Slab City Blues - The Collected Stories: All Five Stories in One Volume (29 page)

Chapter 12

New Shen City
had begun as a prestige project for what had once been called the People’s Republic of China, a vast toroidal hab revolving around a fusion-powered light array. Thanks to the Sino-Japanese War, the funds ran out somewhere during the fifth year of construction and it had eventually been completed by a consortium of orbiting mining concerns. It was now home to a good portion of the CAOS elite, rich folk of all stripes choosing to live on the idyllic six mile wide strip of parkland and pagodas. Watching the landscape grow through the shuttle window, I had to concede it had a definite allure, all the greenery and shimmering water such a contrast to the Escher infused confines of the Slab.

“Wonder if their PD has any vacancies,” Timor commented, staring through his own window.

“We’re lucky they’re even letting us set foot on the place,” Leyla said. “Surprised they aren’t making us go through quarantine.”

She had a point. Getting extra-judicial authority for this jaunt hadn’t been easy, at least initially. Sherry had been stonewalled by the Shen City authorities for the better part of a day and even Mayor Arnaud’s calls were going unanswered. Then there had been a sudden change in attitudes. I hadn’t placed another call to Vargold, reasoning I’d already called in my favour, but he apparently still felt an obligation. I suspected Arnaud had called him, though I wouldn’t have put it past Vargold to be keeping track of my cases. He had the clearance after all. Either way, we now had a warrant, extradition papers and full authority to operate on Shen City territory. Also, thanks to Joe, we’d identified a passenger shuttle departing the Slab for Shen City less than thirty minutes after Fuentes’ encounter with an exploding pizza. The passenger manifest included the name of one Johnathan Campbell, a near exact match for Mr Mac’s most recently recorded biometrics. The shuttle’s internal security cams had also mysteriously malfunctioned for the duration of the flight. The sense of having the bastard almost within reach made all the delays a pretty agonising experience. Mr Mac was certain to have some mechanism in place to warn of increased interest from the local PD. Luckily they were a mostly mechanised force, basic patrols undertaken by taser-equipped bots and only a small cadre of very well paid human officers.

I would have preferred to arrive with a full SWAT team, but maintaining cover with so many Demons in tow would’ve been a difficult and probably pointless exercise. So it was just me, Joe, Janet, Leyla and Timor. I was gambling on a quick and dirty approach since Mr Mac seemed to have a gift for spotting elaborate preparations. Sherry had organised transport via a regular automated supply shuttle and we were dressed in maintenance staff uniforms, though finding one to fit Joe hadn’t been easy. Janet, by contrast, was dressed as an admin executive, all business suit and bunned-up hair. She simply hadn’t made any visual sense in overalls, resembling a model cast in a poorly thought out cleaning ad. I’d made a brief and fruitless attempt to persuade her to stay behind, mainly because I didn’t want her to see what I fully intended to do upon coming face to face with Mr Mac.

The shuttle fired its braking thrusters and began its docking manoeuvre, the pleasing vista of Shen City replaced by the blank wall of the outer torus. It took maybe five minutes before I felt the shudder of the airlock seal closing on the access hatch.

“You know what to do,” I told them all. “We’re keyed into the Shen City security system, so there should be no interference from local authorities. Proceed independently to your go-point and await my order. Dr Vaughn, you’re long-stop. If he makes it out, you bring him down. He might be able to outrun the rest of us, but not you.”

“I’d be more useful in the house,” she said, eyes intent on my face. “Since we want him alive and I don’t need a gun to subdue him.”

“My op, my rules, Doctor.” A hiss as the airlock opened. “Let’s get it done.”

Li Mei Bao’s home was more modestly proportioned than its neighbours, less than a half-acre of garden and boasting only twenty rooms across its two storeys. It was still unbelievably opulent and ostentatious by Yang-side standards, but also displayed a creditable restraint that indicated its owner might enjoy the trappings of wealth, but didn’t necessarily feel the need to show them off. Shen City was a palpably misnamed hab since it didn’t have streets as such, just a series of interlinked paths tracing through the parks and skirting the various waterways. The small number of human maintenance staff were obliged to move around on little electric carts, naturally giving way to any strolling residents. I conducted only one circuit of the house, finding a guard on the front gate and two more in the rear gardens. It was likely there would be at least one more I couldn’t see but there wasn’t any time for a prolonged surveillance. Every second’s delay increased the chances of Mr Mac discovering our presence.

I took a toolkit from the cart and strolled across the grass towards a row of sprinklers twenty yards or so from the garden wall. “I count three guards,” I said into my hidden mike, crouching to inspect a sprinkler nozzle. If the planned deployment had gone smoothly they should all be in place and awaiting my call. “Expect more. I’ll breach in thirty seconds. Wait for my go.”

I rose and sauntered towards Li Mei Bao’s home, both guards quick to spot my approach, one raising a hand as I came within a dozen feet. They had the uniform square-jawed, blocky shouldered look of the professional bodyguard, meaning they were unlikely to be part of Mr Mac’s main operation. Probably thought they’d been hired to protect a famous musician from over-enthusiastic stalkers.

“Got a downed comm line,” I said, coming to a halt and pointing to the maintenance ID pinned to my overalls. “Need access to the premises.”

“Work order?” the one on the right enquired. I noticed his partner raising a finger to his ear-piece, mouth opening to report my presence.

“Sure,” I said, fishing in my left pocket for something and drawing the Colt from my right. Ear-piece guy took a taser dart to the neck and went down spasming. His partner was impressively quick, managing to draw and aim his weapon before I shot another dart into his forehead. I vaulted the wall and sprinted for the French windows looking out over the garden. They were open and I paused at the sound of music from inside. Violin with a piano accompaniment, the former markedly more accomplished than the latter.

I lowered the Colt and went inside. The room was large and featured a grand piano where a tall blond man sat playing with functional but inexpert hands whilst a beautiful young woman stood nearby and stroked heaven from a violin. The man looked up as I entered and a discordant note sounded from the piano. He kept on playing, smiling at me in welcome. But the bum note sang volumes. I wasn’t expected. I’d finally managed to surprise him.

The woman noticed me then, her bow drawing a faint squeal from the violin as she started, eyes snapping to the Colt in my hand. “Who..?” she began, eyes wide as she hurried towards the man at the piano.

“It’s alright Bao,” Mr Mac said, wisely keeping his seat and taking her hand as she came to his side. “You know you’re always welcome, Alex, but it’s polite to call before coming over.”

I said nothing, staring into his handsome face, my arm aching worse than ever.

“John?” Bao said. “You know this man?”

“Of course.” He squeezed her hand. “Someone I’ve long wanted you to meet. Bao, this is Chief Inspector Alexei McLeod of the Lorenzo City Police Department. My oldest and closest friend.”

Bao didn’t seem particularly reassured, her eyes scanning me from head to toe. “What do want here? I demand to see your credentials…”

“Shhh.” Mr Mac took hold of her hands and kissed them. “That won’t be necessary. I’m sure he only wants to ask me some questions. Right, Alex?”

I said nothing. Now the moment was at hand I felt a surprising calm. No shakes, no sweats, just a sense of certainty. He saw it then, my intent, his eyes narrowing, a wry, regretful smile curving his lips. “I’m sure he needs to speak to me in private,” he said. “There’s no need for her to be here for this, is there, Alex?”

I said, “I was there for Choi,” and raised the Colt, thumbing the selector to lethal.

“Armengol, wasn’t it?”

The Colt stopped short of sighting on Mr Mac’s head as Janet strolled into the room, her words slurred slightly as her canines hadn’t fully receded. She moved to stand opposite me on the far side of the piano. I noticed a small bloodstain on her collar. “The piece you were playing,” she went on, addressing Bao. “Ternura by Mario Ruiz Armengol.”

The woman stared at her, hands tight on Mr Mac’s shoulders now. “Yes,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

“Quite exquisite,” Janet said. “So rare I get to hear live music.”

“You are too kind, Dr Vaughn,” Mr Mac said. “I’m fully aware of my severe limitations, but Bao insists we practice together.”

Janet nodded, returning his smile. “Perhaps your lawyer can arrange for you to have lessons programmed into your corrective immersion. By the time you get out, if ever, you should be quite the virtuoso.”

He gave a small chuckle and turned back to me. “Perhaps. If my old friend were to offer mitigating testimony…”

“Call me your friend again,” I said, speaking in a precise rasp, “and I will blow your brains all over Miss Bao’s nice dress.”

A loud crash sounded from the front of the house as the main door gave way under something heavy. Joe appeared a few seconds later with Leyla and Timor on either side, carbines ready. “The guard outside is down,” Joe told me. “Unconscious with a busted nose. Didn’t see who did it. Thought it best to breach.”

“Leyla, Timor,” I said. “Search the rest of the house. Stay together, no Scooby Doo shit.”

“Right, boss.”

“There’s no one else here…” Mr Mac began.

“Shut it!” I sighted the Colt on his chest. “Stand up, arms raised.”

Bao tried to embrace him as he rose from the piano. Janet caught her arms and pulled her away, gentle but firm.

“Drop to your knees,” I said, Mr Mac complying with slow deliberation. “Lower yourself to the floor. Face down. Don’t move and do not… fucking… speak.”

I moved to stand over him, jamming the muzzle of the Colt against the base of his skull and pulling out my cuffs. “John McAllister. You are under arrest for murder, racketeering, money laundering and extortion. Other charges are likely to follow. You are entitled to remain silent during questioning, but are advised that a jury may infer guilt from such silence. You have a right to legal representation…”

Chapter 13

We were obliged
to wait for a Fugitives Retrieval shuttle at the Shen City docks. We could have transported our prisoner back ourselves but Sherry hadn’t wanted to take any chances. I couldn’t argue with her reasoning; it was a dead cert Mr Mac would have contingencies in place in the event of his capture.

“You’re late,” I told the two FR guards when they emerged from the airlock, both clad in body-armour and carrying stubby riot guns. One was a tall woman of Nordic appearance, the other stocky and Asian, sporting a pair of Raybans.

“We got diverted,” the tall woman said. “Priority pick-up on Minerva Station. I’m Vandeman, Prisoner Security.” She nodded to her partner. “He’s Kurota, the pilot.” Her gaze shifted to Mr Mac, sandwiched between Timor and Joe with his hands cuffed behind his back. Leyla stood behind him with weapon drawn, ready to put a taser dart in his neck at the first sign of trouble. “So, you really got him, huh?” Vandeman asked, looking Mr Mac up and down in critical appraisal. She struck me as the type who wasn’t easily impressed.

“We really did,” I said. “Just you two?”

“The other prisoner’s secured inside. Don’t worry. He’s no trouble.”

The shuttle interior consisted of a row of restraint chairs and a few benches for the guards to sit on. One chair was occupied by a spindly man in his fifties, all unkempt beard and unruly hair sprouting from a small, bird-like head.

“Jonas Blair,” Vandeman introduced the other prisoner. “Recidivist wicky-waver. Violated his terms by taking a stroll around a school-yard on Minerva Station. Unfortunately for him, Minerva’s Economics Minister sends her kids there. Pulled strings to get him sent to the Slab penn.”

Blair barely glanced up as Joe and Timor hustled Mr Mac into the opposite chair. Timor pressed a gun to his temple as Joe undid the cuffs. They stepped back as Vandeman locked the restraints in place, thick manacles closing over wrists and ankles with a satisfying clunk.

“I suppose a pillow’s out of the question?” Mr Mac asked, squirming a little.

“I can gag him if you like,” Vandeman offered.

“I’m not quite ready to inflict cruel and unusual punishment,” I said.

“Detach and burn in two minutes,” Kurota announced, making for the cockpit. “Meal-packs in the lockers if you want ‘em.” He paused at the ladder to favour Janet with an over-friendly grin. “No plasma, though. Sorry.”

“I had a big breakfast,” she replied. She stood close to the airlock, a faintly queasy look on her face.

“You OK?” I asked.

She nodded at Blair. “Can’t you smell him? It’s like he’s been eating garlic his whole life.”

“That really true?” Timor asked her. “Vamps and garlic, I mean.”

“No, I just personally can’t stand the stuff. And I forgive your racism, Inspector.”

“Smart, funny and too brave for her own good,” Mr Mac said, looking up at me. “Just your type.”

I stared down at him in silence as the shuttle came away from the airlock with a jerk, grabbing a hand-hold when the gravity vanished a few seconds later and my feet came free of the deck.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Kurota’s voice came over the speaker. “This is your captain speaking. On behalf of the crew I’d like to welcome you to Incarceration Skyways. The temperature outside is a balmy -461 degrees celsius with zero percent chance of rain…”

“He do this every time?” Leyla asked Vandeman.

“Depends on how hot the passengers are,” she said, glancing at Janet.

“You really were going to do it,” Mr Mac said to me in a faintly wounded tone. “In front of my wife-to-be, no less.”

“I told you I would,” I said. “Anyway, she’d have gotten over it. Once she found out just what a piece of shit you are. Judging by the statement she gave to Shen City law, I’m guessing she has no idea where all the expensive love tokens come from.”

He continued to stare at me, expression more curious than hurt. “Mind if I ask how you found me? I’m guessing the lovely Dr Vaughn had a lot to do with it.”

“You really don’t want to say her name again.”

“Relax. She’s well outside my profile, as I would hope you’d know by now.”

“Like that poor bastard who owned the laundry you totalled yesterday?”

“That poor bastard had been running Bliss for the Arturo Cartel for well over a decade, and he wasn’t discerning over who he sold it to.”

“Whereas you’re the enlightened face of drug dealing.”

“Dead customers make for lousy profit margins. Poor Old Don Arturo never really got that. Check the Slab’s health stats since his unfortunate disappearance, you’ll find a twenty percent reduction in fatal overdoses.”

“I stand in awe of your humanitarian efforts.”

He laughed, that old entirely genuine laugh I hated so much. “I’ve missed you, Alex. You had me seriously worried when you disappeared for so long. When all that shit went down at Ceres, though, I knew I’d be seeing you again, just not so soon.”

“DCI McLeod,” Kurota’s voice came over the speaker. “Priority call for you coming in via a military frequency… That’s weird.”

“What’s weird?” I asked.

“It’s all in text.” The shuttle interior suddenly disappeared as the main lights blinked out. When it returned a half-second later everything was bathed in red emergency lighting.

“What the fuck!” Kurota cursed. “The main bus just went down. I’ve got no control here.”

The shuttle lurched, those of us not confined to restraint chairs reaching for new hand-holds as the port thrusters went to maximum.

“That’s really not good,” Kurota said in a strained whisper.

“Focus!” I said. “Give me a sit-rep.”

“Uh, OK. The main bus is off-line, my controls are dead and the port thrusters just pushed us into a rapidly descending high-angle orbit.”

I met Mr Mac’s gaze, finding it way more tense and serious than I’d seen before. We both knew what a high-angle descent into Earth’s atmosphere meant. Whatever this was, it wasn’t part of his contingency. “Run overrides,” I said. “Go analogue. Start ripping out some panels.”

“Won’t do any good,” Kurota’s voice was shrill now, panic rising with every word. “This tub is designed to resist a prisoner takeover and someone just put it into riot-mode. Nothing’s working, except the comms screen with this stupid fucking text message.”

“What message?”

“Doesn’t make sense… ‘From light we are born to light we return.’”

There was a loud snick and I swivelled about to see Blair’s arm and ankle restrains snapping open. He floated free of the chair, his previously blank face now a picture of serenity, eyes wide and mouth open in awe and wonder. “The light,” he said, voice scratchy and thin but nevertheless still full of fanatical zeal. “It’s within all of us.”

He spread his arms wide and I drew the Colt, ready to put a bullet between his eyes but he made no aggressive move, just floated there, his swirling hair like a coiling nest of bloodied snakes in the red light.

“Kill him,” Mr Mac said, voice flat and certain. “Right now, Alex!”

Wartime instinct made my finger tighten on the Colt’s trigger, but before I could fire Blair’s chest convulsed, a bone-cracking shudder filling the shuttle as it seemed to fold in on itself, then expand outward. I saw Blair die as his chest bulged way beyond human tolerance, head lolling and globs of blood trailing from his gaping mouth. But dead as he was, his body wasn’t done yet. His chest continued to convulse, contracting then expanding, growing larger with every squelching heave.

“He’s gonna blow!” Timor yelled, dragging Leyla into a corner.

Joe slammed into Blair’s spasming corpse, arms enfolding his torso, legs wrapped around his hips, smothering it with his bulk and forcing it against the bulkhead. I began to propel myself forward then jerked to a halt as something hard and unyielding latched onto my armour, pulling me back too fast and too strong for me to do anything about it.

“JOE!” I roared as Janet forced me behind the row of restraint chairs. “JO-”

The blast hammered my eardrums and left me flailing in Janet’s grasp as everything disappeared in an instantaneous fog. Janet held me close as I thrashed, still calling out Joe’s name and tasting blood and bone on my tongue.

“He’s gone.” It was barely a whisper in my ear, though I knew she was shouting. She held me until my struggles subsided, the cement that seemed to be clogging my ears gradually leeching away until she no longer had to shout. “He’s gone, Alex. I’m sorry.”

She let me go and I pushed away. Vandeman was dead, skewered through the forehead by what looked like a fragment of rib. Leyla was clutching at her leg and spouting profanities, red beads trickling through her fingers whilst Timor bit the wrapping from a field dressing. It took me a while to recognise what remained of Joe and Blair, just an entangled swirling mess of flesh and bone.
No time for grief,
I told myself, watching the obscene thing slide over the hard surfaces, coiling like some formless monster. The thought of Joe spending eternity entwined with some piece-of-shit paedo would have made me vomit, if not for the dominating urgency. We were still descending towards certain incineration.

A groan dragged my attention to the restraint chairs. Mr Mac coughed and blinked bleary eyes up at me, face pale and a gash on his forehead. His left leg and arm had also suffered some hits, though assessing the damage was difficult with all the blood floating about.

“Anyone alive back there?” Kurota called over the speaker, in full-on panic mode now. “Van? You there?”

“She’s dead,” I told him. “Your prisoner…” I shook my head. We really didn’t have time for this. “Do you have any comms at all?”

A long pause. When he spoke again the panic had receded, his voice taking on a dull note I had heard before. “Negative. Riot-mode kills all outgoing transmissions and the shuttle’s walls are shielded against smart signals. Intended to stop the prisoners demanding ransoms or speaking to the media in the event of a takeover. There’s supposed to be an emergency beacon screaming out our position to FR Central, but it’s dead.” Another pause. “There is something. A hard-wired manual switch on my dash. Last resort kinda thing.”

“I’m listening.”

“Emergency decomp. Blows the main hatch and flushes the prisoner compartment. You’ll find vac suits in the lockers. Van’s iris and palm scans will open them.”

“Can’t you do it?”

“Cockpit’s sealed during flight, Chief Inspector. No overrides.”

“Can you eject?”

“My seat’s evac system is off-line. Guess whoever did this really didn’t want any survivors. You better get moving. I estimate time to entry at less than ten minutes.”

Janet and I hauled Vandeman’s body to the locker security panel, me holding her hand to the scanner whilst Janet prised her eyelid open for the retinal optic. The locker doors slammed open and I began hauling out suits. “Know how to suit up?” I asked Janet.

“Learned it in kindergarten,” she said, hands moving faster than I could follow as she started prepping a suit.

I unhooked the restraint chair control unit from Vandeman’s belt and pushed myself towards Mr Mac. His face, bleached and blood-smeared, was rigid with pain though he retained enough composure to greet me with an arched eyebrow. “Well, this turned out to be a very interesting day.”

I hit the disengage button and his restraints snapped open. “You got time for this?” he asked as I hauled him out of the chair.

“If I didn’t need you, I’d leave you to burn.” I grabbed one of the suits, already prepped and powered up thanks to Janet, and began to push him into it.

“Minus six minutes,” Kurota reported. “The blast from the decompression will provide a hefty kick, but you’ll need the suits’ propellant to escape the well.”

“Got it,” I said, locking the final seal in place on Mr Mac’s helmet. I climbed into one of my own as Janet helped Timor seal up a barely conscious Leyla. She was even paler than Mr Mac and kept drifting in and out of consciousness to utter harsh obscenities. “Vamp slut-bitch,” she spat at Janet before promptly passing out.

“And I thought she liked me.” Janet hit the power button as Timor locked Leyla’s helmet in place.

“Hurry up,” I told him, thrusting the final suit at him.

“Minus three minutes,” Kurota said.

“You got a sidearm?” I asked him, none too gently shoving Timor’s legs into the suit.

“Yeah. Thinking maybe I’ll see how long I can hang around to watch the fireworks.”

“Your family..?”

“Details in the personnel file, Inspector. Stand-by, I’m hitting the switch in sixty seconds, ready or not.”

I did a quick visual inspection on all of their primary seals, finding Timor had forgotten to connect his CO2 supply. I slotted it into place with a punishing jerk and we lined up at the door, Janet holding onto Leyla and me with a tether fixed to Mr Mac’s suit. Like Leyla, he seemed to be unconscious now, his face a pale, slumped mask behind the helmet visor. I turned my attention to the door and felt something hard and cold clutch at my chest at the sight of the logo laser-etched into the bulkhead: Astravista Industries.

“Kurota,” I said. “I promise I’ll settle with who did this. And it won’t be pretty when I do.”

“Appreciated. Brace for decomp in five, four, three, two…”

Being forced out of a spacecraft by high pressure decompression is never something you get used to. Regardless of how physically strong you might be, you still end up spinning end-over-end like a rag doll whilst fighting down the potentially helmet-filling, and therefore fatal, upsurge of nausea. The tether attaching me to Mr Mac pulled tight then slackened as he came spinning back towards me, flailing limbs thrashing against my air-tank before I managed to steady him. I could see Janet about two hundred yards away, still holding onto Leyla whilst Timor had evidently lost his grip, spinning in a cloud of CO2 as he sought to stabilise himself.

A grating squeal in my headphones told of a melting microphone and I swivelled about in time to see the shuttle enter the atmosphere. It blazed up almost instantly, leaving a black-orange trail across the vast blue curve of the Earth before splitting into a dozen or more pieces, each one blinking out seconds later. I decided not to ponder if Kurota had used his sidearm or not.