Streets of blood

5

Imran was late back from Shoreditch, and Rani was fretting over the chicken jalfrezi, splashing ghee all over the kitchen floor and the hem of her sari. Her nerves were still frayed from the attack, not least because she was sure she hadn’t heard the last of it. All day the front room, kept only for honored visitors, had seen a procession of cousins and friends who all suddenly developed an inventive range of pretexts for calling, usually soon after Imran had been using the telecom. She knew he was probably putting the word out. Today at least he’d been out of her hair, out hawking some Italian BTL chips and shady cyberware. Usually he traded in kind, haggling and bartering for goods he could then pass on in turn, balancing every deal with the finesse of a watchmaker. He enjoyed the game, reveled in bargaining with his fellow traders and customers, and salted away the favors any ork needed to get by in the world. It upped your survival chances like nobody’s business when the racists knew you had heat on call.

Sanjay was happy, too. Most of the nuyen he’d gotten in exchange for his home-cooked drugs had come up good, and one he’d even been able to "tune up," as he put it. He was dulled with poppy now, but he’d be heading for Mohsin’s soon, checking out the skillwires and street cyberware. She smiled remembering the day Sanjay had come home, stiff and sore, with the muscle replacements. Though grimacing with pain, he’d lifted her clean off the floor in his arms, not something he’d been able to do since that horrific day and night of agony when she had transformed. The new biceps gleamed under his oiled skin and she could see the enlarged pectorals straining under his sweat-soaked shirt. Mohsin was distant family; street gear was a far sight safer when the scalpel was wielded by one’s own blood.

Her reverie was broken by the sound of Imran giving his signal at the front door. She ran to unbolt the chains and locks, eager to see him. He bundled roughly past her, carrying a heavy aluminized case.

"It’s been a good day, sister!” He grinned, but barely gavt her a glance, intent on fumbling with the heavy catches and maglock of the case.

"What you got there, Imran? A body?" She was nervous, her attention skipping between the suitcase and the faintest smell of jalfrezi beginning to burn in the kitchen.

“Much better. I have work with the family for this weekend, and this little beauty will be just the ticket."

Rani’s face fell, knowing exactly what work with the family meant.

"The real thing, you know?” He caressed the sleek steel barrel of the heavy pistol, handling it with as much love as if it were a newborn baby. “The Ares Predator II, perfect smartgun link,” he beamed, holding out the handle to show her the interface. “And a fifteen-clip of armor-piercing! Real UCAS stock, none of that spamming East European imitation.” He flourished the vicious APDS bullets with an air of triumph. “You could knock a rhino over with this." He laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, if you could find a zoo that had a rhino left, you know? I’ll be busy this weekend, so you’re going to have to stay behind the bolts and chains and wait for your brother to bring back serious money!"

Rani did not reply. The moment he glanced up at her from his precious hardware, he saw by her crossed arms and the firm set of her jaw that she was prepared for a showdown. He decided to be reasonable first, insistent later.

"Let’s talk about it over dinner. You should honor your brother for doing his work. Where’s my dinner, woman?” He was trying to be jocular, and Rani acquiesced with the appearance of a real smile, but only for a fleeting moment. Imran knew that Sanjay wouldn’t be any help in his present state, so he scurried to the telecom while she went to the kitchen to dish out his food. He had just finished tapping in Aqib’s telecom code when Rani pressed the cancel button.

“No, brother. This one we will talk about alone.”

He had tried the standard appeals and tactics, praising her cooking beyond remotely plausible limits, telling her that handsome Ravi wanted to call on her this weekend, and then finally serving up his usual trump card of tradition. “We survive as family," he had pleaded. ‘‘Our customs and traditions keep us together. You bring me honor when you care for me in our home, which is your workplace. But the world is my domain. I am a man and that is my place. We survive because we hold to what is established, safe-real. Our father would not wish it otherwise.”

That had been unwise, and Imran regretted it immediately. Appealing to the authority of their dead father was a low blow. Tears formed in Rani’s eyes at the mere mention, but she would not budge.

“Imran, brother, if I were only a nice little sari-wearing gopi in the kitchen I would have been dead two days ago. I would have walked up the street to buy chicken and fish and they would have ripped me apart. I’m alive because I am not like that.”

"If you had stayed at home where you belong, you would not have been walking the streets at night at all! Perhaps they were the sort of men who attack the kind of filthy women who do that. One of them was killed that very same night, did you know that?" His disapproval was strong, but she had a crushing rejoinder.

“Me? Take me as a streetwalker? Who’d have me? I’m an ork. Who’d pay to have my body?" As she shook with anger and hurt, his arguments evaporated instantly. They had transformed together, brother and sister, and that bond was too close for him not to register her pain. He rose and took her gently into his arms, hugging her gingerly, but he sensed the strength in Rani that allowed her to express hurts he’d never been able to face within himself.

"I want to go with you," she said softly. “I want to help.”

“Rani. Sister. I fear for you, you know that. If you come with us. I will be so worried about you that I won’t be able to do my own job. Please, stay with Sanjay. You’ll be safe here." It wasn’t going to work, and he knew it.

“No. I’m coming. I can use a gun as well as you can. I’ll stay out of trouble, but I want to be there. Who could you trust more?"

He accepted defeat gracefully. “It will be family; Aqib, Wasim, and Sachin, maybe Rajiv if he can get away from that wife of his.” That broke the tension, leaving them laughing together at the thought of poor Rajiv and his huge, domineering wife who ruled the home as tyrannically as any corporate CEO.

"All right, then," Imran said finally. "The job is set for tomorrow. We’ll be using a friend of Mohsin’s for wheels, because the place is somewhere sixty miles north of here. All we have to do is take potshots at a suit visiting a laboratory. We don’t even have to hit him to make our money. I suppose they just want to put a good scare in him."

Rani was curious to know more. “Why you? Why not hire some slints from the Squeeze? That would be the obvious thing to do.”

“I guess it’s because the people racking up the nuyen know better than to do the obvious. They’re smart. I think I like working for smart people, judging by the size of the credstick. And we got a slice upfront plus the hardware. Rani, go see Old Chenka tomorrow. Ask for her blessing and a little something, huh?”

His sister smiled ruefully in reply. Chenka, ancient and toothless, always knew whenever the family was involved in a run because they always came to her for a blessing and one of her paper-wrapped herbal tuixtures. As always, they would sit in silence, drinking steaming green tea, the old woman rocking slightly in her chair and gazing fixedly at them with squinting, half-closed eyes. Seeing everything, most likely.

Imran had not told Rani the exact target of the run. He figured she didn’t need to know until they were well beyond the Smoke, safer because they’d be traveling by night. Otherwise, she might ask too many questions, and he wasn’t sure he’d have enough of the answers.