, I leapt through the opening and plunged into pure icy cold. Clenching every muscle, I hung on to the rope as it was pulled taut-vibrated a low C-and then yanked me backward. When I let go, I spun head over feet.

ANTARCTICA: MB INDUSTRIES BUILDING #9

The windowless building was made of brick and painted the color of exhausted earth. And as I slowly approached, I saw a guard sitting at the bottom of the dry moat that surrounded the place. He peered up at me from shadow. While his shirt was fresh and smooth, his pants didn't look like they'd seen the affection of an iron in a long time. Worse, the knees had been distended and probably not just from protracted sitting, but weak fibers, low-spun yarn, and the application of some cheap finishing solution for shine and fit. When I stopped ten feet away, he uttered his predictable taradiddle, "Can I help you?"

I stopped at the edge of the moat and pointed at the structure with my chin. "Inside." I trusted the guard to add both subject and predicate.

He squinted up at me unhappily, chewing the inside of his right cheek. After a long moment, he spoke. "You need credentials."

"Name's Tane," I told him.

He stopped chewing, his mouth flattened into a thin line. "What?"

"Tane Cedar," I enunciated. "Men's Precision Tailor."

"You got credentials?"

"Tell the rep I'm here."

"No one goes in without credentials."

If he said that word once more, I thought I might rip his shirt apart and make a gag with it. I pointed at the building behind him. "They know me." I hoped it was true. Glancing up at the sky as if content to watch the filmy clouds swim by, I noted that I didn't hear gravel beneath the soles of his plasticott shoes. I inhaled, and then as loudly and angrily as I could, screamed, "Do it now, smuthead!" I saw my own spittle fly toward the shadows and fall near the scuffed toes of his shoes.

It was the man's belly that reacted first, stretching in pulls and wrinkles across his shirt. Then he swallowed, and I could see the strain around his eyes as he tried to shore up his front of disinterest and disapproval. For a moment, his lips flexed as if he were about to speak, maybe even mention
credentials
again, but then he looked away, fumbled his weight left and right, and finally, muttering a string of curses, pushed himself up, and trudged to the left.

A minute later, I heard "Tane Cedar?" The guard stood, his hand clasped protectively over his belly. "Very sorry, sir." Turning, he pointed to the far end. "Use the green stairs to the office."

I eyed the guard and nodded. The way he stood there, the orange light heating his face, eyes, and plump body, I felt sorry for him and ashamed of my outburst, even if it was the currency of influence.

The green paint on the stairs was bubbling here and there, where rust sores were about to pop. While my reputation and notoriety hadn't done me much good with Ryder and Zoom, maybe they would be more impressed, here at the end of the slubs.

Under the soles of my shoes, the metal clanked hollowly and the whole staircase swayed. At the roof, the green staircase became a walkway with handrails on either side leading to the peak of the roof, where I was surprised to see a greenhouse about thirty feet across.

As I approached, I saw that the door was slightly ajar. Through the glass, I could see what looked like hotel furniture.

"Hello?" I heard no reply and pushed open the door. Inside sat a black desk and chair, a bed, and a night table. Straight in back was another glass door that probably led down to the mill, and beside that door stood a dressing screen where a figure was visible through the pebbly glass, dyed burgundy hair peeking above the edge. All I could tell through the distortion was that the person was lean and was apparently dressing slowly.

I licked my dry lips. "I'm looking for the rep. I have business."

The figure paused and then with renewed energy finished buttoning something around her neck and stepped from behind the screen. I felt a shock of recognition: Pilla. It was impossible-and yet I knew immediately it was her. Though her skin was a shade lighter, probably bleached from the long darkness of Antarctica's winters, and her hair was no longer a cartoonish orange but a dignified shade of oak, the tiny and heartbreaking sadness that had filled her eyes remained. The real change was the ring embedded in her neck.

A brilliant gold, two inches wide and a quarter of an inch thick, the metal pierced a good pinch of her flesh on the left side of her throat. It took me a second to decide that the ring wasn't some antipodal fashion statement. In that knot of flesh, the ring passed around her jugular. And from there the ring was tethered with a titanium rope to an I-beam above. It was not jewelry but a leash.

Her eyes traveled to my shoes and back up. For a moment a smile played at the corners of her mouth, but quickly soured. "Don't tell me you're here to see me."

"Of course I am. I'm on a supply errand and was directed here by a couple of fabric jobbers." I stepped across the threshold as the door closed behind me. "I love your new hair color! It works so well with your skin tone, it must be your original shade. It's a perfect juxtaposition." I smiled a little harder. "Curiously, I used a shade of brown exactly like it in a necktie just the other day." My eyes darted toward her jugular-she wasn't in charge here; she was another prisoner. "We never said goodbye in Seattlehama. Things changed quite quickly and drastically, and I had to leave. So I never got to really thank you for my time with Nathan Zanella.

His influence was enormous and I doubt I-" I stopped and swallowed. "How are you?"

She laughed at me with bitter delight. "I don't think I ever saw you lie so badly!" I could see the artery encircled by the golden ring pulse.

I peered past her through another glass door that led down a set of stairs. On the floor below, I could see rows of workers sitting on what looked like large plasticott recliners. "This is a Xi mill, isn't it?"

"The last in the world." Pilla stepped toward the desk, touched the screen and fiddled for a moment. She then narrowed her eyes at me. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing!" She did not respond, but gazed impatiently. I had delayed enough. "I need pure Xi. Enough to make a coat."

"You don't still burn, do you?" Her tone was caustic. "It's not the fashion it once was."

"No. I haven't since Seattlehama."

Her fingers moved swiftly over the screen as she tabulated and finished what might have been a factory report. Her fingers stopped. "I never thought I'd see you again."

"Nor I, you!" I tried to smile.

She peered up at me. "You left me in quite a lurch."

"I'm very sorry about that."

"You don't know how bad it was…
is
." She craned her neck to the side. "How do you like my beautiful golden ring?"

My heart was filled with the itchy wool of shame. "I don't know if you know this, but satins pinned Izadora's murder on me. I was arrested and almost killed."

She shrugged sadly. "But you weren't."

I had run a marathon around the globe only to smash into a brick wall two feet from the finish. "Is the Xi for sale?"

"What's your rush?"

"It's for a client. I have a deadline."

She snorted, "Of course," and idly swiped at the screen.

"Is it for sale?" I reached for my wallet. "I'm willing to overpay."

"Why should I help you?"

"I'm sorry about leaving you like I did. And I know I owe you. Name your price for the Xi."

Gently adjusting the golden ring, she shook her head slowly. "What good would money do me?"

"Can't you bribe your way out of here?"

She glared at me.

"Pilla, how did you get here? Who did this to you?"

"I'm not telling you!"

"I'm sure they could be persuaded to let you go."

She laughed heartily at that.

"I've come too far to leave without the Xi." She didn't even look up, just continued working her screen. "What do you want? Don't you want out of here? Don't you want to get out of that ring?"

Pilla frowned at me. "Maybe I like being tethered in this little office atop this factory in the middle of nowhere!"

I pointed over my shoulder. "I have a pair of water-shears in the car. I'll get them recharged, and I'm sure I could cut that thing off."

She flicked angrily at the screen, which went black. "Do you know how much I risked for you? Do you have any fucking idea?"

SEATTLEHAMA: EDGE OF THE AMPHITHEATER STAGE

I came down hard, bounced, and crashed into the floor. As pain flashed in my bones like dots of a constellation, I took stock of myself. I was hurt, but alive. "Hey," I heard from behind. A t'up in a heavy fornication jacket glared at me. "That's not dancing!"

"No," I agreed as I pushed myself up, "I call that falling." Glancing up at the sky. I thought I saw the outline of the Pacifica-a swollen grey torpedo-as it headed back down.
Goodbye, Vada
.
Goodbye
.

Just forty feet ahead was the black stage, where in a cluster of colored spotlights, an old woman rode a large unicycle. Instead of a rubber tire, though, the wheel was made of outward pointing scissors. As she shakily clattered around in a circle, some scissors points seemed to stick into the stage while others slipped. She seemed about to topple at any moment.

A Bunné saleswarrior in a sky-blue minidress and shiny thigh-high boots stepped to my side, eyes bright. She held out a hand. "Presence in the super executive fornication pit necessitates the Super-Core Black Platinum Pass for the Great Suicital Recital Highlights Show. Present your honor, good costumer."

From the inside pocket of my jacket, I took out the printed woven square that Vada had given me. The woman looked it over, her small mouth tightening into a frown. I couldn't believe it. After all that, I was going to be tossed out and never even get the chance to get close to Bunné? The saleswarrior thrust the cloth back at me and produced a tiny smile. "Pain encompasses forgiving." Turning, she strode back to her post. I guessed that was warTalk for
enjoy the show
.

The house voice said, "And now, the apex of the evening… the grand and the magnificent… the craft and the art… the center of our cherished being… the inventor… dancer… singer… model… designer… mathematician… the egg-mother supreme of our sex and shopping city… the slayer of men… the wise of woman… the unity… the harp… the magical… the mysterious… the wet… the impossible… the brilliant show of cause! We bring you the greatest epic creator, the most fashionable leader the world has ever seen… your love… your heart… your mind… your sex! The incomparable and unbelievable pinnacle of humanity and affection: Miss Bunné!"

As the women around me shrieked, flailing their arms, and flung themselves into each other-many fell and were trampled-I pushed back to the glass wall so I wouldn't be knocked flat.

A blast of lights like the exhaust of a rocket enveloped the stage. The glare was so bright I squeezed my eyes shut and covered my face with my forearm. Even so, the light reached me, illuminating an eerie veined world of red behind my eyelids. Once the brightness died down, I was left in a sea of blobby green afterimages. I heard what sounded like massive turbines and then a staccato rhythm began to hammer.

Male dancers in dark jackets, ties, and white tutus entered the stage and flung themselves back and forth frantically. Then two voluptuous, large-eyed women in painted-on nurse uniforms and complicated gas masks wheeled out an empty gurney to the middle of the stage. The crowd seemed to know what this meant and began clapping. And then from above, a woman-Bunné I soon realized-was lowered onto the stage just twenty feet from me.

Her neck, ears, hands, and eyelids were bejeweled with heat sapphires and particle lace. Her short, fluffy, and pure-white hair matched her long, glaring ultra-violet white wedding dress. When she moved, the diaphanous train floated behind like magnetic fog. Even from where I was, I sensed a chilling logic about the garment. It wasn't cut and sewn, but woven whole on some preposterously complicated loom that had been built to make this-and only this-exact dress. For a moment, I was overwhelmed by the geometry of such a thing-this half-woven, half-knit masterpiece of such complexity and ultimate effortlessness.

When her solid silver pumps touched the floor, two boys in black leather shorts rushed out to attach large, pear-shaped earrings that looked like forty-pound anger diamonds. Each boy then labored to support the jewel so it wouldn't tear her lobes.

"In the faint and tarnished vectors of our past," Bunné began, her voice soft and ethereal, "my mother groveled for ears. And when I was hatched among the kernels of despair, my father cut her down for giving him a girl." The dancing men retreated to the shadows as a woman in golden veils came forward, squatted, clenched her face, and then left a large yellow egg on the stage. "As a daughter, I was ravished a thousand chain of moon, I bled from every cut, but I lived on…" Behind Bunné, three of the tutu men came forward. One picked up the egg. For a beat he seemed mesmerized by the thing and then he rubbed it against his crotch. The others laughed, grabbed it away from him, and tried to hump it.