Cyberpunk

thud.
    Hello? Mouse said, her voice a lonely human sound in the dark, afraid and hopeful.
    They won’t trouble you now, a woman answered.
    Pico tenderly touched his thigh and his hands came away slick. His arm burned and ached and felt cold. I’m hurt, he said.
    Who are you? Mouse said.
    My name is Lucy. The voice was close now. Reach out your hand, Pico.
    I can’t see, Pico said. Light?
    No lights, Lucy said. She took hold of his hand and slowly placed something on his forearm. He could feel it grab hold of his arm hairs and then it crawled along his body.
    He screamed and demanded to know what it was.
    It went under his shirt and crawled quickly and creepily around his torso and he slapped at it with his hands but it was too fast.
    Don’t, Lucy said. Leave it be. It’s a Senti, it will seal your wounds.
    The Senti was in his pants now and he jumped, despite the pain in his thigh, and then it was at his leg wound and he had to resist the violent urge to brush it off. It gripped him there and he screamed again, and then as it dug into his flesh he retched. A moment later, he felt a cool ooze and his thigh went numb. Oh, he groaned.
    See? the woman’s voice said.
    He could hear her wrestling with some kind of gear.
    My nacker, he said, it’s mine.
    I’ll carry it, she said.
    How do you know my name, Pico said.
    Your friend. She is leaking data.
    Really? Pico looked toward Mouse in the dark but she did not respond. He remembered the scar at the back of her neck and puzzled at it all over again.
    You were jamming GPS, correct?
    Yes, he said.
    And then you weren’t.
    My battery ran out.
    I suspected there was a wreck in the dump, a downed helicopter, but instead it was you. The helicopters will be here soon, though.
    The Senti slinked under his clothes to his arm wound and he bent over and breathed through the initial stab of pain this time.
    Let’s go, Lucy said.
    Lucy walked fast in the dark and they heard the loose limbs of the nacker clack together as she went. They struggled behind her. He felt like he could hear others out around him in the night, strange sounds that his imagination morphed into the most terrible things. He reached out and clasped hands with Mouse. He could feel her stumbling, the shock hangover leaving her woozy. He wrapped his good arm around her shoulder and they walked tentatively as a single unit over the compressed trash. Pico began to work up what he would tell his parents, and fantasized about Mouse, the memory of being close to her in the night fresh. She had secrets. He tried to remember if Suto had a similar scar.
    Lucy stopped suddenly and they pulled up beside her. They could see just her outline in the dark, a deep black shape against a deep black night.
    From here, she said, the way is down and the trail is treacherous.
    Down? Pico said, and the word came out as more of a terrified bark. They were standing on the lip of the wall, he realized. No way, Pico said, we’re not going down.
    You’ll stay close to me, and we’ll each hold onto the rope. Señorita , are you stable?
    Yes, Mouse said.
    Listen, Pico said, you’re crazy. We’re not going down the wall. Nobody goes down the wall.
    I have to go down, Pico, Mouse said.
    What? Why?
    Because, Lucy said, a firm consistency to her voice, otherwise they will find her. Quickly.
    Lucy’s hand took his and placed it on the rope, and he realized stupidly that she could see in the dark. She was augmented then.
    Who will? Pico whispered to Mouse. Who will come for you?
    Mouse did not answer and the rope began to pull in his hand as Lucy went over the edge of the wall and proceeded down the steep slope. The ground underneath was hardened, and he could tell they were on a trail of some sort.
    It was a long hard hike to the bottom, over layer upon layer of trash, the history of the city buried in the wall he descended. He kept one hand out, his fingers surfing the edge of it as he descended, and wondered what was contained within. The dump was his curse and home. It was treasure. It was where he would die, he was sure.
    At the bottom, they followed Lucy along a dark path, where stunted trees brushed against his face, and cactus pulled at his clothing. Live things. The smell of the dump was sickeningly stronger here, the wind of it flowing down the wall and flooding their nostrils. But there was more, too, a complex smell of dampness and death.
    Pico had a thousand questions that rushed him in disorderly fashion, but his amazement