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The story so far: Grim Khonsu is a serialised sci-fi detective noir story, set aboard a vast generation ship. Grim has had a meeting with Aveline Peron, and accepts her as a client. Her problem? She believes one of her partners, Xavier Peron, is not the man he once was.
I sat. I drained my water, then sat some more. Aveline Peron didn’t reappear, but her presence still hung in the room like the bad stink of trouble.
“Lola. Draw up a contract. You know the deal.”
“Would you like me to ratify it with Minerva before sending it to Aveline Peron?” My assist’s voice floated in the air slightly forward and to my right.
“As I said, you know the deal. And show me Xavier Peron’s file.”
I stood as Lola hung the file in a holo. I opened it and pulled addresses, noted locations. I grabbed my hat from the desk and lifted my coat from its hook and, dressed for work, I left my office.
They said Khonsu’s levels were originally planned on grid systems, and with a squint and a lot of imagination the grid was still there. But over a couple of millennia the ship had evolved, with new cut-throughs and extra rooms turning the grid into a maze. But it was a maze I called home, and I knew it far too well.
I took the Spine a couple of stops bow-wards, then hopped on a star-bound cross-trolley. The Peron place was in the Heights. Suite 26, Malini, 14/28 Tre. You can add Khonsu to complete the address if you want, but anywhere else would be in the void. Not many folks willingly went where there was no air.
But it was mid-morning. The data Lola had scraped suggested Xavier would be at the Per-LB office, and that he took regular breaks. That meant heading to an area a few blocks from the Heights, one of Tre’s more exclusive business districts. So exclusive it didn’t have an official name, but many called it home-from-home. Lots of workers pulled all-nighters. Some used the offices for work-adjacent pleasures. There were hints Xavier did this occasionally.
Not a problem. The Peron arrangement didn’t call for exclusivity.
Per-LB hid behind an inoffensive door off a small plaza dotted with chai-bars and the kind of food vendors who didn’t advertise prices or display menus. If you weren’t a regular customer, they didn’t want to know.
There was one normal place, though. There had to be somewhere for folks attending appointments to get a quick drink, and The Foreshore was that place. It was half-full, a few groups, more solitary drinkers at small tables surrounded by pale blue semi-transparent baffles. I ignored them all, walked to the counter and ordered a glass of water. The girl behind the counter wasn't fazed by my order. She'd been at The Foreshore long enough, and I'd used this place before.
I sat at a table by the opening, off to the left. It gave me a decent view of the entrance to Per-LB. There wasn't much activity. A thin woman came out after ten minutes, met an older man and led him inside. Half an hour later a couple of men entered, talking quietly. They looked like they were comfortable with the set-up.
And, after I'd waved over the girl to order another water, Xavier Peron appeared. He wore a shimmering jacket over a black top, the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong arms. His hair was styled in an expensive way that looked like he didn't bother doing anything with it. He had the kind of face that needed a moustache to look complete. He glanced around the plaza before walking to the left.
I followed him with my gaze, all the way to a discreet chai-house with no name. The door opened for him, and he greeted the older woman standing inside like a friend. To Xavier Peron, everyone was a friend.
He sat in a window seat and closed his eyes. He opened them when the woman brought over a steaming bowl, and he smiled as he thanked her. She flashed him a look that might've been flirtatious or it might've been a part of her charm.
When she left, Xavier lifted the bowl to his lips. It was that kind of place — chai in a bowl, not a mug. It was traditional, or had been a few millennia ago, and now an impractical sign of power and wealth. Xavier appeared relaxed. The data Lola had pulled showed a man with a salesman’s smile and a showman’s charisma, but the guy in the chai-house was at ease, cut off from the day’s worries. I wondered if this was what Aveline meant by a change of personality, or if he always adopted a meditative demeanour when drinking chai. The affectation wouldn’t be out of character.
The chai-house wasn’t busy. A few tables were occupied by either lone customers or couples. There was a counter at the back. A woman in a flowing garment approached it. She spoke to the server, a young man with a shaved head, and they both made a decent pretence of being friendly. The server busied himself with the machinery, his movements masked by bursts of steam. The woman waited, her back to the room. When the server handed her a disposable beaker she nodded her thanks, took his smile, and turned to leave. Her route out passed by Xavier’s table. Her garment — trousers or a dress, it was impossible to tell from a distance — flowed and billowed. Her free hand dipped into a fold that must’ve concealed a pocket, then emerged. It appeared to be empty.
She left the chai house and headed across the plaza, close to The Foreshore. She looked to be in her twenties, moved with the confidence of someone older. She had a long face and delicate features. There was a hardness in her eyes.
In the chai house Peron placed his bowl on the table and sat back. He looked contented. He patted his jacket, then his trouser pockets. He frowned and looked at the table, then at the floor. With a shake of his head he reached down, picked up whatever he was looking for, and slipped it into the right side of his jacket.
I watched the girl. She reached the edge of the plaza, heading towards the exit. I drained my water and rose to follow as she walked towards the trolley stop. She dropped her drink into a recycler. She hadn’t even lifted the lid. The trolley stop was around a corner, and as she approached she slipped out of her jacket in a sweeping, fluid movement that sent the material rippling behind her.
When I reached the corner I almost missed her. It was only the flowing material around her legs that told me I had the right person. She now wore a dark jacket that pulled tight at her waist. Reversibles like that didn’t come cheap.
She boarded the trolley. I hopped on at the other end of the carriage. She sat by a viewer and turned her face to it, watching the feed of passing scenery. There were few others in the trolley — an old guy nursing a roll as if the food was a prised possession, a couple of professional woman who yapped away fast and quiet, one of them waving through a holo display that hovered between them, and a group of four half-way down the carriage, stretched out across the whole width, sitting in silence, two with their eyes closed and their heads tilted back, the other pair staring vacantly at their laps.
The woman left the trolley after three stops, then hopped onto a Spine trolley heading aft. The trolley was three carriages. I entered the one behind her, paid attention to the viewer that showed stops along the way. We passed six before she appeared, and I left the trolley as she strode towards the exit and into The Street. The grifters were out in force, but she breezed past them with the air of one of their own. The jacket helped. She didn't glance at any of the stores.
A guy tried to hustle me, but I offered him a glare for his troubles and he backed off.
She skirted the small rec area that was currently between official owners, the old name-board removed but no new one in place yet. The rec area's hustlers looked as tired as the building. The area brushed up against Freedom Alley. It was too early for most of the Alley's business, but I recognised a couple of pushers hanging around a doorway, and one of Zhusie's enforcers. He was in plain, might've been off-duty, but I nodded in greeting anyway. Always sensible to keep things sweet with those who unofficially ran the Alley.
The woman had fastened her jacket, and she’d pulled the folds of material tighter to her legs so they no longer flapped. The ensemble had gone from flowing business attire to practical street-wear.
"Lola." I kept my voice low. "You able to track our quarry?"
"If you want me to interface with the Alley's monitoring, I can log a request with Zhusie."
"Wouldn't like to bother her over nothing. Just do what you can. And find me a name."
"I'm already compiling data and analysing. And you should know that you're not the only person interested in her."
"You mean the two goons behind me, right? And they looked so peaceful with their eyes closed on the trolley. Be interested to know who they work for."
"It'll do what I can to ascertain."
"I'd be lost without you, Lola."
But not physically. I knew that his path would take the woman around the edge of the Alley, past Leaf's usual post. Unless Zhusie had finally burnt out on his side-deals.
When I passed reflective surfaces I glanced to my rear. Those goons were closer. And further back was the enforcer.
"Lola. Get me Thor."
"Pinging. He's accepting."
The woman strode on. At this rate, we'd circle the whole of the Alley.
"Thor," I said when the connection established. "Zhusie's got you working undercover now?"
"Off duty. But I see the reaper walk past with his stupid bloody hat, I know something's up."
"Not yet. Depends on our sandwich filling. Pals of yours?"
"Haven't had the pleasure. Look like sniffer hounds."
"Too professional to be Malo's pack. They're private.”
"Sniffing you or the fluff you're trailing. Case?”
“Yep.”
“Makes me wary when you’re close to our place, reaper-man."
"And I thought you appreciated my fine wit and sparkling conversation."
"Don't appreciate the shit you bring down. And nor does Zhusie. So what's the deal with this woman?"
"Not sure. Playing a hunch.”
“You ever do anything else?”
“If I wanted procedures, I’d sign on at the kennel.”
The woman passed through an archway. The goons trailed behind, making a show of nonchalance. Seemed comfortable with the area. The woman stopped by a door on her right. She turned to face it and, when it opened, she entered.
When I’d told Minerva earlier that I didn’t have black-outs, I wasn’t lying. When trouble approached, I remained conscious of everything. But it was as if I fractured. Physically, I was in perfect control of my body and my senses. Mentally, I could only observe.
I felt the dissociation begin. Trouble was here.
There was a sharp cry. There was a thud and a grunt. A figure in black darted from the doorway. He raised a blaster and fired as he sprinted for a corner in the passage.
My body threw itself to the right. The super-heated blast of air passed by my head, close enough to singe the stubble on my chin. I pushed off the wall and bounded towards the shooter.
A click from behind, and I twisted in mid-air as the shot flew past. The goons used projectile guns. A second click, and my body dropped beneath the shot, rolled, pushed up and ran on. The shot left a dark dent in the wall.
I raced around the corner.
The guy in black fired wildly behind himself as he sprinted away. The walls pinged as heat scarred the plas-coating. I crouched down because I wanted to stay alive. The guy was fast, and I let him go, around another corner. The thud of his boots echoed more when he stopped shooting.
A yell from behind, then the retreating thud of boots.
I reassociated. My heart hammered, and the warmth of adrenaline flooded my body. The tingling didn’t last long.
All was still.
"Thor?"
"Good job this wasn't in the Alley proper."
"They didn't get you, then."
"Not my fight. Ducked out of the way."
"Thanks for your help."
"Reckoned you had things in hand. And you might want to come see the woman."
When I rounded the corner, Thor stood in the doorway. He turned as I approached.
"This isn't her territory," he said. "So this is nothing to do with me. When the hounds come sniffing, I won't corroborate shit."
I looked past Thor, through the doorway. It opened into a lobby, three doors at the rear. The whole space was large enough for a decent double bed, but the woman lay on the floor. She looked like she wouldn't be waking up any time soon.
"Good luck," Thor said as he turned and walked away, leaving me with the stiff.
"Lola. Get me the kennel. The authorities can clear up this mess."
But this was my mess too. The Xavier Peron case now involved a murder.