S. Swann - Forests of the Night

Copyright © 1993 by Steven Swiniarski. All Rights Reserved.

Cover art by Jim Burns. DAW Book Collectors No. 918.

This is for John, Heather, and their kid(s?)

If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher. In such case neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

First Printing, July 1993 123456789

DAW TRADEMARK REGISTERED

U.S. PAT. OFF. AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES

-MARCA REGISTRADA

HECHO EN U.S.A.

PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to a number of people who left their mark on this manuscript. To Dan Eloff, who knows he got me writing again, and to R. M. Meluch, who doesn't. To the members of the Cleveland SF Writer's Workshop, who helped me get the burrs and toolmarks off this novel. To Stacy Newman, who offered to proof this. To Anastacia H. Brightfox, for naming one of the characters. And thanks to Amy, who, if nothing else, helped to give me something to write about.

Tygerl Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry ?

In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire ? What the hand, dare seize the fire ?

And what shoulder, and what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? And what dread feet?

What the hammer? What the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp ?

When the stars threw down their spears, And water'd heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee ?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry ?

-WILLIAM BLAKE

"One day, Nugoya, you're going to screw the wrong person." Nohar Rajasthan raked his claws across the seat of his booth, wishing it was Nugoya's face. Like the rest of Zero's, the vinyl on the seat was flashy, shiny, and cheap. The seat shredded.

Nugoya grabbed the collar of the black jacket that was draped over his left shoulder, shaking his head. He looked human, but only at first glance. A close examination of the graying Japanese would reveal joints large beyond normal human proportions and muscles that snaked like steel cable. The light above the booth glinted off the chrome irises of Nugoya's artificial Japanese eyes. "I hire you to find my girl. You find me a corpse. A corpse is worthless. I owe you nothing."

Nohar shouldn't have had the bad sense to let Nugoya hire him. It was becoming hard to contain his anger. "Expenses, and four days of legwork."

Nohar shouldn't have trusted a frank. Japan had been one of the few countries to ever defy the U.N. ban on the manipulation of human genetic material. The INS had tight restrictions on letting human frankensteins into the country, and those that made it here found that they had few, if any rights. That kind of bitterness tended to turn people into assholes—and Nugoya didn't need any help on that score.

Even moreaus like Nohar had a constitutional amendment in their favor.

"I owe you nothing. I should ask back the thousand

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S. ANDREW SWANN

I paid you. You are an arrogant cat. Were we elsewhere, you would have to show some respect, and pay for your failure." Nugoya held up his mutilated right hand. It was missing two fingers.

Nohar was already scanning the rest of the bar. He picked out Nugoya's people easily. They were all mo-reaus—a human would not be caught dead working for a frank.

"Twenty-five hundred, Nugoya. Pay me."

It was Tuesday, two in the morning. There were only a half-dozen other people. The civilians—all human since they were downtown—were giving Nugoya's booth a wide berth. No surprise, since two of Nugoya's soldiers were hovering near the table. One was a tiger, like Nohar. The other was a dark brown, nearly black ursine that couldn't quite stand upright even with the relatively high ceiling. Nugoya had a vulpine manning the bar, and a trio of white rabbits sat near the entrance. Nohar knew there was a canine somewhere out of sight, probably in the kitchen. Nohar could catch a hint of the dog's scent.

"You railed. No money."

Nohar told himself that he should just walk out of there. Shut up, leave, and cut his losses. He didn't.

"I found the bitch, peddling her ass on the side for the flush you hooked her on. I don't know if it was cut with angel dust or drain cleaner, but her last trip splat-ted her all overMorey Hill. It's your fault she's dead."

Nugoya's jaw clenched, and Nohar could smell his anger. Nugoya stood up. His jacket slid off his shoulder, revealing his artificial left arm and some scarring on his neck. "How dare you, an animal, presume—"

That was enough. "And what are you, Nugoya, but a half-pint, half pink sleazeball?"

Nugoya sputtered something incomprehensible. Probably Japanese.

Nohar was glad he was the one facing the rest of the bar. He could feel all hell was about to break loose. Why couldn't he keep his damn mouth shut? One more

FORESTS OF THE NIGHT

13

try at being reasonable. "I just want my money, Nugoya. You aren't going to shake me down like one of your girls."

Nugoya's problem was he couldn't ever be anything but a small-time pimp. He wasn't human and he wasn't a moreau, so neither world would let him have more than a few scraps of the power he thought he deserved.

"I will not take any more insolence. Leave or I will have you removed."

Nugoya motioned with his left arm at the other tiger and the bear. The tiger started moving forward. The bear reached under a table and took a hold of something large and presumably deadly. He kept it out of sight of the patrons. "It's insolence to think the world owes you respect because some defunct Jap corporation built you like a disposable radio."

That did it. Nugoya had a killer ego, and could only take a little needling before he jumped. In his prime, a Japanese corporate samurai could take Nohar in a fair fight. Nugoya's ego would never let him admit that he was well past his prime. Tokyo was nuked by China a long time ago, and Nugoya had been sitting on his butt for longer than that.

The frank ripped the table from the wall and threw it to the side. The advancing tiger almost tripped over it. Nohar stayed seated and Nugoya went for his neck. Nugoya was fast, faster than any normal human, faster than most moreaus.

Nohar was faster.

As the other tiger manhandled the remains of the table out of his way and the bear pulled out a Russian-make assault rifle, Nohar's right hand shot up and clamped on Nugoya's mechanical wrist. At the same time, Nohar wrapped his left arm around Nugoya's right arm. The frank's three-fingered hand ended up clamped under Nohar's armpit. Nohar had his forearm levered under Nugoya's upper arm, his hand resting on the shoulder.

14 S. ANDREW SWANN

Nohar pushed down and heard the bone crack.

Nugoya yelled, washing Nohar's face with his sour breath, and tried to escape. But Nohar had lifted the frank off the ground by the mechanical arm. Nugoya

didn't have the leverage.

Predictably, one of the civilians screamed.

"That will heal. If I did that to your other arm, who's around to fix it? Call off the muscle."

Nugoya showed some reluctance, so Nohar bore down on the broken arm. Nohar could hear the bones grate together. Nugoya shook his head violently and screamed something back at his people in Japanese. The tiger stopped moving, and the bear set the rifle down on the ground.

The tiger slowly drew his gun from a shoulder holster and dropped it.