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The story so far: Grim Khonsu is a serialised sci-fi detective noir story, set aboard a vast generation ship. In Chapter 1, investigative consultant Grim returned to his office after a rough, violent night, wanting only to collapse. But fate has other ideas, in the form of a potential client.
Aveline Peron wore an aura of disdain. She stood on the threshold of my office, casting her gaze around the plain walls as if they were dripping with grease, glancing at the flooring as if it was covered in oils that would discolour her dainty shoes. Then she shot me a look that told me exactly what she thought of me.
I didn’t like her either. But she wasn’t here to be liked. She was a potential client, and I could be professional.
“Aveline Peron?”
“If you’re as good as they say you are, you have no need to ask such an obvious question.”
I gave her a smile. “If you don’t want to be here, there’s nothing to stop you leaving. I’d hate to upset your day.”
She did that thing people do, where they narrow their eyes as if the act will cut you down. It doesn’t. Not with me.
“Do you treat all your clients so poorly, San Grim?”
“You’re not a client unless I accept the job. And it’s just Grim. No San. That okay with you, San Peron?”
“Grim.” She rolled the name like it hurt. “Is that a name or a description?”
“All names are labels, San Peron. Including yours. Or did you have a memory wipe when you discarded Aveline Elson?”
Her mouth twitched. “Maybe we should discuss the case, Grim.” She turned the twitch into a condescending smile.
“Potential case. Come on in. There’s a desk over there, or the lounge set-up. I’m easy either way.”
She considered the choice, watching me with those narrowed eyes again, then said, “This is a business matter, so we’ll keep things formal.”
Aveline Peron strode past me, to the desk. She jerked her head a couple of times, then selected the chair furthest from the door. She pulled it out, a hand with finely-manicured nails lightly gripping the back-rest. The smooth run of the casters met her approval. She unbuttoned her jacket to expose a high waist-line on the matching trousers, a shimmering fastener at the front. Then she sat in a single, controlled motion.
“Care for a drink?” I said as I closed the door.
“It’s a little early in the day for some of us.”
“You’re making assumptions, San Peron. Or do I call you Aveline?”
“I’d rather you didn’t call me anything. And I believe it was a fair assumption.”
“Fair, but not necessarily correct. And you haven’t answered the question, Aveline.”
She bristled when I said that name. “I don’t suppose you have the wherewithal to summon me an iced chai. I take it with half-sweetener. And I prefer genuine chai.”
“Of course you do. And my contraption is a decent hunk of tin. I have the reservoirs restocked every ten days, and I pay well. You’ll get as close to genuine as anything Khonsu can be.”
“And I’m sure you’ll have a shot of something yourself. I’m almost surprised to see no evidence of narcotics on display.”
“I keep that in the back, with the sex dungeon. Got a young guy on the rack at the moment, if you’re interested. Been training him up with suppression theory, got him to the point where he lasts an aeon now. Longer than Xavier. And with fewer wrinkles down there.”
Her expression hardened at the mention of one of her partners. Of course it did. But there was a pull at the corners of her mouth I hadn’t expected.
I let her stew as I dealt with the machine. It only took a moment. I wasn’t lying when I said this was a decent box. I carried the drinks over to the desk. I placed her long glass on one of the three coasters that always sat on the desk, within reach of her right hand, because nothing in the information suggested she favoured her left. Then I placed my chilled glass on my coaster, sat in my chair.
I imagined a shift in the padding, from when Minerva used it earlier. But I knew that was only my imagination. The woman messed with me in ways I could barely comprehend.
Aveline Peron leaned forward. She lifted her glass and sniffed. The drink met whatever standard she set. She sat back, resting the glass on the arm-rest. Then she extended her neck and sniffed again, eyes fixed on my glass.
“Water,” I said. “Before you make any more assumptions.”
“Water?”
“Anything wrong with that?”
“There are more effective hangover cures.”
“Only thing giving me a headache is a potential client trying to insult me. How about you come to the point and tell me why you’re here.”
“It’s certainly not for your charm. Very well. You mentioned Xavier, so you’ve done some research, at least. And I wonder if you’re prejudiced against our style of arrangement.”
“You mean the four-way?”
“We prefer the term quatro.”
“Of course you do. And no, I don’t have anything against anyone shacking up as a foursome. Or as a trio. Or any other number. I've seen old-fashioned couplings end in blood, so whatever works for you.”
She tilted her head. “I don’t believe you.”
“That’s your prerogative.”
“Then your attitude is personal. You’ve dug into the history of myself, Xavier, Natuche and Colville, and you’ve uncovered things you don’t like.”
“San Peron, dig deep enough, there’s things about everyone I don’t like. Including myself. There’s nothing special about you or the other three in your little arrangement. Nothing special in the two ankle-biters either. Genetic cross from all four of you, right? Your partner Natuche carried them to term, and now she’s cut her workload to look after them at home.”
“There are benefits to the natural ways of doing things.”
“You call the gene-play natural?”
“It’s more natural than other things.” She shook her head. “But this has nothing to do with my reason for coming to your grubby little office. I suppose you have a room in the back, don’t you? A small space with a cheap heater and an even cheaper bunk.”
“Don't forget the lad in chains. He’s even got a bucket.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“You don’t know the half of it. And you’re still here. So whatever's crawled up your butt, it's not something you can take to the kennel. Either it's not official enough to be Department business, or having Malo's dogs sniffing around would be embarrassing.”
“You suggest impropriety?”
"I suggest you drink up and get out, San Peron. I don't appreciate people wasting my time."
She took a deep breath. It pushed her tight black top forward, the way she rested her shoulders back emphasising the action. Her expression told me I needn’t read anything into the play. It was all unconscious muscle-memory.
“Very well, San Grim … Grim. The matter concerns Xavier.”
“Your partner Xavier.”
“My partner Xavier Peron, yes.”
She paused. It was a question.
“The CEO of Per-LB.” She wanted to know what I knew, so I told her. “Started the company up fifteen years ago, a side-project when he was working for Arkhold Research. Poached many of their technicians, and pulled resources from at least three other research operations. Specialist area is synthetics. Per-LB is stated as being pure research, even though they have strong links to Coran Labs, a company that benefits from heavy involvement with a freelancer named Colville Peron. Per-LB also uses the legal team at NatLegal — and their name honours both their founders, Nathan Shalman and Natuche Devoire, as she was then. Since joining the Peron four-way she cut her NatLegal work to consultation only, but she’s still got her feelers deep inside. Likely she’s got those feelers in her old partner, too.”
“I don’t appreciate your insinuation.”
“I don’t care. And I haven’t touched on your connection yet. You want me to continue?”
She shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. For all appearances, it’s clear you are thorough.”
“Careful. That’s almost a compliment.”
“A statement of fact is neither a compliment nor an insult.”
“True. So, you’re here about Xavier. The Peron arrangement allows for dalliances, so this isn’t about infidelity. Could be something financial, but official records say you’re all secure. Of course, big business plays by its own rules, so maybe he’s up to something you don’t like. Am I getting close?”
She snorted. “Xavier isn’t some common hoodlum.”
“No hoodlum considers themselves common.”
Her gaze hardened, and she opened her mouth like she wanted to spit more insults my way. I waited. I sipped my water. It cooled my throat, as it always did. She hadn’t lifted her drink to her lips even once.
“Xavier has always been careful to stay within boundaries. But I fear things have changed." She took a long, deep breath, and her mouth twitched again. "Very well. Yes, this is about Xavier. I want you to find out why he’s gone.”
“Don’t you mean where he’s gone?”
“No, I don’t. He hasn’t disappeared.”
“Then why do you need him found?”
“Because … because the man who calls himself Xavier Peron is not the man who initiated the Peron Quatro. The man who calls himself Xavier Peron is not the man I knew.”
“So you’re saying his personality’s altered.”
“If only it were that simple. He’s totally different. He might look and sound the same, but inside he’s no longer the real Xavier Peron.”
She lifted her glass to her lips. It took effort to keep her hand from trembling. I waited.
“I’m fully aware that people change over time,” she said when she’d lowered the glass to the chair’s arm-rest. “I even considered the changes might be down to narcotics, even though Xavier has always been cautious regarding the use of stimulants. But I know of no substances that would affect such a radical alteration. It’s not so much a change as a … a replacement. It’s as if the old Xavier has been replaced with a doppelgänger. I want you to discover what happened to the real Xavier Peron.”
I took a sip of my water. “His company has connections with narco research companies,” I said. “Could he be trialling an experimental stim?”
“I told you he wouldn’t do something like that.”
“I have to consider all possibilities. And this wouldn’t be the first time someone’s hidden a habit from those close to them. It’s nothing personal.”
“I have only your word on that.”
“That’s all I’ve got for you at the moment.”
She bit back a response and took another sip of her drink. “Whatever you find, I’ll require evidence.”
“If I take the job.”
"But your assistant..."
"Was out of line if she suggested this was a done deal, San Peron. And if I accept, I'll need confirmation from you. You need to know who you're hiring."
The corner of her mouth turned up into a sneer. "I know who you are, Grim. You're a low-life degenerate who thinks nothing of insulting a client."
"And I'm the best investigative consultant on Khonsu." I waved a hand towards the door. "I'm considering. It'll let you know. I assume you left contact details with my assistant?" And calling Minerva my assistant always made me want to laugh.
"If you're as good as you pretend to be, you'll be able to find me without those details." She rose from the chair in a fluid movement. She fastened her jacket and smoothed the unwrinkled, perfect material. "I won't be holding my breath for your response, San Grim."
With a curt nod she turned and took three delicate, self-contained steps to the door, then left me alone with my thoughts.