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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 Aveline Peron brought to Grim — changes in her partner Xavier’s personality — soon became much larger. A woman passing information to Xavier ends up murdered. Another of Xavier’s partners, Natuche, attempts to seduce then poison Grim. Lin Leven-Jacobson, a scientist connected to Xavier, winds up dead. A denizen of the Alley, Regina the Rodent, tries to kill Grim, an act that seems to be connected in some way.
It’s enough to make Grim throw in the towel. Almost .Minerva, his ‘assistant’, convinces him to continue.
After a fractured sleep I headed to The Foreshore. The server brought me a water without me asking, and her smile felt genuine. I ordered a small fry, ate slowly, watched the entrance to Per-LB. People came and went. I didn’t reckon any of them were of importance to my case. Which meant no distractions as I waved through case files, considering my next move.
I focused on the Peron household. They might give a show of happy families, but each part of the foursome was too different for that. Xavier Peron was the showman who followed a rigid work schedule and never seemed to tire. Natuche might be a seductress, but she was also the only mother the Peron kids knew, spending most of her time in the Peron residence or accompanying the little ones to various activities. Aveline played the helpless damsel — badly — but she had her own business affairs, visited offices all over Tre, took trips to Khonsu’s upper levels.
Colville was more of a mystery. Going by Lola’s data, he spent long stretches ensconced in the Peron residence, weeks at a time, then he’d be all over, this level and others, staying in night-rental that made my place look like a closet. The few snippets of gossip I caught suggested he was dedicated more to Xavier than to the Peron arrangement itself.
I needed more data. And I’d finished my fry. I gave the server a friendly nod as I sauntered from the Foreshore. She gave me a wave. If that was too familiar, the place’s owner didn’t seem to mind. The short woman watched the exchange with something approaching a smile.
Friendly service made loyal customers, and loyal customers made for steady income.
The spine and a cross-trolley took me to Malini, and a quick walk brought me to The Heights. Nobody gave me any trouble. I might not look like a resident, but people here didn’t want bother, would ignore me unless I upset them.
The lobby to The Heights was minimal professional, all reflective surfaces and textured art, no seating, no signage. The concierge — because of course the residents could afford the human touch — didn’t stop me as I crossed the polished floor. The old guy watched from behind a polite smile. He wasn’t there for security. There were peekers and other sensors for that.
The corridor beyond the lobby was straight and cool, baffles softening the echo of my steps. The doors, spread far apart, were numbered with recessed digits by sleek screens. The door to Suite 26 looked like all the others, nothing to indicate who lived within.
The plans Lola had lifted showed a service door at the rear, but that would lead back to the lobby. There was no indication of any other access to the Peron residence.
I returned to the lobby, gave the old guy behind the counter a polite nod, and left. There was an up-market refreshment stand a short distance down the street. The counter-top gave me a clear view of the entrance to The Heights. I pulled an eyes-only holo, pretended to run through messages in it, and sipped the water I’d ordered, leaving the chai to cool. Not that I’d touch it, but ordering only water would’ve looked suspicious.
Half an hour later, Colville Peron stepped from The Heights’ lobby.
The man wore his years with an accepting nonchalance. His dark hair, cut short and stylish, was streaked with grey. His smile extended lines from his eyes. His clothing was a long way from basic, but a far cry from Xavier’s ostentations.
I finished the rest of my water in a couple of gulps. I made a play of picking up the chai then thinking better of it, leaving it on the counter. I killed the holo, slid off the stool and sauntered away.
“You keeping an eye on our target, Lola?”
“I’m doing all I can. I take it you don’t want to get too close.”
“Not yet. You know the play.”
Colville boarded a trolley, and I hopped on before the doors sealed. I followed him off a couple of stops later, deep in Central. He turned a corner, and for a moment I lost him. He reappeared when a bunch of oldsters in exercise-wear slouched into a gym. Colville walked along a row of eateries, paused, entered the third on the right.
Lola pulled a holo, gave me data. The place was called Rest. Decent reviews, running five years, owner had another place in Star Minora, looked like he was keen to spread further.
I ambled past. The place had see-throughs and a soft-focus field that made the interior look glamorous. A couple sat at a table by the entrance, but the place was otherwise empty. A young server guided Colville to a table against the left wall, hovered over him as he gave his order. She shuffled when he smiled at her.
There was an entertainments store opposite Rest, one of the few non-eateries in this vicinity. The left wall was lined with catalogue booths. A couple of kids huddled in the far booth, blurred by a privacy field, probably checking out stuff their folks restricted on the home system. Over by the counter a sullen middle-aged guy waved lazily through a holo while sipping from a beaker.
I took the booth closest to the entrance. I called up the catalogue and waved through options, pausing every so often, toggling previews.
The server brought Colville a large, steaming cup with froth in danger of toppling. It was a struggle to place it down without any spillage, but she managed. He raised a hand to stop her retreat, bent over the cup and lifted it to his lips. His eyes closed. He swallowed. Only when he’d placed the cup back on the table did he open his eyes, spoke to the server and gave her a nod and smile. That was her signal to return to her post by the counter, ready for her next customer.
“You catch what he said?” I asked Lola.
“I’ve analysed his facial movements. He used the server’s name in both their interactions.”
“Wearing a name-tag. Might’ve been what made her nervous.” And it might’ve meant Colville was a regular.
I flipped through the catalogue. There was a whole bunch of historicals, planet stuff based on old legends. This place catered for all tastes. There were a few pandemic stories, and the catalogue said they were accurate, even though the stories were hotly debated. Some said the last pandemic had wiped out half the planet, others said that was a gross exaggeration. I’d heard of some scholars who reckoned the whole thing was a government play, but they could never agree on which government was behind it.
Sure, there were records, but they were incomplete. And records could be tampered with. The past wasn’t something we could ever know with full certainty.
And we all became history. Everyone died. Some people were nothing but a footnote, a one-line mention. Others deserved a paragraph or two. A select few had more. But the majority were inconsequential, soon-forgotten blips.
Like me. Like Colville. And like Aveline.
She wore a dark hooded coat, but I recognised her haughty swagger, the way she breezed past the poor server and strode straight for Colville. Only when she’d sat did she pull down her hood. Her hair hung loose, and she leaned forward so it obscured part of her face.
“Reckon I’ll need a real-time update on what they say, Lola.”
“I’ll do my best.”
The girl approached the table. Aveline spoke without looking at her.
“She’s ordered a chai.”
“Straight, with sweetener?”
“Correct.”
Colville and Aveline chatted. Lola relayed what she could, and it was a nothing conversation. The server brought over Aveline’s drink, and Aveline thanked her. So did Colville, and Aveline glared at him. They didn’t speak until the server had gone.
And then Aveline leaned in, jabbing a finger as she spoke rapid-fire. He raised his hands, palms out.
“She’s not happy.”
“Aveline Peron accuses Colville and the others, presumably Natuche and Xavier, of ganging up on her.”
“Get the impression none of them like her bringing me the case.”
“Colville Peron says they tried talking to her, but she didn’t listen.”
She frowned, shook her head. She still stabbed that finger at him.
“And this is news to her.”
“Apparently so.”
Or she wanted Colville to think that.
“You getting anything solid, or is this approximations?”
“I’m running further analysis. The development of the conversation is providing context that clarifies certain aspects of earlier utterances. I’ll provide a detailed transcript, of course.”
Aveline leaned back, arms folded. Her thin lips barely moved as she spoke a line.
“My initial analysis suggests that Aveline says she has enough to make the rest of the arrangement uncomfortable.”
Colville shook his head. He leaned in, talking fast, like he was pleading.
“He has mentioned at least three times that Xavier is a brilliant man. That phrase I am almost totally certain of.”
“And Aveline doesn’t accept it, right?”
“She says brilliance is close to blindness. I could be mistaken. That utterance requires more analysis.”
“Reckon you’re close enough.”
Aveline slapped her hands on the table, loud enough that the couple by the door glanced over. Aveline glared at Colville.
His lips twitched fast as he spoke.
“He’s making many references to finances. He’s using the past tense a great deal.”
“Her finances or his? Or the Perons as a foursome?”
“I get the impression Colville Peron refers to Aveline Peron’s finances.”
“She works in finance. He talking about her personal wealth, or her clients?”
“That is unclear.”
And the distinction wasn’t absolute anyway. Get sufficient funds, the accountants would work their magic, divert personal funding into public ventures or business dealings, make accounts dance to a tune that multiplied like magic.
But whatever Colville said, it pissed Aveline off. She spat back at him, finger jabbing close to his face. He backed up, palms out, mouth flapping as he tried to counter.
“He’s saying he doesn’t want anything to upset Xavier.”
Aveline pointed that loaded finger at herself, stabbing between her breasts. I didn’t need Lola to read her lips.
“And she’s saying ‘what about me’, right?”
She pushed away from the table, almost tipping her chair. Colville reached for her, but she slapped his hand away before spinning around. She strode to the door. Before it opened she turned back to Colville, had time to launch more words in his direction before storming into the street.
“That was most un-lady-like language,” Lola said.
But Aveline was no lady. A lady didn’t go behind her partner’s back. A lady didn’t take her problems to a low-life degenerate investigative consultant.
And I’d caught something as her coat flapped about her. A bulge at her hip. Another complication.
Why would Aveline Peron need a weapon?