Rainbow Bridge Read Online Free Page A

Ax still with the guitar shipped, to watch the wild man’s progress until he vanished.
    ‘Where d’you think he’s going?’
    Sage was overtaken by the need to fill his dirty rag again, sneezing out great gouts of bile-coloured phlegm. He was no longer togged into the engineers’ space, so it was only Ax who got the benefit. ‘Looking for Fee, of course. See if he can convince our little tearaway to pick up her AK and git some.’
    They laughed: but it was painful. They could only tell themselves that if their friend was in his right mind the reality of the situation would be blindingly obvious.
    ‘That’s a problem,’ said Ax.
    The people had spotted him: Ax Preston with guitar. They drifted uncertainly forward, dirty faces upturned, dark eyes, dark eyes, what a ragged, ramshackle bunch of orphans. Ax looked to the side, and sound-system ruler George Merrick nodded: go ahead, why not? What are we saving it for?
    Gold and rose, the colour of the dream I had…
Not too long ago, yeah…
    Fiorinda had been walking around all day being visible, between bursts of vital conferencing with the stewards. The mood was eerily cheerful, eerily familiar on the surface. Could have been any daft, outdoor winter fest of the old Reich. But the dead stood in the eyes of those who’d come from the Occupied Zones; the gut-shot misery of defeat was in them all, beyond reason. The fact that the Chinese had deposed and executed a junta of vicious monsters made no difference. Late in the afternoon she was in the backstage canteen, hiding from friends, lovers and the bleeding crowd alike; warming her hands on a mug of sweet, scalding black tea. Fragments of festinet chat scrolled across the tabletop. The lonely hearts photos, row on row, inescapable. Fuck, I can’t stand much more of this, why doesn’t the tech break down for a while? Has anyone seen…? Any information… Any information… Have you any news of…? Biff…? Are you here? Biff is nine years old, here’s his picture, we haven’t seen him since—
    Poor Smelly Hugh Raven, baby Safire in his arms, was searching for Silver and Pearl, who had been missing since the Reading Massacre. The Few’s token addled hippy geezer, earnestly hopeful; in the dignity of his grief—
    ‘They’ll know to come here, won’t they, Fio? They’ll turn up, won’t they?’
    What, all my pretty chickens and their dam?
    Smelly’s old lady, Anne-Marie Wing, was definitely dead, as were his two little boys, and his oldest daughter. Dilip, confirmed dead too. No additions to that aching personal list yet, as far as they knew. Sage’s dad hadn’t even been arrested, despite his closeness to government circles. Ax’s family was okay too, hostages again but okay; if you could trust any information from the South West. Sage’s son had been with his mother, safe in deepest Wales, since before the invasion. But the Wing kids preyed on her. Prime girl-flesh, and worse: prime targets for interrogation. What is happening to those children now, have they died for me?
    How many died for me?
    Got to get Smelly out of those clothes.
    She heard Mr Guitar striking up with some gentle Hendrix but stayed put, fighting her demons. Get a grip, live with it, nervous breakdowns not allowed. Chip Desmond and Kevin Verlaine peered into the tent and spotted her. Chip’s round black cherub face broke into a grin and they zipped straight over, unimpressed by leave me alone vibes. Verlaine, very pale, his brown cavalier curls scraped back, dragged up two more plastic chairs.
    ‘Any chance of us snagging a hit?’ wondered Chip, inhaling tea fumes.
    ‘The urn’s over there,’ said Fiorinda, jerking her chin in the direction of a press of bodies. ‘Try your luck. I think they’ve run out of sugar, though.’
    They stared like puppydogs. ‘Oh, all right. Don’t bogart that caffeine, mes amis . I’m unspeakably glad you’re alive, but I have refugee needs too.’
    ‘We’re unspeakably glad you’re alive,