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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 investigation into the behavioural changes in Xavier Peron hasn’t been straightforward. Two mysterious deaths, possibly connected. Problems in the Peron household between all four members. Potentially dubious tech work in Xavier’s company. And a freelancer, Indrana Cordray, who has more to do with the problem than at first appears.
And in prodding her, Grim has unleashed a beast. One who has laid a trap Grim’s walked straight into.
Nobody moved. That gave me an opportunity to assess. Stuck in a small passageway, three armed — and seemingly confident — thugs to either side, sealed doors in the walls. No easy escape options.
And the light was dim. Might’ve been a coincidence, but no street sounds filtered into the passage. It seemed likely that Indrana Cordray had hacked local systems and set up a shield.
Or she’d had someone else do the hacking. She had connections all over. And if she’d been in communication with her sister in the Alley, I could assume she wasn’t above using other sources of questionable legality.
Like these six thugs, with their weapons. All Mercher-54s, but the woman ahead had a third-series, already in her hand, safety disengaged and power-pack primed. Behind, all three thugs held their guns ready.
Another assessment. I stood at the bend in the passage. Any shot that missed me would plough into the wall, wouldn’t result in a friendly-fire incident.
This trap had been timed to perfection. Indrana knew what she was doing. She’d hired professionals.
They moved in. I reacted.
The body is a complex machine. Dissociated, I became aware of synapses firing, of chemical reactions and flowing blood. I sensed muscles contracting, pressure and release. My body performed its beautifully sickening dance, and all I could do was observe every detail.
The shots from the trio warmed my skin, caused no damage. Wide-eyed surprise as my hand closed around a wrist, twisted the blaster. Finger on finger and squeeze.
Perfect aim. The woman’s cry cut off before she hit the ground. Deep scorch-marks on her chest, no sign of movement.
A weapon aimed, the third thug wary of telling loose, wary of taking out his colleague. The hesitation was his undoing. Another squeeze of that finger on the trigger, another blast. The third thug doubled over, jerked back as a head-shot ended his pain.
Elbow in the guts of the shooter. A twist of that wrist, and the blaster collided with his nose, cartilage cracking. His grip went, giving my hand full control of his weapon. The blast his his chin, powered up into his skull. Enough force to lift him from his feet before his lifeless body crashed down.
The sound of running boots.
Twist, dance to the right to avoid the shot. A weapon around the corner. A fraction of a second later, a head, low, angled to look along the sights. Enough of a target for the blaster in my hand to pulse, once.
No need for a second shot to bring that thug down. Still two to go, though.
Two paces, and I could see along the corridor. The penultimate thug stood close, registered my proximity with a jerk. My shot threw him away before he squeezed his trigger.
The final thug, a few paces back, kneeling. Back-up position. His first shot warmed my arm enough that I knew I’d need a new coat. His second compensated for the miss, but my body was no longer where he expected. A push from the wall, a twist on landing, and my boot found his shoulder. His stance wasn’t as solid as he’d thought.
A clatter as his gun met the floor. But he wasn’t an amateur, still grasped it. Until my leg came down. Bone crunched and his fingers released. A kick sent the gun skittering along the passage.
I dropped, knee in his guts and fist in his face. His blood was warm on my fingers. His eyes rolled. I jumped to my feet, kicked his knee hard. He cried out, and there was a bulge in his trousers where his knee-cap shouldn’t have been.
My body tingled as I returned. Warmth flooded my system, and the light-headedness told me my body was ready for retaliation, ready to take back control should it be needed. I still held that first thug’s weapon, and I kept the dangerous end trained on the bloody mess in front of me.
No sounds from the street, so the shield Indrana had set up still held. A glance to my right told me the view was opaque, maybe enough for passers-by to guess something was wrong. If they were sensible they’d carry on, consider it someone else’s problem.
People weren’t always sensible.
The thug glared at me through his grimace. He held his gun hand against his body, looked like he wouldn’t be using a couple of fingers any time soon. His other hand reached for his leg but couldn’t quite reach.
I made a play of shuffling my finger on my gun’s trigger. “Who sent you?”
“Eat me, motherfucker.”
My finger twitched. The tough guy wasn’t so tough he didn’t cry out when his foot crumpled in on itself, when blood splattered from his split boot.
“Wrong answer. Try again.” I raised the gun, aimed at his crotch. Made damn sure he understood.
He coughed a laugh. “Why talk? I’m already dead.”
“You don’t know I’m going to kill you. Know who I am, right?”
“You’re a fucking dead man.”
I dipped the gun, let loose a shot. He flinched as the ground between his legs scorched.
“Fine.” He sneered, wiped away some of the blood leaking from his broken nose. “You’re Grim. Private raker. Malo’s bitch.”
My next shot grazed his shoulder, enough to elicit a sharp wince. The gun still had over three-quarters charge, and I angled it so he could see, so he could know I could play this game for as long as it took.
He coughed, grimaced as his stomach spasmed, coughed up bloody phlegm. I doubted my knee to his guts had caused that much internal damage.
“Let’s start again,” I said. “Who sent you?”
His eyes hardened, but another spasm and wince closed them. I gave him time to take in a couple of shuddering breaths. His shoulders slumped as he opened his eyes.
“She didn’t give a name.”
“No name?”
“No real name. They’re not fucking stupid, are they?”
“They? You said ‘she’ earlier.”
“Only spoke through a connection. Could’ve been a voice-changer.”
“But they sounded female. Not too old, right? And a bitchy tone. What was the deal? Straight execution, or did you have a message?”
This time the cough combined with a deep gurgle, and the guy doubled over, sliding from his perch against the wall. He groaned as he turned onto his back.
“No message,” he managed to say, more an exhalation than speech. That sneer was now a permanent grimace. Both hands clutched his stomach.
I lowered my aim. Still held my finger on the trigger, still let him know he shouldn’t try anything stupid.
“She doesn’t accept failure, does she?” I said.
He tried to glare, but it didn’t come off. The pain inside was too much.
“You’re a dead man,” I said. “You reckoned if you pissed me off I’d make it quick. But I walk away right now, you go slow. Slow and painful.”
And this was the second attempted assassin with a kill-switch. Things were starting to connect, in ways I didn’t like.
“How did she convince you to take it?” I asked.
“Bitch screwed us over.” The words were quiet, but he managed to spit them hard. “Told us it was only a precaution.”
“And the reward made the inconvenience acceptable.”
“Fucking more than an inconvenience.”
“Because she screwed you over. She never said it would kill you.” And the kill-switch must be linked to bots registering the guy’s vitals, letting loose the poison when analysis said he was compromised. Indrana’s way of clearing up any mess. “But you’re not dead yet.”
“Only a matter of time.”
“Same for everyone. Minutes for you, though. And she needs to pay, right? Screwed you over, stiffed you out of that reward. Reckon her time should be reduced, right?”
And I realised my body no longer tingled. The danger was over. I slid my finger from the blaster’s trigger.
“Whatever you tell me,” I said, “ I can use to track her down.”
I didn’t have to wait long for him to reach a decision. His voice was quiet and wracked with pain, and he winced and groaned more and more, coughed up so much his chin was a mess of bloody phlegm. But he told me all he could.
When he finished I repaid him by destroying the pain that was ripping him apart from inside. Sure, he’d tried to kill me, but he didn’t deserve to suffer.
He didn’t, but others did.