Читать онлайн «Kiln People (The Kiln Books)»

Some kind of missile — a stone I guess — smacked the brick wall inches away, splattering my face with stinging grit. There wasn’t any shelter to cower behind, except an overstuffed trash can. I grabbed the lid and swung it around.

Just in time. Another slug walloped the lid, denting plastic instead of my chest.

Someone had me nailed.

Moments ago, the alley had seemed a good place to hide and catch my breath. But now its chill darkness betrayed me instead. Even a ditto gives off some body heat. Beta and his gang don’t carry guns into this part of town — they wouldn’t dare — but their slingshots come equipped with infrared sights.

I had to flee the betraying darkness. So while the shooter reloaded, I raised my makeshift shield and dashed for the bright lights of Odeon District.

It was a risky move. The place swarmed with archies, dining at cafés or milling about near classy theaters. Couples strolled arm-in-arm along the quay, enjoying a riverside breeze. Only a few coloreds like me could be seen — mostly waiters serving their bland-skinned betters at canopied tables.

I wasn’t going to be welcome in this zone, where owners throng to enjoy their long, sensuous lives. But if I stayed on back streets I’d get hacked into fish food by my own kind.

Damn. It’s crowded, I thought, while picking a path across the plaza, hoping to avoid brushing against any of the sauntering archies. Though my expression was earnest — as if I had a legit reason to be there — I must have stood out like a duck among swans, and not just because of skin color. My torn paper clothes drew notice. Anyway, it’s kind of hard to move delicately while brandishing a battered trash lid between your vitals and the alley behind you.

A sharp blow struck the plastic again. Glancing back, I saw a yellow-hued figure lower his slingshot to load another round. Furtive shapes peered from the shadows, debating how to reach me.

I plunged into the crowd. Would they keep shooting and risk hitting a real person?

Ancient instinct — seared into my clay body by the one who made me — clamored to run. But I faced other dangers now — from the archetype human beings surrounding me. So I tried to perform all the standard courtesies, bowing and stepping aside for couples who wouldn’t veer or slow down for a mere ditto.

I had a minute or two of false hopes. Women chiefly looked past me, like I didn’t exist. Most of the men were more puzzled than hostile. One surprised chap even made way for me, as if I were real. I smiled back. I’ll do the same for your ditto someday, chum.