For the Crime of Mechanical Cancer

By Zoe Nyx

There is the City, a mountain of fresh concrete and empty streets, and the Tower , a pinnacle of raw steel and bronze cladding. Those within serve or vanish.
More than most, Teresa suffers for her supposed crime, an affliction she cannot control. It grants her powers that are useful, and so long as she too serves, she lives. When the chains begin to slip, her plans to escape are destroyed and she flees with the only friend she has.
The Tower wants her back. Can she discover the limits of her abilities before they are captured?
Can they ever be free?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Zoe Nyx
• Release date: May 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005924942

Zoe Nyx

Living in Brisbane with my wonderful wife, writing queer science fiction in all senses of the word.

Book preview

For The Crime Of Mechanical Cancer

Copyright 2022 Zoe Nyx

Smashwords Edition

They’d been following her for the last few minutes.

The streets were half lit by the setting sun, but the lamps were still warming up, so the smooth cement pathway had shadows that changed oddly. Usually, she’d have been home an hour ago.

They were a pack of young men, maybe a small gang, maybe a group out drinking early. When they’d seen her, they’d called out, catcalls and whistles sounding as she hurried on. That might have been the end of it, but one of them had seen her finger.

The neat little silver thimble covered the last joint of the smallest finger on her left hand. Subtle, and most people either didn’t notice or pretended not to see it. Just her luck to get a group that were insightful and assholes.

She was trying not to walk faster. People like this were pack predators, jackals. If she ran, they’d chase. It was their nature. So long as she walked just fast enough to stay ahead, but didn’t quite hurry, she had time. Every step got her closer to…

Home.

Her steps almost slowed. Whatever was behind her, ahead of her was…

She carefully continued walking at the exact same speed. What lay ahead wasn’t a pack of mutts, it was an alpha predator. If she was quiet, and appealed to its better nature, she’d emerge, well, not unscathed, but no more hurt than usual.

Her left thumbnail tapped the thimble in a nervous tic she wished she could stop doing.

Her building loomed ahead in the half-and-half light, the shadows in its doorway deep against the straight and brutal lines of stone.

As though sensing she was almost beyond their reach, the yells from behind her changed, and the footsteps got louder.

She didn’t hurry, didn’t run. She simply walked forwards, head up and eyes straight as one of the shadows in her doorway stepped out.

It was a man, probably. He was not too tall, and not too big, but his emergence froze the steps of those behind her. His clothes were all dark brown, the kind of colour that could absorb any number of stains. No skin was visible, with a long jacket ending in neat and expensive gloves. His head was covered with thin, skin-tight leather, probably, and fused into it was a smooth oval of smoked glass behind which lay an unseen face.

Probably.

Ah, Ms Holton, came his voice, smooth and neat and calm. I did wonder where you were. You are usually so punctual.

She stopped walking, standing in front of him with her gaze fixed firmly at his boots. She said nothing.

Behind her, there were whispered mutterings among the gang. They quieted as the man’s gaze, or rather his faceless visage, swept over them.

I see. You’ve made friends. Unfortunate. They can leave now. The tone of his voice was light, and sharp.

There was the sound of a single step, and a loud voice saying Hey-, before a heavy thumb of fist hitting flesh sounded.

Over the new gasping noises, another voice said Sorry sir. We’ll be going, before footsteps began to shuffle away.

Without moving at all, the faceless oval of smoked glass stared past her shoulder until the sounds of footsteps vanished from hearing.

It is a great shame that rabble such as that see fit to harass upstanding citizens. The oval turned to face her again. And people like you, Ms Holton. Shall we go inside?

She nodded once, politely.

He stepped back towards her front door, a key in his hand flickering briefly before the door clicked open. Quietly, he walked inside, and quietly, she followed.

With the ease of familiarity, he walked into her ground floor apartment, his footsteps echoing in the otherwise empty building. They moved into the small kitchen she preferred to eat in, and he placed the small bag he was carrying on the table.

Sit.

She did so, letting her own bag fall near the door as she did. She sat quietly, her hands tightly clasped in her lap.

I’ll make us some tea, he said politely. He turned and opened her pantry, quickly removing the small tea box before filling the cast iron kettle and placing it on the stove. As the copper plate on the bottom of the kettle began to heat, he rummaged in her cupboard for two teacups.

I always find it calming, the act of making tea, he continued. Helps to settle me down. Of course, it perks me right back up again after I drink it, but that’s life. We do, only to be undone.

The kettle began to softly whistle as he arranged the cups on a small tray and placed a small spoon of tea leaves into a pot. Without