Levels: The Host Page 19

  Read long note later.

  There is a charged pipe cutter

  and strong belt inside bag.

  Hope these are of use.

  In 5 min. i will try to

  distract Akral.

  If you can’t go down, go up.

  Watly flipped open the bag with the one hand. Sure enough, right on top there was a pipe cutter and the pink belt from Alysess’s bathrobe. Both things had been in the bathroom. They were obviously the best she could do as far as tools went. A plumbing device and a clothing accessory. Fabulous, thought Watly. Raping fabulous. If I need to fix a broken sink or add a splash of color to my wardrobe, this stuff’ll really come in handy. Some plan this is. Hardly worth the wait.

  Watly leaned back slightly and looked upward.

  If you can’t go down, go up, she had written. Up? Up where?

  CHAPTER 21

  Well, ain’t life grand, and all, Watly thought. This is really something to tell the kids about someday. Make a delightful after-dinner anecdote.

  Watly kept hanging there outside Alysess’s apartment window for quite some time. He stared at his primitive tools—the pipe cutter and the belt. What good were they? His arms and legs were ready to give out. He was convinced the only reason he wasn’t at that very moment sprawled on the street below was that his hands had locked and frozen in a closed position on the cable. Another clamp snapped. Watly tried to raise himself up to the same level as before and he got a horrible cramp on the arch of each foot. The pain was excruciating. He pointed and flexed his toes as far as possible to ease the stabbing sensations. The only thing stopping Watly from giving up entirely was the thought of Alysess. Unless he could get away from her apartment he’d be burying her with him when he was caught. He couldn’t live with that. Go up, she’d written. Watly leaned out and looked upward. He couldn’t very well scale up the sheer side of the building. There was nothing to hold on to—no hand- or footholds. The cable ran sideways—not up and down. He couldn’t very well climb sideways.

  Watly looked to the left. About fifteen feet from him was the corner of the building. Its edge was decorated with heavy inlaid quoins all the way up the side, one above the other. From a distance they looked like they stuck out a good two inches from the surface. That looked climbable. Unfortunately it also looked impossible to get to. Even if Watly had the strength to climb the cable hand over hand across the side of the building and even if the cable could hold his weight through all that without snapping any more clamps—even then he’d fall short. The cable stopped a good five feet from the rusticated edge of the building. Its left end went into a small hole in the facing. He was at an impasse. Total dead end.

  “Hello there. Is your name... Akral?”

  It was Alysess’s voice rising up from the street below him. Good old Alysess. She was creating a diversion. A diversion for what? What good is a diversion if you can think of nothing to do with it?

  “I thought you might be thirsty so I brought down some water,” she said.

  “That’s very kind of you, ma’am.”

  Watly looked at the pipe cutter again. It was a strong one. Heavy-duty. It looked like it could cut through a thick pipe with hardly a squeeze. Or a cable. A cable. Watly looked up. A cable. Cut the cable. Hold on to the left cut piece. Yes. Cut the cable and swing. This was an idea. It was awful, but it was an idea. Finally a plan.

  “This really hits the spot. I appreciate it.” Akral’s thick voice was loud and unrefined. Watly liked the sound of it. It was like a voice from his past life. A Brooklyn voice.

  “Here’s another glass.”

  Watly tied one end of the belt to the pipe cutter’s handle. The knot was loose but was the best he could do with one aching hand. The other end he looped around his neck and clipped to his collar with the surgical clip. This way if he let go of the cutter it wouldn’t fall. He repositioned the knapsack higher on his right shoulder. It would have to do. He couldn’t very well pull it up over both arms. Looking up at the cable, he carefully slid his left hand as far over as it would go. He found a thin notch in the cable there. It was the indentation where a clamp had been. Watly gripped it firmly. He took a few slow deep breaths and raised up the cutter with his right hand. The hand was trembling slightly. Watly steadied it. He slipped the cutter’s mouth over the cable directly in front of him. Here goes nothing.

  “Not many folks would be this considerate, ma’am,” Akral said down below.

  Watly squeezed the handle and cut the cable. It made a soft popping sound and a few sparks flew out but that was all. There was a long moment in which nothing happened. Watly stood there, suspended by inertia. Both feet were still on the sill and his left hand gripped the now severed cable. Nothing moved. Gradually everything began to tilt outward and to the left, as if in slow motion. Watly let go of the cutter and reached to grab the end of the cable with his right hand. His whole body was swinging out and around now. Finally his feet slipped off the sill and Watly was in midair. He grabbed the cable with all his strength and felt his full weight come down on it. There was a tremendous jolt and Watly could feel and hear all the remaining cable clamps breaking one after another—ping-ping-ping-ping-ping. He was swinging wildly and getting lower and lower. He felt his grip weaken with each snap.

  Akral’s voice was even clearer than before.

  “Did you hear—”

  “—I almost forgot,” Alysess interrupted. “I came down to offer you a sexual release as well, if you like.”

  Watly’s shoulder and hip slammed into the side of the building. His left hand slipped out of its groove on the cable but found another lower one. He used his feet to push away from the building. Now he was swinging like a pendulum, left and right. With each left swing Watly tried to hook a foot around the edge of the building. The cable was slippery and its clamp grooves were shallow. Watly felt himself slipping lower and lower. He was losing his grip.

  “You’re offering me some sex, ma’am?”

  “Well, not really,” Alysess replied. “I’m not up for it myself—trying to cut down, and all—but I’ve brought down some really primo porno with me. I thought you might like a release.”

  “On my own?”

  “You bet. I’ll hold the porno, if you like.”

  Watly finally got a leg wrapped around the edge of one cemeld quoin and the crazy swinging stopped. The pipe cutter still dangled from the belt and clanked against hard cemeld.

  “What was that—”

  “Take those pants down and enjoy yourself, Akral. This neighborhood isn’t a public sex zone but no one bothers over that anymore. Let me show you the porno. Come on, Akral—take it out.”

  “This is most considerate of you, ma’am.”

  Watly gripped the edge of the building with both legs, trying to steady himself with the cable. The stones had thinner footholds than he’d thought. It wasn’t going to be easy. He pressed his body flat into the cold rock and let go of the cable with his right hand. He grabbed the thin edge. Then he let the cable go entirely and held on to the quoins with both hands. The freed cable swung away. Watly hugged the corner of Alysess’s building with both arms and legs.

  “That’s a lovely organ, Akral. If I wasn’t trying to ease off contact sex a bit, I’d join you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Watly tried to catch his breath. It wasn’t easy. With every inhale he felt the butt of the chip pistol digging painfully into his ribs. Should’ve put that back in the knapsack, he thought.

  No more subshitting around, Caiper. It’s time to start climbing.

  “Don’t hurt yourself, now, Akral. Make it last.”

  The climbing was slow work. First Watly would slide his right hand up a little until his fingers found the edge of the next stone. Then he’d do the same for his left. After that he would slowly lift a tentative right foot until it found an edge to rest
on. And the same for the left. The chip pistol, the belt with the cutter hanging from it, and the swinging knapsack all conspired to make life difficult. If one wasn’t in the way, then another was. Watly wished he’d left them all behind.

  “That’s a great one, ma’am.” Akral’s voice sounded strained.

  “Shall I go back to that one?” Alysess asked.

  “Yes, please!” came the reply. Akral’s heavy breathing could be heard from way above.

  Watly kept climbing. Go up, Alysess had written. And so he did. He went up. One inch at a time. It was amazing to him that he didn’t fall. It was as though he was defying gravity. The best thing he had going for him was the clinging. He was literally hugging his way up the edge of the building.

  “I believe I’ll be finishing soon, ma’am.”

  “Try to make it last, now. That’s the way.”

  Watly wondered how far he’d gone. Looking around wasn’t easy, so he had no idea where he was. How far up was he? Akral and Alysess did sound fainter now. Perhaps Watly was already nearing the ceiling. But then what? One could only go so far up. Maybe there’d be a way around the building. Or there might even be some space between the roof of the building and the First Level ceiling. Some roofers and stuff. Room to run. That was possible. Watly wasn’t sure how tall the structure was. He hadn’t noticed. In any case, he’d cross that bridge when it collapsed on him.

  “There you go! There you go! Excellent. Just excellent, Akral! Let me help you wipe that up.”

  “Thank you very much, ma’am. This was most kind of you. Not many people would be this considerate. I greatly appreciate it.”

  “No trouble at all. Hope you enjoyed it.”

  “Oh, I did, ma’am. What was that last one? It was a real doozy!”

  “That was a sensory M-drawing by Schlent and Ro. It’s one of my favorites too.”

  Watly banged his head on a rusty horizontal pipe. He had reached the ceiling without even knowing it.

  There was no space above Alysess’s building. No room for roofers, not even a narrow channel. In fact, it looked like the building went a good deal higher up on Second. Ah, well. Watly reached up and held the pipe. It was wet and slimy, but strong enough to take his weight. It came out of the building at “roof” point and ran across the First Level ceiling toward the center of the street. Watly turned himself some and grabbed the pipe with both hands. That’s when he saw a place to go. Safe haven. There was his answer. Finally an answer. Finally some good news.

  “Care to try again, Akral?” Alysess’s faint voice asked from way below.

  “Oh, no, ma’am. One’s my limit. Anyway, I’m really supposed to be on duty, and all.”

  Watly started hand-over-handing it across the pipe. His feet dangled limply below him. His goal was only a couple of yards away, but the trip was not easy. More than a few times Watly thought it was all over. He would fall. He would come crashing down five stories onto poor old Akral before the man could even get his pants back up. Gripping the slippery pipe was next to impossible. Watly kept on. He somehow got a steady momentum going and that constant motion seemed to be the only thing preventing him from falling. As he neared the edge of his destination, Watly lifted his legs and swung to get them up high. This was the hardest thing of all. His stomach muscles had given out almost entirely. They’d been through enough. Lifting his legs was agony. He let them hang for a minute before trying again.

  “Anything else I can do for you, Akral?” Alysess asked.

  “No, thank you.”

  Watly lifted his legs and painfully swung them up again. This time they made it.

  “If you need a bathroom before you go off duty, I’ve got a wonderful W.C. upstairs,” Watly heard Alysess say. He felt a ball of air catch in his throat. He smiled to himself.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” said Akral.

  “Best W.C. there is.”

  “Thank you, I’m fine, ma’am.”

  Watly slid himself onto the hot platform—legs first—using the pipe as a guide.

  “Well, good night, then, Akral.”

  “Goodnight, ma’am.”

  Goodnight, Alysess, thought Watly.

  It was damp up there. The wind whipped around Watly Caiper and he felt his hair blowing in all directions. He didn’t care. He stretched out flat and rested his cheek against his sleeve. It felt wonderful. The metal he lay on was hot. It was almost painful, but that didn’t matter. Finally his muscles could rest. Finally his screaming arms could relax. The relief was most welcome. After lying motionless for quite some time, Watly slid the knapsack up closer and opened it. There was the long note from Alysess, the credit pieces and bills, Narcolo’s care package of dried sunbean, and—thank you, Doctor—the booze. She had returned the booze.

  Watly took the bottle out and turned on his back. He had about a foot and a half of vertical leeway. It was cramped but it was livable. He slid over and leaned his neck into a center post. He didn’t have room to sit all the way up but he managed to scrunch his way up so that his head was against the ceiling. It wasn’t too uncomfortable. The strong smell of mildew was somehow comforting. He tilted the bottle and took a swig. Nothing had ever tasted better. He felt the liquid expand and work its warm way deep inside him. Girl, that felt good. Without much effort, he thought, I could seriously enjoy developing a drinking problem. He closed his eyes. His palms were a painful mass of broken blisters and every muscle in his body seemed to have been ripped and torn. The important thing, though, was that he was alive. He was still alive. He rummaged for some of the dried sunbeans and ate a few. They were salty and bitter, but Watly wasn’t complaining. He was glad they were there. He shifted so that his rear end didn’t get too hot against the metal. After a few more sips of booze he opened his eyes and tried to get his bearings. It was very dark. Watly had plenty of room side to side, but almost no room up and down. That was fine with him. As long as he could rest. About twelve feet in either direction were the four end posts—one at each corner.

  Suddenly everything shook briefly and there was a loud click sound. It got even darker. The daylites had gone to night.

  Including the one he was sitting on.

  It had never occurred to Watly that someone could actually fit above a daylite. From the street they had always looked flush with the ceiling. It would have been hard to imagine a crawlspace above each one. Yet here he was, Watly Caiper, sprawled out on top of a daylite having a picnic. There was very little space between the daylite and the ceiling, but it suited Watly fine. And now, at a night setting, even the heat was no problem. Already the metal felt cooler. And the strong wind was invigorating. The small space must create a vacuum or something to increase the breeze like this, Watly thought. Most pleasant.

  He flexed and relaxed his legs to ease the tension from them. Rape, what a climb. What a climb indeed.

  As he sat chewing bitter sunbeans and sipping the booze, slipping slowly into a comfortable haze, Watly pondered over the doctor. The wonderful doctor. Perhaps... he thought, perhaps when all this is over and I’ve cleared my name and everything’s back to normal, perhaps Alysess would be my poovus. Perhaps, even, she would consider carrying my child. That would truly be wonderful. I can’t think of better genes. Yeah, right. Keep dreaming, Caiper. You’re slipping into a Jesusland-style fairy tale. When this is all over, you’ll be lucky to be alive.

  Watly took another big swallow of booze and closed his eyes, falling asleep. Falling asleep way up above everything he knew.

  CHAPTER 22

  “Akral?”

  “That you, Littwore?”

  “Take off, now. I’m your relief. Any action?”

  “It’s dead out here.”

  “Sounds like another boring-to-extreme deal.”

  “The doctor pornoed me off a while back, though. Maybe she’ll do the same for you.”

  “That’d be
nice. See you.”

  “So long.”

  The changing of the guard. Watly glanced over the edge of the daylite to get a look at his new baby-sitter. He couldn’t see much. Just the dark top of a head and a set of broad shoulders. A female, it looked like. The figure sat on the stoop and glanced upward. Watly slithered back over to the center of the daylite. He couldn’t stay here forever. There would always be a cop down there. Sooner or later Watly would have to start moving on. He had noticed a thick beam ran from daylite to daylite. It should be possible to crawl from one to another without too much trouble. That way he could leave the area. But not now. Now he needed to rest. His body couldn’t go on.

  Watly took out the note Alysess had stuffed in his bag. It was too dark to read it. He moved closer to the edge of the platform but still couldn’t read it. He fumbled around in the dark for the pipe cutter. There it was. Still hanging from his neck. Watly found the readout switch by feel. He flicked it on. A tiny red light glowed on the cutter’s handle to show it was still well charged. Watly held the cutter up against Alysess’s note. There was just enough light from the readout to make out one or two words at a time. Fortunately the doctor’s handwriting was clear and neat. Watly began reading, moving the cutter across the page for each line.

  Watly:

  Sorry about all this. Important—I will go every evening to a bar in Sexsentral from 7:00 to 8:00 P.M. Meet me there when you can. Should be safe. It is on 46th and 6th and is called the “Vagina Oblongata.” We’ll talk there.

  Meanwhile, I found some things out today:

  1. There was never any such thing as “night hosting.” I checked records and the only people in the building that night—or on any night—were the cuff-return cashier and his guard. According to the records, NO ONE was in any of the donor rooms. And those rooms are very secure. There is no indication of a break-in. Don’t know what this means but it doesn’t help your case.