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The story so far: Grim Khonsu is a serialised sci-fi detective noir story, set aboard a vast generation ship. The case grows more complex. The investigation into the supposed changes to Xavier Peron already involves two suspicious deaths and a brush with the authorities, but now Grim is being targeted directly, by a resident of the Alley known as Regina the Rodent, and escaping her clutches is only a temporary reprieve.
“Lola. Give me everything we have on Regina the Rodent.”
Lola hung the files in my office, the walls smothered in shadow, the lighting soft. I stood in the middle, spinning, grabbing and manipulating. My music bubbled in the background.
“And give me a summary.”
“Of course. Regina Netoma, thirty-nine years old, currently listed as living in the Freedom Alley area of Khonsu Tre, full address provided. Raised by biological parents who subsisted primarily on basic, with occasional bonuses from grab-work, although an analysis of lifestyle and finances suggests some funds coming from other sources.”
“You mean illicit jobs, right?”
“That is the implication, but I cannot confirm.”
“Fair enough. So the rat was raised surrounded by back-handers. She have any official jobs?”
“A handful, all for short periods of time. She is also listed as owning a few entrepreneurial ventures.”
“A few?”
“The exact number is hard to ascertain, as some were joint ventures Regina Netoma entered under a false name.”
“But you know about them.”
“Her official identity came through later. But, obviously, only in the ones known about.”
“So she’s probably listed on ventures under different names all over.”
“That can only be assumed.”
“Then I’ll assume it. She’s the Rodent. Incidentally, any ideas where she dug that name up? Always felt it could too easily be an insult.”
“Indeed. There are a handful of stories regarding the choice and acceptance of Regina Netoma’s alias, and one of those is that it was an insult that she took on as a taunt to her hecklers. Other stories suggest the name came about due to her ability to scurry away from trouble, as well as her ability to utilise small alleys to her advantage.”
“And a street name, even one like the Rodent, is a better calling card than Regina Netoma. Distances her from family, too. Speaking of which, any family apart from her parents?”
“Two siblings are listed — a brother, Rutger two years her senior, and a sister, Ramana, three years her junior.”
“Let me guess -- parents both had names starting with the letter R?”
“Correct. Raymond and Rosamond.”
“Genius. So what happened to the other two rugrats?”
“Rutger passed away ten years ago. Officially, he was an innocent victim in a gang-related incident. I’ve pulled the relevant files from the Department.”
I scanned them. Department paperwork stuck to rigid templates, so it didn’t take long. “Think I recall the incident. Led to Kelwin Cape being pounded, right? Department found him guilty of a whole string of offences, still keeping him locked down somewhere.” At least, that was the official version. Many of the confinement holes were solitary, stuck to the edges of Khonsu. There were rumours some of them doubled as hatches.
Malo generally played fair. The scum of Khonsu didn’t, so he wasn’t averse to looking the other way on occasions. Shove some evil bastard in solitary, hint that it opened onto the void, and sometimes that was enough to get the confessions flowing. If not, the cells were distant enough that nobody would overhear any extreme questioning. If that questioning got too, then opening the hatch cleared away the body, and good riddance to bad rubbish.
“That is correct,” Lola said, dragging my thoughts back to the case. “Rutger Netoma was, according to the records, caught in the cross-fire as some of Kelwin Cape’s people were subdued.”
“Subdued. Nice way of putting it. So what about the Rat’s sister? Rama?”
“Ramana. She had an above-average training record, and there are outstanding reports from various employment positions she secured in her early twenties, primarily within human resources and related public-facing roles.”
I grabbed the record. “Had. Past tense. Can’t see a death cert here.”
“That is because there is none. Official records end when she turned twenty-four.”
“End? What do you mean, end?”
“Precisely that. After turning twenty-four there are no more official records for Ramana Netoma.”
“So she disappeared?”
“I cannot say what happened to her, only that there are no more records.”
“Voided? Any indication of enemies?”
“She appears to have been well-regarded.”
I checked dates. “She disappeared when the Rodent was already making a reputation in the Alley, right? Could one of Gina’s enemies have used her sister as a pressure point?”
“It’s a possibility.”
And if the pressure had broken the little sister irreparably, there were ways to remove bodies. There were ways to fudge paperwork, assign an extra package to a hatch. Down on the base level, there were the incinerators, or whatever they were called, turned Khonsu’s crap into energy.
“You got any images of her?”
Lola hung a monitoring shot, some street corner at dusk. A few dodgy characters to the rear, but two women front and centre. The one on the left was clearly a younger Rodent. I zoomed in on the woman on the right.
“Ramana?”
“Correct.”
“You got anything better?”
“There are very few publicly-available captures.”
“Scrubbed?”
“Without analysis of data beyond my access protocols, I cannot say.”
And removing so many records would be tough. It would take someone who knew systems inside-out, and who could run serious counter-protocol hacks.
Or access to someone with those skills, along with the means to persuade them to co-operate.
I twisted the image, focusing on the girl’s features. “Looks familiar. Beyond being the Rat’s sister.”
The music swirled around me. The battery kicked down a solid groove, but the bass and horn danced and fought, like they were both vying for dominance, melody an abstract, something that might happen or might not.
I moved through older files, opened and manipulated images, scanned and discarded all. Until I came to the one I recalled. I pulled it closer.
“Who’s that standing beside Xavier?”
The capture came from some business affair, a bunch of self-important suits holding expensive drinks. They called it networking. It was like sharks circling one another, sizing up opportunities. Xavier wore his usual charm, all smiles and shirt-sleeves. The woman beside him had void-black hair held in place by a thin silver band, wore a shimmering black suit that showed a petite frame. The smile she gave Xavier looked genuine, but I wasn’t convinced.
“The records indicate she is Indrana Cordray. At the time of the capture she’s listed as an agency-assigned public liaison officer with LJB.”
Another check of dates, then I said, “So this was snapped after Xavier and Lin had parted ways. Make a note of that, Lola. And give me what you’ve got on this Indrana woman.”
A fresh file irised. “Indrana Cordray, twenty-eight, currently occupying a suite in Central, address provided. Parentage unknown, brought up in a youth centre. Exemplary education record followed by further study in psychology and business, worked through an agency for three years, completing assignments in various offices across Tre before going freelance. She has excellent recommendations, and commands a high retainer for her services. She’s consulted for some of the biggest names in Khonsu, including NatLegal and Per-LB.”
“Interesting.” Lola had more images of San Cordray, and I flicked through them. She was attractive, in a way that promised more than a quick tussle in the sheets. It was easy to imagine waking up beside this woman. “She’s dangerous.”
“She has no record with the Department.”
“Gut reaction. Run a comparison between this image and the one of the siblings. What are the similarities between our Indrana Cordray and Ramana Netoma?”
“Analysing.” A new window opened, data scrolling as two images spun and fractured. “Am I to assume you’re looking for a positive correlation between the features in both images?”
“Only if it’s there. Running a hunch.”
“Understood. Analysis suggests only a ten percent correlation, based on available data sources.”
“Not enough to say they’re the same person, then.”
“The scheme I’m utilising requires at least an eighty percent correlation to be considered a possible positive, pending further analysis. As things stand, Indrana Cordray is not Ramana Netoma”
The horn wailed, a high harmonic that almost bled out of hearing range. But I could feel it.
“Doesn’t sit right,” I said. I twisted the images of Indrana, held them against that image of Ramana. “Can see they’re not the same. But that’s only skin deep, right? Need to go deeper. What about alterations? You get where I’m going with this, don’t you?”
“I believe so. I’m collating data on surgical procedures as I speak. Without firm information this is purely speculation, but there are some invasive undertakings that could, in theory, be utilised to alter the appearance of a person so radically that they could look like someone else.”
“Need you to be more specific.”
“There are procedures that alter the underlying bone structure of the face. Other procedures can alter skin tone and eye colour, as well as natural hair colour. There are experimental procedures that work at a genetic level, but these are so complex that any attempt to summarise would fail. I’ve added files to the case record.”
“Wasn’t what I meant by specifics. I want to know if these chop-jobs could turn a Ramana into an Indrana.”
The bass thundered with a sudden rush of chromatics, the strings struck rather than bowed or plucked. The sound echoed my heartbeat as Lola manipulated images, data flashing, pin-points dancing. The image of the Rodent’s sister stretched and bulged. For a moment a skull showed, gone in a flash. And when the distortions settled the image showed Indrana.
It was only the manipulation of an image, and it meant nothing in itself. But meaning burrowed bone-deep.
“I stress that this is speculation,” Lola said. “This is a demonstration of possibility only. This cannot be considered evidence of anything.”
“But it’s something.” And, at the moment, speculation was all I had.