Runaway He could hear his heart, pounding much too fast, each terrified beat forcing more blood from the stab wound. His vision was swimming, blackness tunnelling in as he stumbled onwards, one hand clasped to his bleeding side, the other outstretched to stop himself from crashing into walls and falling…
His ribs ached, as much from his frantic flight from the gang as from the beating they'd given him. Moving hurt. He'd thought letting them use his body would have appeased them, been enough to persuade them to let him go, to escape that - whoever it was, who'd somehow invaded his mind… But no, not these bastards. They'd taken it in turns to fuck him, viciously, then started in with fists and feet. And while Devon was an experienced street-fighter - had had to be in order to survive - he was no match for seven of them. Especially bleeding and in pain as he was.
He'd somehow managed to slip free, but as he was diving towards the nearest alleyway one of them had thrown the knife…
Gasping, at the end of his strength, he staggered and fell against a door, sliding down to land in a puddle of filthy water.
Must get up…
He struggled to rise, only to collapse again, shivering.
… blood loss? Shock?... can't stay here… must…get… away…
The world spun once then vanished as he fell into unconsciousness."Aunty Janet?"
The kindly-faced middle-aged woman looked up from the monitor - then leapt up, overturning her chair as she hastened towards the pretty youngster with the bedraggled, bleeding figure slumped against her.
"Sophia? What…?"
"I found him, Aunty. Two blocks over. In an alley. He's been hurt."
Janet - ex-prostitute, fixer, sometime police informer and Mom to half the waifs and strays in the area - lifted the slight frame into her arms, frowning. Whoever he was, he'd been half-starved. If it actually was a 'he': the face under the thick shaggy hair was very pretty… Not that that meant anything in this city.
"Let's take a look at him."
Lying the barely-conscious figure on a battered sofa, Janet eased the tattered, slashed leather jacket aside and hissed at the sight of what was underneath…
The tiny, ragged cropped t-shirt and torn, baggy, low-slung jeans did nothing to hide the massive bruising, some of it old, most of it very recent. Blood still oozed freely from the knife-wound just below the ribs - ribs that she could count: god the kid was skinny! And there were old silvery scars carved into the pale flesh. Whoever he was, he'd had it very hard…
There was blood on the jeans too. She frowned.
"We'd better check him over properly. Get me a pair of scissors."
She pulled off the battered leather boots, noting in passing they'd once been good quality, and winced at the reddened and blistered skin underneath. Shaking her head, she reached for the belt, unbuckling it and finding the jeans so loose on the thin body she was able to peel them off without rousing him. And he was a he, she discovered as the jeans slid down his thighs. Quite well-endowed too. Though the jagged parallel scars of what she guessed was a broken bottle marring his skin from hip to groin showed that he'd come close to being gelded at some point in the past.
Sophia returned with a sharp pair of kitchen scissors and paused behind the older woman, eyes widening appreciatively. Janet smiled as she reached up for the implement.
"It'll be a while before he'll be up to that, child! Get me a bowl of warm water and a soft cloth."
As Sophia scurried off again Janet snipped the fabric of the boy's t-shirt, tugged the material away from the bruised, scarred, hairless chest and rolled him carefully to one side, then the other, as she eased his arms out of his jacket. Finally naked, the thin, abused body was open to her experienced gaze.
He was surprisingly clean, for a gutter-rat. Soaking the cloth Sophia presented to her, she swabbed gently at the wound in his side, tutting to herself at the size and depth of it. He'd lost quite a lot of blood, going by the state of the jeans and the scarlet-painted skin down the outside of his leg. And - she eased his thighs apart, resignedly nodding as her suspicions were confirmed - yes, looked like he'd been raped recently, too. Poor kid.
Sophia was kneeling at his head, stroking his hair - a mass of long, layered, vividly copper-coloured hair, Janet noted, well cared-for and very much at odds with the scruffy clothing - as she watched the older woman clean the blood from the pale skin.
"Wonder who he is?"
"No doubt he'll tell us when he's awake."
"Mmm." Sophia brushed soft shaggy hair back from the face, gently touching a high cheekbone. His lashes, startlingly black against the pale skin, were very long. She wondered what colour his eyes would be…
Janet had sat back and was watching the boy, drumming her fingers against the back of the sofa, debating whether to call for a medic or not. She didn't think the knife had punctured anything too important, his pulse was steady and his breathing normal, and the bleeding had stopped… but she wasn't a medic, she couldn't be sure. Then again, he obviously wouldn't have any kind of health insurance, any normal medical facility would turn him away… She sighed and reached for her communit. Dr Papalodiss - a fine surgeon struck off the medical register for performing free corrective surgery for released modcrims - owed her a couple of favours.Papalodiss finished dressing the youth's side and pulled a heavy blanket over his shivering body.
"He'll be fine. Another scar to add to that fine collection, but there's no serious damage." He turned to Janet, retracting his cybernetic (microscope and miniature scanner) left eye back into its socket. "Who is he? No," he held up his hand, "actually, I don't want to know. Just try to keep him out of trouble. I'd rather not have to see him again."
Janet chuckled.
"Thanks, Gene. That's one less you owe me."
He shook his head, stroking his patient's bright coppery hair.
"Nah, you can have this one for free. Poor little bugger - what a life, eh?"Sophia looked up from her place at their mystery guest's side as Janet returned from seeing the medic from her apartment.
"Aunty Janet? What are we going to do with him?"
"We'll worry about that when he wakes up, shall we?" She glanced at the timepiece on the wall. "Shouldn't you be at work?"
Sophia sighed, running her fingers through the bright hair again.
"I guess…"
"Off with you then! Don't worry, I'll look after him."
Not that there was all that much looking after to do. He was still unconscious - Papalodiss had given him a sedative to make sure he stayed that way while the torn tissue inside him healed and the puncture wound closed, twenty four hours at most. A nutritive injection would make sure he had the strength to recover, while a cocktail of drugs would prevent infection and speed up blood production to replace what he'd lost. All Janet had to do was let him sleep and make sure someone was with him when he woke up, to reassure him he was safe. No problem.
She watched him for a little while, curiosity eating at her, itching to know who he was, why he was here…Devon was frozen. In the dark, unable to move, and so cold… He couldn't even wrap his arms around himself. And there was someone there, someone looking for him… Instinctively he tried to cower, to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible…
Janet looked up from her screen at the quiet whimper. The kid was twitching under the blanket, his eyelids fluttering. Concerned, she rose and walked towards him…… and suddenly found herself several feet off the ground, gripped by an invisible force… Taking a deep breath and fighting down panic, she forced herself to relax and called softly,
"It's OK honey. You're safe. No one here will hurt you."
For a moment she thought she hadn't got through, and wondered briefly what the hell she should do next, but the kid's eyes slowly opened. Big, bright, pale green eyes, wide with fear. She found herself drifting closer to the sofa, and risked a smile.
"It's OK, honey. You're safe here - I'm not going to do anything to hurt you. Want to put me down? Then I can get you something to drink."
For a moment he stared, then she felt herself being lowered - slowly - to the floor. The kid raised a shaking hand to dry lips.
"… drink… water… thirsty…"
Janet nodded, quashing her shock: the low voice sounded like it had struggled its way up from the throat through a mouthful of gravel, and the accent… It wasn't local. One of the outlying microstates? Wales, perhaps? Scotland? It didn't go with the young face and skinny body at all. Maybe some kind of injury…? As her feet touched the ground she nodded and crouched down at his side.
"OK, honey. Lie still and I'll get you some water."
Conscious of his eyes following her as she headed for the kitchen, she did her damnedest to keep her thoughts light and pleasant, just in case he was a 'path as well.
God damn it, she had a talent - a psi - in her living room! A telekinetic, no less - and a bloody powerful one too. She wasn't sure quite how rare they were, but she knew several people who'd pay a fortune for one. A very large fortune.
She poured bottled spring water into a beaker and carried it back to her guest, perching on the edge of the sofa and wrapping his trembling hands around the glass as she helped him lift it to his lips. He sipped a couple of times, then upended the beaker, gulping down the liquid, spilling it over his chin and chest and dampening the blanket. When it was empty he dropped it into her waiting hands and lay back weakly, watching her warily.
"… thanks…"
She smiled.
"That's OK, honey. How are you feeling."
"Fucking awful."
"I'm not surprised. You were hurt… do you remember what happened?"
He eyed her, mistrust clear in his face, and she sighed.
"It's OK, honey, truly. Look, I'm Janet. Most of the kids call me Aunty Janet. I meant it when I said you're safe here. No-one's going to harm you, not here." She glanced down his body, then back up to his face. "I hope you don't mind - I had a medic take a look at you when one of my girls brought you in. You'd been stabbed."
The youth winced, his hand going to the wound.
"I remember…" He paused, moving his lower body slightly, then frowned at the woman. "You had him fix my arse, too."
Janet blinked, then nodded.
"Yes. You'd been… attacked. You were torn up some."
He rested a cheek in one cupped hand and regarded her, the faintest wry twist to his lips. She smiled encouragingly.
"Would you like to tell me your name?"
"No. But I will anyway, since you've been so fucking kind. It's Devon."
"Devon - …?"
"Just Devon."
She nodded.
"It's a pretty name. Hello Devon. Would you like another drink?"
"Please."
"Are you hungry?"
He considered the question then shook his head. She stood, moving slowly and deliberately so as not to spook him - although, she had to admit, he seemed surprisingly self-possessed and unflustered. Maybe he was used to regaining consciousness in strange places and with strange people…
No, that didn't make sense. But then, none of this made much sense. He was a talent, for god's sake, and the strongest she'd ever come across. What was he doing on the streets? Why hadn't he been picked up as a child? She poured another beaker of water, then took it and the bottle back to the living room. Devon was sitting up, gazing around the room, a faint frown on his pale face. She resumed her place on the sofa and handed over the water.
"Is there anyone you want me to contact for you? Family? Friends? Lovers?"
He drank the water, more slowly this time, gazing at her over the rim of the glass appraisingly but not speaking.
Another alternative occurred to her. He looked very young, yes, but… Perhaps he was Agency, working under cover. She smiled.
"Your boss?"
He stared blankly, then shook his head.
"There's no-one."
Again that amazing voice. Coupled with the pretty, delicate face and skinny body it made Devon seem thoroughly exotic. And it had to be natural: cybernetic implants - any kind of implanted metal, she thought - nullified psi talents.
"Do you feel like telling me what happened? Anything at all? I want to help, but I can't if you won't tell me how… Is it to do with the men who attacked you?"
He lay back on the sofa, half-closing his eyes.
"I'm so fucking tired… I need to sleep."
Fair enough, he'd only had six of the twenty four hours' sleep Papalodiss has prescribed - and thinking on that, why the hell was he awake now? Wasn't the sedative working? - but it still sounded suspiciously like delaying tactics…
But she didn't want to upset him. Nor make him angry. She smiled.
"Of course, honey. You rest. Someone will be here when you wake - if not me, then one of the girls."Devon slept, uneasily, lightly, still aware of being sought.
Janet waited until he was - as far as she could tell, anyway - asleep, then slipped into her bedroom and over to the small personal communication centre there. Feeding through a fake IP address, she sent an electronic message to Lenore. A simple message.
'Is Devon Agency?'
The answer came back less than two minutes later. A simple negative. Janet felt a chill up her back. This must be what it felt like to win a fortune.
Or find a ticking bomb under your pillow…
What the hell was she going to do?Sophia was sitting beside Devon when Janet returned to the living room. One hand stroking his hair again. She glanced up as the older woman entered.
"How's he been?"
"Fine…" Janet twirled a lock of hair around her fingers distractedly, then smiled, a little anxiously, at the girl. "He's a talent, Sophia. But not Agency."
The girl frowned.
"You think he's escaped?"
Well, it had happened. Sometimes a talent had escaped from one of the Syndicates that controlled the drugs, the gambling, the main prostitution 'houses' in the city. Trackers were usually sent after them - if withdrawal from one of the nastier designer conscript drugs that they were force-fed to keep them obedient didn't get them first. But Devon wasn't a 'head, Janet could tell, and she'd known enough of them in her time. And there was enough nullpsi circuitry in the walls of the apartment to foil the trackers, for a while at any rate. But she needed to ascertain the situation, and soon…
Devon whimpered, his eyelids fluttering open.
Bloody hell - what did it take to keep this kid under!?
Janet knelt at his side and stroked his shaggy fringe back from his forehead.
"Honey? This," she gestured over her shoulder, "is Sophia. She's going to help look after you. Is there anything you need right now?"
"… bathroom…"
Sophia blushed prettily.
"Oh… perhaps you'd better, Aunty?"
Janet sighed and pulled the cover back, sliding an arm under the kid's shoulders and pulling him gently upright, glaring mildly at the younger woman. Sophia was perfectly capable of this…
He leaned heavily against her as he stumbled by her side. God, he was so small, only came up to the bridge of her nose... She supported him as he stood over the toilet, swaying unsteadily, waist length hair soft against her arms and neck. But at least his aim was good, she wouldn't have to clear up after him. Taking most of his weight as he limped back to the sofa, she helped him nestle back down and pulled the blanket back up.
"You need more sleep, honey."
He shook his head.
"Not yet. Fuckin' awake now…"
Sophia's eyes brightened.
"Do you mind if we talk for a bit, then?"
Devon eyed her suspiciously, then inclined his head.
"OK."
Surprised, Janet smiled at them both and bustled quietly to the kitchen, realising, suddenly, that she was hungry. By the time she'd made sandwiches for herself and Sophia and warmed up a mug of soup for Devon, the girl seemed to have managed to get the kid talking.
Janet sometimes suspected Sophia had a talent herself, something ill-defined and low-grade. Whatever it was, she had an almost uncanny gift for persuading others to talk about themselves. It was one of the things that made her such a popular prostitute - although perhaps courtesan was a better term. Her tricks usually just wanted to talk to a sympathetic - and cuddly - listener… Janet placed the soup and sandwich within easy reach and left to visit the nearby 24/7 cornermarket.
She lingered, picking up a few non-essentials and talking to the staff. By the time she got back Devon was asleep again - but he'd finished the soup, and was looking a little better. Less tense. Still pale, but Janet was beginning to think that was his normal colour.
She touched Sophia's shoulder gently, indicating the kitchen: they seated themselves at the breakfast bar, where they could see the sofa in the other room, and ate their sandwiches.
"What did he tell you?" Janet murmured around a mouthful of some unidentifiable meat and synthetic salad vegetables. Sophia swallowed and brushed her hand across her mouth.
"He's not from here. He was born way to the west - wouldn't be more specific, but his accent's Welsh, so I guess that's where he's from. He doesn't remember his parents. He was passed from family to family when he was little: I think he ran away when he was still quite young and ended up here. He's a thief and pickpocket, whores himself out sometimes too - plenty of people happy to pay for a piece of him, men and women both." She grinned. "He's very experienced…"
Janet scowled.
"But he can't be more than - what, fifteen? sixteen?"
Sophia shook her head.
"He looks really young, but he isn't. Actually he's nineteen. Oh, and that voice comes from him being hit in the throat with a metal pipe when he was about fourteen. It damaged his larynx."
Janet shook her head wonderingly.
"I don't know how you did it, but I'm very glad you did."
Sophia blushed and lowered her eyes.
"Ah, it's nothing." She frowned and raised her eyes again. "He doesn't realise he's a talent. He doesn't use it very often, only when he can't steal what he's trying for any other way. Gods know how he's managed to escape detection all this time…"
"What happened tonight?"
"Oh, now that's interesting. He said he was trying to pick the pocket of someone who looked rich, and he was having a hard time, so he used his talent - not that he explained it that way - and his target knew he was there. Grabbed his wrist and…" She shook her head. "… he described it as having his mind invaded." She sighed and shrugged. "I guess he had the bad luck to try to steal from a seeker."
Oh great. And I cheerfully let Lenore know something was up…
"He ran. And while he was running, he managed to stumble into BlackTop territory. They took the trespass toll out of his hide - I mean his ass…"
Janet winced. In that case he'd been lucky to escape with his life.
"Anyway," Sophia glanced through at the recumbent figure, her eyes soft, "now he's here. What are we going to do with him?"
What indeed? The elder sighed.
"There's only so much we can do to help him. Now the Agency are aware they have a rogue talent in the city - and the Syndicates probably know it too, by now - everyone will be looking for him."
Sophia sighed.
"And he'd be much safer and better looked after by the Agency."
"Yes. They'll train him, and protect him, and provide for him."
"And I won't ever see him again."
Janet humphed and scowled.
"Oh Sophie! You only met him tonight!"
The girl grinned.
"I know. But he's so pretty!"
"Well, I'm sure he'll always be grateful to the woman who saved his life by bringing him here."
Sophia smiled, a little bleakly.
"I can dream…"
Janet brushed a hand over the girl's cheek, sympathetically, then sighed deeply.
"OK. I'd better get Lenore here."
Sophia grimaced.
"I guess. Better tell her to bring that psi partner of hers, too. What's her name - Razor."
Janet nodded.
"Don't worry. I will."
© 2003 January 27th Joules Taylor
Darkside
© 2003 WordWrights
A criminal sentenced to be 'modified' in some way appropriate to their crime. A thief might have their hands amputated and replaced with much simpler, non-touch-sensitive cybernetic hands that will deliver an electric shock if their owner tries to steal. Such punishment (which are, needless to say, only available to wealthy victims of such crimes) were often doled out on the flimsiest of evidence, and the accused later acquitted. Which didn't help them get any kind of restitution for their modification… Medics are forbidden to perform any medical service for anyone without insurance: any found doing so are immediately struck off.
There are other, more extreme punishments for more severe crimes or degrees of crime…
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