Chapter 4

IV
Breakdown

"Can't say as I've ever picked anyone up from the Nematode Quarter before," the gyrocabby says, turning around to face Cubi and yelling over the sound of the rotors.

Cubi covers his eyes. "Don't look at me! Look where you're going!"

The cabby leans his arm over his seat as he addresses Cubi. A flap of skin joins his arm to his body as far as his elbow. He smiles an enormous smile, the corners of his mouth almost reaching his bulbous eyes. "Not a fan of flying, I take it?"

"No, as a matter of fact, I'm not! Please look where you're going!"

"I was born to fly, my friend. I don't need to look where I'm- OI! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

The winged apian who almost flew into them shouts something back, perhaps not something too flattering.

The cabby makes a series of obscene gestures at him, and he swoops down and away, towards the base of Hive Central. "Fucking apians. Need to look where they're going. Anyway," he turns to Cubi again, "as I was saying, no-one flies like an airphibian. It's, er, in my bones, as a human might put it!"

"I'm not really the religious sort," Cubi says, closing his eyes and resting his face in his hands.

"Oh! Well, it takes all sorts. Here, what do you think about this Mec Ogive business?"

Cubi lifts his head briefly. What has Mec done now? "I happen to consider him a good friend of mine," Cubi says, unenthusiastically, "but, look, my best friend is really ill and I might need to get her to the hospital. I'm not really in the mood to talk about religion."

The cabby's already huge eyes widen. "An emergency? Why didn't you say? I'll get you there in no time!" He grabs the control column with both hands and stares into the heads-up-display intently, then shoves the throttle forward, the rotors beating the air with a new urgency.

"Wait," Cubi says, "that's okay, just fly carefully and-"

"Nonsense!" the cabby yells. He pushes the control column forward and the gyrocopter drops suddenly, leaving Cubi's stomach high in the sky behind it.

*

"I'm fine," Cubi says, as the cabby helps him down. "Just leave the engine running. I'll let you know if we don't need you."

"No worries," the cabby says magnanimously. Always glad to be part of some excitement. Careful!"

Cubi's knees give out as he tries to walk, but he straightens out shakily. "I'm fine. I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

This is the industrial district. North of Hive Central, separated from the river by the slimy wasteland of Sludgetown. The buildings here are blocky and grey, the kind of architecture the apians used to use for anywhere intended for their wingless workers. Huge smokestacks stick up into the sky, almost comically narrow. They belch smoke up into the air, adding to the green haze of pollution that is visible over the city after second sunrise.

The gyrocopter is parked in the deserted street outside Perni's lot. There is no-one around, no sign of any living presence except for a few abandoned vehicles. Cubi steps up to the intercom by the gate and presses the buzzer. After a wait of about half a minute, the security camera whirrs around to look at him, and the gate grinds open with a rusty shriek.

He lets himself in through the side door. Perni lives in a little hut inside the warehouse that serves as her workshop. The only identifiable furnishings inside are a bed and a chest of drawers, but Perni's possessions are numerous. Books and unwashed dinner plates are littered over the floor, dirty laundry is piled in the corners. When she's hard at work on a project, Perni cares little for the more mundane aspects of life. Cubi wonders when she last did so much as open a window.

He walks right through, trying hard not to step on anything.

He opens the door leading into the warehouse slowly, knowing fully what to expect. A mass of rubber tubing is heaped in a pile just under the doorstep, waiting to trip him up. He hops over it and into the mess inside.

Perni sits on the ground, cross legged, wrapped in a blanket. Around her are heaped several tonnes of half-constructed machines, spilling their electronic and hydraulic guts onto the concrete floor, plastered with sheets and sheets of precise technical drawings and scribbled notes.

"Are you okay?" Cubi asks her, kneeling by her side.

Her skin is pale and sweaty, her short black hair is lank and uncombed. She shivers visibly. "Who, me?" she says weakly. "I'm just fine, why do you ask?"

Cubi brushes her hair out of the way and lightly presses his palm to her forehead. "You're burning up."

She nods. She shifts the blanket and holds up the screwdriver she's holding in her hand. "I really, really need to work on the project, Cubi. But my hands are shaking too much and I can't think."

"You're shivering. You have a fever."

"No, my hands were shaking first."

"I think you were right. We should get you to hospital."

She shakes her head. "I really have to finish this. If I don't, I'll be in a lot of trouble. I only have a few days before the deadline."

"I'm sure they'll understand."

"They're not the understanding sort."

Cubi puts his hand on her shoulder. "Perni, you're not getting any work done. If you want to get this finished, you need to get well first."

She nods. He helps her to stand up. She staggers giddily, almost falling over into a pile of sharp looking gears. Cubi holds her tight around the waist, and they walk out, slowly.

When they reach the gyrocopter, the cabby offers her a sick bag. She takes it and laughs feebly.

The cabby flies carefully this time, keeping his eyes intently ahead, not chattering at all. Perni leans on Cubi. Her clammy hand finds his and squeezes. He squeezes back.

*

The nearest hospital is in the Human Quarter, although the doctor is a neurop. Her green exoskeleton has been carefully polished and her long, thin feelers tied back. The tips of her fine, lacy wings poke out from the bottom of her long white coat. After the examination, Cubi comes in to sit on the side of Perni's bed and hear the verdict.

Perni sits up, a hospital gown tied to her broad-shouldered, lanky body, a resigned expression on her face.

The doctor sips coffee from a styrofoam cup - insects never seem to get enough of the stuff - and studies a clipboard disinterestedly. "You're in quite a state," she says.

"You're not so bad to look at yourself," Perni says.

"Mostly I think that it's just a garden variety depressive episode - too much stress. But you seem to have a little bit of everything else thrown in for good measure: mental and physical fatigue, malnutrition, anxiety… A fever as well - perhaps a virus that may have added to your episode, or perhaps its just taking advantage of the weak state of your immune system."

"Will she be okay?" Cubi asks, his features feeling leaden, as much he might want to put on a brave face.

"Absolutely," the doctor says. "She'll need to stay here for a few days, on a drip. Get plenty of rest. She'll be fine. She just needs a break."

Perni nods as if acknowledging a terminal diagnosis. "Sure," she says. "Why the hell not?"

"In the long term," the doctor says delicately, "I'm going to recommend that you seek therapy. We need to make sure that whatever caused this is dealt with, and that it doesn't happen again."

"Yeah, sure," Perni says gloomily.

The doctor turns to leave. "Okay?"

"Thank you," Cubi says.

She nods and heads out the door.

Perni pulls on Cubi's sleeve to attract his attention. "You worry too much," she says. "A little stress won't kill me."

He smiles and sighs.

"But, Redact will kill me when I don't meet the deadline."

"Is that your client? I'm sure if you explain…"

Perni fiddles with Cubi's sleeve absently. "No, I mean, he'll really kill me. I can't work. I can't focus. I said that I'd meet the deadline, it was a lot of money. The contract was very tough, and the client is, well, he's a bit dangerous. If I'd known how dangerous, I wouldn't have agreed to do the work, Cubi, but... I'm an idiot. I'm going to die."

Cubi feels sick. "Perni, we have to go to the police-"

"No!" she grabs his arm, her fingers closing around his elbow weakly. "I was working for this guy! I don't want to go to prison."

"I don't want you to go to prison either. But if you're really worried that this guy will really hurt you, then we have to go to the police! Maybe, I don't know, maybe they'll overlook your part in it if you help them and if you're honest. I mean, you were worried for your safety, you helped a criminal, you didn't do anything illegal-"

Perni laughs. "I wouldn't be too sure about that."

"Oh, Perni!" Cubi rests his face in his hands.

Perni pats his arm sympathetically and smiles. "At least it wasn't one of your really good friends. You'll manage without me."

"Don't joke about it. You're my favourite friend, okay? Maybe not the easiest one to like, maybe not the best one, but my favourite one. Okay?"

"I think you're the only real friend I have, Cubi. So best, favourite and easiest to like. I don't want to die. But I can't help it."

"Perni, we have to go to the police."

Perni closes her glassy eyes for a moment and then opens them. A glimmer of her usual light seems to rise to her irises. "Look, is there somewhere I can write something down?"

Cubi looks around. "Um, not… Here, write it on my phone."

"Hang on, my fingers are trembling."

Cubi holds his mobile steady for her as she shakily taps the buttons. When she's finished, he looks at what she's written. "An address?"

"That's my client. You could… maybe, go talk to him, tell him I'm in hospital. Be sweet and friendly, as usual, and see if he'll let me off the hook." She laughs and shrugs. "Maybe I'm making a fuss about nothing. I'm hardly thinking clearly right now. He might not mind."

Cubi tries to act as if he isn't thinking about how dangerous Perni was saying this man was only a short while earlier. "Okay," he says. "I'll see what I can do."