Necropath (19 page)

She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. Her thoughts were confused. She could make sense of nothing.

She wanted to go to the loo, but couldn’t trust herself to climb down from the stool and stand up without falling over. She pushed her half-empty beer away. She would wait until she had sobered up a little, and then get down.

The other girls had noticed that Sukara was not getting customers. A couple of nights ago Minkie, nastiest bitch in the bar and ringleader of the hate-Sukara club, had tottered up to her on her high-heels, all smiles. “Poor little monkey-girl, the aliens have all gone home. What are you going to do now, scar face? No real men will go with ugly monkey, no. You go out on the street, fuck yars and beggars—”

And Sukara, having drunk enough to counteract the yahd, had reached for an empty bottle, smashed it on the edge of the bar and dived for Minkie, meaning to give her a big scar to match her own. But she had tipped from her stool, missing Minkie’s startled face and slicing a gash across her shoulder, instead. Minkie stumbled away screaming, fingers pressed to her bloody upper arm, and for a minute Sukara thought she’d killed the girl. Fat Cheng had dragged her into his office, leaving her there while he’d attended to the fuss in the bar. Later, he’d let her go home early, without a word of reprimand.

The following night, Minkie wasn’t in the bar. One of the escort girls had come up to Sukara. “Are you happy now, scar face? Fat Cheng’s sold Minkie to another bar. You’re evil, Sukara! Ee-tees have poisoned your mind!”

“You want a cut like Minkie?” Sukara said, reaching for a bottle.

The girl had backed away, hissing. “No more Ee-tees for you! I hope you die on the streets!”

Now Sukara imagined their eyes on her, mocking her isolation. She could not bring herself to look around, see if they really were staring at her, or if she was being crazy.

What would happen if her Ee-tees stopped coming for good? Few men would go with her—not enough to pay her a wage—and she knew how to do nothing else. She could always change bars, work in one of the dives not far from where she lived, whose customers were labourers and the poor who couldn’t afford the expensive, beautiful girls. But she’d talked to the girls who worked in those clubs, and she knew the customers there were often drunk and violent.

She hadn’t had any beer for half an hour, and yet her vision was still blurred. When the Ee-tee came through the door, she thought she was hallucinating. The indistinct shape might have been two drunks, clinging to each other. Then, as the alien approached, she saw that it was Dervan... or rather someone of the same race, as Dervan had visited her five days ago and had told her that he was leaving Earth the same day.

Her heart gave a skip of joy. She hoped the girls were watching, now, could see that her customers had returned.

The Ee-tee approached slowly, garbed in the loose-fitting robes of its people, and paused before Sukara. Seen at close quarters, she made out subtle differences that distinguished it from Dervan: its skin was paler, even more wrinkled, and it was larger than her regular customer.

“Su-kara?”

She smiled her best smile. “Hi. You like drink?”

“No drink, please.”

“Hokay. We go back room, yes? Come on.”

Biting her bottom lip with concentration, she slid off the high stool and landed on her feet with a jolt. She hiccuped, swayed dangerously, grabbed hold of the Ee-tee’s hand and led it from the bar.

A girl hissed at her as she passed, but Sukara put on a brave smile.

In her room, the Ee-tee lowered itself slowly onto the bed, arranging the folds of its robes around its bulk. Sukara pulled down her skirt, sat on the edge of the bed and laid a hand on the Ee-tee’s arm.

“You been with me before, yes? What your name?”

“Never before. You were...” he seemed to be searching for the word, “recommended.”

Sukara felt a swelling of pride in her chest. “Dervan?”

“Dervan, yes.”

The alien lay on its side, and Sukara stretched out with her back against its soft, warm body. “Like this, okay?”

She felt its pseudopods rustle from the concealing robe and squirm around her thighs; others encircled her waist, slipped beneath her T-shirt. She felt the warm tentacles attach themselves to her torso, another clamp itself on to the base of her skull. She moaned with pleasure as she drifted on the edge of consciousness, controlled totally by this strange, gentle being from among the stars, feeling secure and at peace. Her last conscious thought was, why couldn’t life always be like this?

Then she experienced a dream familiar in form but unique in content. She was in a great desert riding a tall, two-legged creature like some kind of dinosaur, as nimble as the wind. They raced for kilometres, a perfumed zephyr in her face, drawn towards a shimmering oasis from which heavenly music played. Sukara felt a heady sense of exhilaration, both from the excitement of the ride and at the prospect of the feast that awaited them at the oasis.

They arrived at the silver oval of water surrounded by tall, branchless trees. Other bipedal dinosaur creatures stood about, tethered to the trees, while their riders lay around the water: Ee-tees like Dervan and her customer.

She jumped from her mount and knelt by the water, splashing her face. At a sound from behind her, she turned. An Ee-tee reached out a hand in greeting. It was Dervan.

“Su. So pleased.”

“Dervan, is it really you?”

He led her to a silver blanket spread with food and drink, and they feasted on alien delicacies, exotic fruits and strong, syrupy wines.

“Su. I come like this, in your dreams, to leave a final message.”

“A message?” she heard herself say.

“My ship will no longer be landing at Bengal Station, on its great voyage through the void. We will land elsewhere, and no longer will I be able to enjoy your company. I am truly sorry. I hope you have gained from our unions the degree of pleasure I have enjoyed, Su. Farewell.”

“But wait!”

In her dream she reached out for Dervan, but even as she did so he began to fade. Sukara found herself drifting on a wave of gorgeous lassitude, any disappointment she might have felt nullified by the drug-like feeling of contentment that coursed through her.

And then she was returned to the real world. She came to her senses by degrees, found herself lying on the bed. She blinked herself fully awake, sat up groggily. Something of the languor of the dream, the feeling of blissful relaxation, remained with her.

Then she recalled Dervan’s farewell.

There was no of sign of the Ee-tee in the room. She looked at the wall-clock. She had been unconscious for over two hours.

She dressed quickly, trying not to cry. As she left the room and headed for the showers, she felt a pain beyond sadness that she would never again meet the Ee-tee who called himself Dervan.

* * * *

The six empty beer bottles were still lined up along the bar, inviting her to increase the total. But she was sober now and decided to stay that way. Beer would only make her more unhappy. She ordered a Vitamilk from the barman and looked out across the dance floor. She thought that one or two of the girls were pointedly ignoring her, rather than meet her gaze and acknowledge that she’d had a customer.

A girl came out of Fat Cheng’s office, beyond the bar. She stopped by Sukara’s stool. “Monkey, Fat Cheng wants to see you.” She gave Sukara a sweet smile, dipped in malice.

Sucking on her bottle, she jumped from the stool and walked around to the office door marked: Private. She knocked. Fat Cheng always demanded that you knocked before entering—as if he ever did anything more important in there than eat and sleep.

He was sitting sideways in his hammock, gently swinging, when she pushed her way in. Even when contained in his chrome-sided bar-stool, he appeared enormously fat: in his hammock, without constraints, his fat spread in every direction so that he looked more like some kind of alien than a human being. His tiny head sat on the bulging cone of his body, staring at her with buried eyes.

“Sit, little Monkey,” he said, indicating a stool before the hammock.

Sukara sat down, winding her legs around the legs of the stool. She worked her tongue into the bottle of Vitamilk, watching Fat Cheng through her eyelashes.

“Little Monkey, no work these days.”

Sukara shrugged, working her tongue further into the bottle and not meeting his gaze.

“Things bad. Men no want you, aliens stop coming.”

She glanced quickly at him. “Aliens start coming again. One tonight. They come again in day or two.”

Fat Cheng shook his head. “Think no, little Monkey. Bad news from spaceport.”

He reached up, found the cord and tugged. A computer screen bobbed down from the ceiling on its extendable boom. He positioned the screen before Sukara and switched it on.

“This recorded from news. Watch.”

The screen showed shots of Bengal Station spaceport, voidships landing. An interview with some alien. The voiceover was in English, but the reporter was using big words that Sukara did not understand: Franchise. Berthing capacity. Termination. Alternative venues.

She shook her head. “So? What happening?”

Fat Cheng killed the screen and pushed it back to the ceiling. “Bengal Station ‘port lost many landing contracts, mainly Ee-tee ships. Some alien ships still land, but many go to the Chandrasakar orbital station.”

Sukara shrugged. “So—some still land, some Ee-tees still come see me.”

He licked his fat lips, shaking his head. “One ship every two week, little Monkey. Not all crews come Bangkok. Those do come here, many go to other bar. If you lucky, you get one, two customer every week.” He stared at her. “How you live on that, little Monkey?”

Sukara just stared at her toes, not knowing what to say. She understood what Fat Cheng was saying, but not what it might mean for her. What would happen now?

Fat Cheng began rocking himself again. He swung back and forth, back and forth, saying nothing, watching her.

She tried to find something to say, to make a suggestion, but her mind was a big blank. She knew that he must think her stupid.

“So, what you do, little Monkey?”

She shrugged, wished she hadn’t. It gave the impression that she didn’t care. She looked up, aware that tears were filling her eyes. “Don’t know,” she said in a small voice.

“Fat Cheng know kind bar owner. He says he will take you in. Give you room, work.”

She could not control the tears; they spilled from her eyes, tumbled down her cheeks. Everything that was familiar was coming to an end, and so quickly. She could hardly believe what Fat Cheng was saying.

“I no want leave here.”

“Little Monkey, what else you do? You need money, yes? You need buy food, clothes, yes? How you do that with no money?”

“Where new bar?” she said.

“Not far. One kilometre away. Near train station.”

But that was a poor, rough area. The bars around the station were mean and cheap. The police were always breaking up fights. The girls were old or ugly, their customers drunken locals. No Westerners or aliens went to the bars near the station.

She was shaking her head. “I no go there. Not nice place. Men beat working girls. I stay here.”

“You no stay here. No trade, no work. You work here till end week, then you go. Paradise Bar. Ask tor Mr. Lomtow. He good man, kind man. He look after you.”

She tried to stop crying, realising how ugly she must look. “I here five year,” she sobbed. “Now you throw me out, like rubbish!”