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The story so far: Grim Khonsu is a serialised sci-fi detective noir story, set aboard a vast generation ship. Aveline Peron hires Grim to investigate changes in her partner, Xavier Peron. The case so far has resulted in the death of a mysterious Damsel and an ex-partner of Xavier’s, Lin Leven-Jacobson. After being pulled in by Chief Malo, then having Natuche Peron try to seduce and poison him, Grim confronts an angry Aveline. He walks away — but he’s followed.
I knew Freedom Alley like the back of my hand. So did my tails. I lost track of one or the other every so often, but they always returned, always far enough back that a casual observer wouldn’t notice. Not that there were casual observers in the Alley.
They were together. I reckoned they used tech, too. This was an operation.
“Lola. Any match on my tails?”
“I’m analysing. There is a likelihood that the male is one Nickson Dakar. My analysis suggests a seventy-two percent confirmation.
“Sick Nick? Sickson?” The name came from a botched job a few years back, left the idiot holed up for an age, recovering from the effects of the poison he’d meant to administer to some supplier. “Last I heard, the guy worked for Regina the Rat.”
“My memory contains data attesting to that.”
I wandered further into the Alley. “Get me Thor, would you?”
The connection pinged. “I’m busy.” Thor drawled.
“Same. Got a quick question. You know any reason Regina the Rat would have a hard-on for me?”
“Ratty Gina? Never has a good word for you, but nothing specific. Just the general stink you carry.”
“You say the nicest things. So what’s she into at the moment?”
“You think I know her dealings?”
“You know enough for Zhusie to keep the rat caged.”
I lost track of Sickson for a minute as I rounded another corner, headed into a narrow passage between a couple of residentials. Someone had an opening above, and the rapid fire of an argument hovered overhead, voices screeching too much to make out content. Would’ve been about anything. Could’ve been a couple having a polite conversation for all I knew.
“Gina’s got her whiskers all over,” Thor said. “Word is, she’s pushing beyond the Alley. Zhusie’s monitoring.”
Of course she was. “What kind of deals?”
“Low-level jack-plugs, knock-off narcos. Couple of possible hand-shakes with biotech companies.”
“You know which ones?”
“Don’t have the data to hand.” Which could be Thor’s way of saying he wouldn’t tell me. Or he couldn’t.
“Be good to know.”
“Sure it would.”
Sickson returned. He’d done something with his jacket, pulled the collar tighter. Enough to fool some, but not me.
Thor continued. “It’ll see what I can do. And Zhusie says not to make a mess in her territory.”
“Not my fault if people want to see what colour I bleed.”
“We tell them it’s as black as void, but they never believe us. Any trouble, take it outside the Alley. Zhusie’d appreciate it.”
“Tell her I’m thinking of her.”
“You want to make her paranoid?”
“Okay. Tell her she’s a cold-hearted bitch and I hope she dies a slow, painful death while watching her empire rust away before her bitter gaze.”
“So I’ll send her your love.”
Thor cut the connection, and I strode on. Strode, because this far into the Alley you don’t saunter. You don’t stop. This was a place to pass through, and if you looked like you had no place to go, people had a tendency to make sure you never ended up there.
And my two fans followed. I took a flight of stairs, hurried along an upper passage, dropped down near a fresh spinal shop. Wasn’t obvious from the door, but the signs were there if you knew where to look. And the girl who ran it, went by the name Nova, had some kind of deal with Regina the Rat.
Which explained the third tail. A skinny guy, wore a long jacket. I recognised him from the trolley when I followed the Damsel. He had the blur of a holo to his right.
I reached the edge of the Alley, passed through to the lost zone on the far side. This was close to Khonsu’s far aft, and people in the Alley simply called it The Arse. Some low-grade residential that served those with a fraction over basic, and a bunch of large industrials that fed the ship’s engines. Khonsu might run itself, but it needed people to fix things, grunts to do the bidding of the directors in the Gods, high above Prime. Some of the Arse-folk had come up from below, looking for something better and ending up trapped in the same old same old.
It was a quiet area. Locals didn’t want trouble. They kept to themselves. They used the Alley as a barrier, separated themselves from the rest of Tre.
The blocks were tight, with alcoves and crannies all over. I had Lola pull up a schematic.
My three admirers closed in. Could mean they were preparing for action, could mean they weren’t as familiar with these streets as they were with the Alley.
I squeezed through a gap between two blocks, too small to be a proper passage. It opened out after a few metres, and I turned left then right, into another cross-passage. A ladder led to a raised walkway, tightly-packed doss-rooms to one side, the whir of air filtration fighting the stink of sweat and depression.
I checked the schematic. Ahead and to the right, an alcove. Looked like a passageway, but Lola’s data said it was blocked, some semi-pro renovation that never received official authorisation, would cost too much to fight for removal. It resulted in a deep, high alcove that was unlit.
It was narrow enough that I could bridge between the walls. I pushed up into the dimness, back against the cool metal.
My tails weren’t stupid. They must’ve known this passage led nowhere, so they’re slowed. Nickson Dakar’s face appeared, shadowed from the light crawling in from the main street. He brought his holo up and used the glow to peer into the shadows. He took a step into the alcove.
I waited. I felt myself dissociate.
He came cautiously. His breathing was slow and steady, but deep. He paused to examine what looked like a sealed door, but it didn’t take him long to figure it wasn’t genuine. A relic from before the alterations. Not a way for me to escape.
Sickson continued. And when he was beneath me I dropped. Boots on the ground, an arm around the guy’s neck, a sucker-punch in his side, beneath his ribs. He collapsed as I pulled back. I rolled with him. My arm around his neck tightened while my other hand frisked him. It was efficient and fast. With his knife and small blaster clattering into the shadows I rolled him over, punched his nose to smear his face with blood, then jumped to my feet.
Nickson Dakar shuffled against the wall, groaning. I waited while he pushed into a sitting position. He wiped a hand across his upper lip and let out a short laugh when he saw the blood. He shook his head when he looked up to meet my gaze.
“I’ll give you a chance,” I said. “Talk.”
“Got nothin’ to say to you, raker.” He spoke through barely moving lips, his voice a hoarse whisper with a keen edge.
“Raker? You can’t come up with anything better?”
“Nothin’ you deserve.”
“And yet you and your pals were so interested in me. Should I be flattered?”
“Should be dead. Might be, soon.”
It was a good play, but not good enough. If they wanted me dead, they’ve missed too many opportunities.
I glanced to the edge of the alcove, to the passageway. I heard retreating footsteps.
“Looks like your pals have left you to it.”
“You ain’t got a clue.”
“Then how about you fill me in. Tell me why I’m being hounded by a rat.”
He winced. “That an accusation?”
“You tell me.”
The guy shuffled, trying to make himself comfortable. He’d slept in worse spots. He’d had more than a couple of punches. He groaned too much.
“You been poisoning yourself again?”
There was anger and hatred in his eyes, but it wasn’t directed at me. Not all of it. He coughed, and there was more blood in the stubble on his chin. The cough was like a side-stick rattle, and the groan that followed was a deep bass with breathy overtones.
“It’s usually others put out poison for the rat,” I said as thoughts congealed. “Gina been swapping roles? What’s she fed you, Nickson?”
“None of your fucking business.” He coughed into his hand. It didn’t stop the blood flecking down his front. He trembled. I’d seen people have small seizures, and the jerking of his limbs reminded me of that.
“Looks like it won’t be yours for much longer either.”
His head lolled. It looked like the fight left him. I took a half-step closer.
“Talking might help, Nickson.”
He sighed, then grimaced.
I moved closer, leaned forward. “Why’s Regina after me, Nickson? This personal, or is she a hired hand?”
He shook his head. He didn’t look at me as he said, “Only following instructions.” He grimaced again.
And then he lunged.
I’d spotted the signs — shifting his legs, placing his hands on the ground, tensing his body. I was ready. As his hands rose I grabbed his shoulders and used my weight to push him back down.
His back slammed against the wall. He exhaled. His breath stank of rotten meat.
And something else.
Still dissociated, I threw myself away. That stink was more than bad breath. There was a fog around Sickson’s mouth. It wasn’t natural.
I felt the fumes — the gas, whatever had erupted from deep inside the stupid thug’s guts — sink into my throat, down into my lungs. I knew that my body, somehow, knew what this meant.
Sure, I trust my guts. That didn’t mean I liked what it told me.
My vision blurred, but I could see his face clearly, a grinning rictus. He convulsed, muttering words I couldn’t catch, words that dissolved into noise.
There was nothing I could do but let my body collapse.