The End Is Now

I wake up in my own bed, staring up at the ceiling, at a Chinese movie poster that belonged to whoever had this room before me. Beautiful woman in a lace tea dress the same creamy ivory as her skin, red vinyl heels that match her lipstick. Groaning, tasting something sour in the back of my mouth, I roll onto my side. Someone has neatly folded my clothes, stacked them on the window seat—not me, I never fold like that, so I must have had help getting into bed. Felicity? Or maybe Cloud?

Jesus Christ, I hope not. The thought of Cloud helping me out of my jeans makes my face feel as hot as Vanessa’s backroom, and redder than her frankly pathetic tomatoes.

Up and out of bed, pull on a clean pair of jeans, and in the kitchen I get another surprise. Gray City’s knockout DJ is resting her elbows on the chipped laminate counter, watching the hot plate boil water for coffee.

“Solar panel?” she says, pointing to the plate with her tattooed hand. Which may be the weirdest excuse for a “good morning” that I’ve ever heard.

“Yeah,” I say. “One, over the back porch.”

“Smart. A lot of people have gas generators.”

I grunt in response, thinking of Felicity’s truck, and grab a foil-packaged oatmeal bar from the cabinet.

While the coffee brews, I chew my oatmeal and study her more closely. She must have been wearing white make-up last night, because in the morning sunlight, her complexion is reddish-brown and bit blotchy. She’s got her hair piled up at the back of her head, secured with a lime-green plastic clip that I’ve seen Felicity wear before. Other than that, she’s dressed like she was last night—leather pants, pinstripe vest with, I now see, a flesh-colored tank underneath.

“Glad you’re doing okay this morning,” she says, catching me staring. “Your mom and I had a fuck of a time getting you home.”

“Felicity’s not my mom,” I say automatically. Catch myself before I can add something embarrassing, like my mother is dead. “Anyway, thanks. I appreciate it.”

She pours two cups of instant, one for me and one for herself. While I’m stirring in a packet of artificial sweetener, she spreads a small scrap of paper on the counter between us. I recognize my sketch of the ship.

“Did you draw this?”

It was in my pocket, I remember now. Must have fallen out when she was helping me into bed.

“Yeah. I mean, I copied it from somewhere. From some graffiti I saw in—” I stop myself just before I can say “Cat-piss Park.” This is really not my morning. “All around the University.”

“I know,” she says. “I put it there.”

She drums her fingers on the sketch. Long nails, enameled perfectly black.

“Good advertising,” I say after a pause that stretches a fraction of a second too long. Thinking back, looking for something Viking, Scandinavian about Gray City’s performance. Not finding it. Though I’m no expert, and I wish Cloud was here.

“Friday, I need to ask you a question.”

I stir another packet of sweetener into my coffee.

“I think you can help me find a friend of mine. She’d be living near the University now. Her name’s Vanessa, Vanessa Novak.”

“What makes you think I know her?” I suck a drop of too-sweet coffee off the end of my spoon

“Last night, in the van on the way home, you told me to listen to the water.”

I keep my voice carefully neutral. “Why would I say that?”

She slides her hands across the counter, back to her sides, drawing herself to her full height. Which isn’t unimpressive. But I’m not sure she’s trying to be intimidating. Her eyes, deep yellow-brown, narrow thoughtfully. “My friend, Vanessa, she thinks there’s something in the rain. Not acid. Machines.” Wets her lips with the tip of her pale pink tongue. “Like microscopic, mechanical viruses. Always looking for the minerals, the elements they need to make more of themselves. She says you can hear them working on the city. Digesting, not eroding.” She raises her coffee cup to her lips but doesn’t take a sip. “Did she ever tell you that?”

“Didn’t say your friend ever told me anything.”

“I’m worried about her, Friday. We were—friends—in Colorado. She disappeared pretty suddenly when the rain started. Ran away from her lab just when the government paid out a big chunk of money, if you believe the rumors. People think she knew something. Or the stress drove her crazy.”

Especially loud this morning, aren’t they? Vanessa had said. It had sounded crazy to me. And this woman, with her blue-black hair and her tats like a city eaten by acid, is sounding just as bad. Driving on the edge. Missing guardrails.

“So is she right, your friend?” I ask. “About these machines?”

“Maybe. I’m a musician, not a scientist. I don’t know.”

A musician who’s friends with Vanessa. Machines digesting the city. I don’t know which sounds more likely. “Well, that’s fucking terrifying,” I say. I grab my sketch and leave her and my over-sweetened coffee at the counter.

Track 5. Naglfar