Slab City Blues - The Collected Stories: All Five Stories in One Volume (30 page)

I took a firm hold of Mr Mac and used a one second burst of CO2 to close up with the others. “Suit-to-suit comms only,” I said. “No distress calls.”

“Boss?” Timor asked.

“As far as anyone knows, we’re dead, and that’s the way I want it for now.”

“Then what do we do?” Janet enquired. “We have two hours of air and we’ll need all our CO2 to get clear of the well.”

I used the suit’s command gauntlet to access my smart and placed a call. The signal would be weak, but we were close enough to the Slab’s network for it to get through. “Then I guess I better call us a taxi.”

Chapter 14

“Vargold?” Rivera’s optics
prevented me from seeing the full range of doubt on his face, but the scorn in his voice was clear enough. “You seriously suggest Othin Vargold just tried to kill you?”

“It’s the only conclusion that fits,” I said. “He knew I had a lead on the Rybak case, he knew we were off the Slab, and he knew we were on our way back with a prisoner. Not to mention the fact that his company manufactured the FR shuttle. Guess he had his engineers programme a back door into the command software years ago. Same goes for every other piece of Astravista tech purchased by CAOS Military or law enforcement. Which tells me whatever he’s up to has been a long time in the planning.”

“Then we’re fucked, aren’t we?” Leyla said, floating in between Mr Mac and Janet. I’d gathered everyone into the
Aguila’s
somewhat cramped main crew quarters once all injuries had been tended. We’d been obliged to hang around for almost two hours before Lucy piloted the old tub close enough to effect a rescue. Leyla’s leg was fully extended, thanks to the brace applied by the ship’s med-unit. The skull fragment it extracted from her thigh that had come close to slicing her femur in two. She wouldn’t be mobile in full gravity for some time.

“The richest Jed in orbit wants us dead,” she went on. “He owns half the politicians in the Assembly.”

“Politicians are the least of our worries,” Mr Mac said. He had a series of speed-heal strips running down the left side of his face with more visible through the tears in his clothes. The med-unit had reported that his injuries were unlikely to cause long-term damage, though it did provide a list of reputable cosmetic surgeons. “I’d be more concerned about his links to CAOS Defence.”

Colonel Riviera’s optics locked onto Mr Mac, lidar blazing. “Why,” he enquired, “is this traitor on my ship?”

“Because he has access to resources I don’t,” I said. “I’m dead after all.”

“Point of order, if I may,” Mr Mac said, raising a finger. “I was a deserter, not a traitor.”

“Same thing,” Riviera said.

Mr Mac shook his head with a sigh and turned to me. “I’ll need access to secure comms gear.”

“No bargaining?” I asked. “No demands for an immunity deal and a nice big bag of folding green when this is done?”

“Vargold tried to kill me too, Alex.” He shrugged. “In my line of business there’s only one valid response to that.”

“This old bird won’t be much use to you,” Lucy said. “Her comms are straight out of the ark.”

“Cerberus Station,” Riviera said, pushing away from the central meal-hub and gliding towards the engine room. “They’ll have what we need. It’s a five hour haul. Lucy, punch it in. The rest of you can bunk down in the cargo bay.”

Lucy put the ship into a spin once the plasma thrusters came online. The effect was way short of full gravity but it was enough to keep a human body-mass close to the hull in some semblance of a resting state. The colonel had evidently just completed a supply run because the cargo bay featured a number of empty containers. I told the others to get some rest and chose the least smelly container I could find, though they were all pretty musty. I settled my back against the hull, staring at nothing and knowing that, despite my exhaustion, sleep would be a long time coming.

“You didn’t say anything about Joe.” Janet was silhouetted in the container entrance, her night-vision enhanced eyes two pale discs in a perfectly proportioned shadow.

“He was my friend,” I said. “Now he’s dead. Eulogies have never been my strong suit.”

She let herself float free of the entrance, settling next to me, fingers entwining with mine. “The stench coming off Blair,” she said. “It wasn’t garlic. Whatever was done to him left its mark in his sweat. I should have realised something was up.”

“Gotta hand it to Vargold, he knows how to set a trap. I’m guessing the Economics Minister on Minerva owes him a favour or two. That’s why Blair was on the shuttle, an insurance policy in case we made it out when the shut down kicked in.” I noticed my hand was closing tight on hers and began to unclasp but she held on, moving closer.

“Joe wasn’t a vengeful soul,” she whispered.

“No. But I am.”

“Yes.” She came closer still, breath hot on my neck before her lips found mine. “Turns out I am too.”

“Sorry,” she said some while later as I wiped a bead of blood from a small cut on the corner of my mouth. “Got a bit fangy at the end there.”

“I’m really not complaining.”

A faint laugh as she pressed herself against me, wonderfully and gloriously naked, then a sigh of self-reproach. “I feel bad for feeling so good just now.” I felt her tense as the grief took hold, pulled her closer as the sobs came. I hadn’t known tears were in her template.

“He liked you,” I said, stroking a hand through her tousled hair. “A lot.”

She pressed her head against my chest until the tears subsided. “When you were off on your mysterious adventure, he told me all about it, how he ended up a Slab City Demon. He was proud of it, you know. He said it was the only worthwhile thing he’d done in his entire life. He also said you were the first person he ever met who never had an angle. Never wanted anything from him. You helped him because that’s what you do.”

We lay entwined in silence for a time until I groaned in realisation. “What?” she asked.

“Sniffy. His pet rat. Someone’ll need to take him.”

“No way. That thing hates me. Give him to Riviera. I’d say they’re a perfect match.” She drew back a little, the pale discs of her eyes intent on my face. “I thought this might relax you. But you’re just as angry.”

“Vargold,” I said. “I trusted him. Should’ve known better.”

“I expect he’s very skilled at manipulation. It’s not uncommon for high achievers to exhibit psychopathic tendencies.”

“He’s not psychotic. Seen enough nut-jobs in my life to know the difference. He’s got a purpose. I just can’t see what it is.”

“You will.” Her hand reached out to explore my face, lingering where my scars used to be. “It’s what you do.”

Cerberus Station was a cylindrical hab of only three levels, its rotational spin provided by an outer stack of fusion generators. I’d heard of the place, but never visited and found the paint scheme something of a surprise given the habitants were mostly war veterans. “Amazing,” Janet said, peering through the flight deck window with wide-eyed fascination as Lucy guided the
Aguila
to the docks, treating us to a close-up of Cerberus’ slowly spinning hull. Every inch was covered in graffiti, a multi-coloured patchwork of lettering, caricature and abstract geometry. I could see a vac-suited paint-crew at work on some kind of mural, all guitars and lightning bolts.

“It changes,” Lucy said. “Come back in a coupla’ months and it’ll all be different.”

“Like a snake continually refreshing its skin,” Janet said with a delighted laugh.

“Or a buncha weed-heads with nothing better to do.” Lucy punched in the docking sequence and reclined into the pilot’s chair. “Seriously, Doc. You might want to wear a mask when you get through the airlock. My first visit here I got the raging munchies and I never touch the stuff.”

I ordered Leyla and Timor to stay behind. She wouldn’t be able to walk for days and he looked like he needed a break. Slab-born they might be but they’d never been in a war and sometimes I forgot how young they were. Being on the run with no safety net was a novel experience for them, whilst for me it was simply the resumption of an old habit.

“Lucy’s hooked into the Cerberus public net,” I told them. “Get to work on open sources, nothing that requires a password or any kind of interaction. I want every biographical detail on Othin Vargold from the day he was born to right now.”

“We looking for anything in particular?” Timor asked.

“The classics.” I turned and started along the umbilical to the airlock. “Means, motive and opportunity.”

I realised Lucy hadn’t been exaggerating the moment the airlock cycled open, the sweet, musty haze provoking an immediate cough and moistened eyes. “Jesus,” Mr Mac said, blinking. “Haven’t they ever heard of filters?”

The interior of Cerberus station reminded me a little of the shanty town in the Yang-side extremity, the structures being so lacking in uniformity and plainly fashioned from mismatched materials. They stretched away on either side of us, following the massive curve of the hull. Looking up, I found I could just make out the opposite side of the ring-shaped level through the haze, a vaporous melange of exhaled breath laden with what I took to be several varieties of cannabinoid derivatives.

“Where are your papers!” a strident, Germanic voice demanded and I turned to see a wiry, dreadlocked man approaching Riviera, teeth bared in a broad grin. He wore ancient combat fatigues festooned with inexpertly embroidered patches, the sleeves cut off to reveal knotted and densely tattooed muscle.

“Sergeant Kruger,” Riviera greeted him.

“Herr Oberst.” Kruger came to attention and snapped off the kind of salute that only came from Downside military training.

“Joachim Kruger,” Riviera introduced him, replying with a vague salute of his own. “Formerly of the European Federated Defence Force and later Sergeant Major to the CAOS Commando Brigade.” He waved a prosthetic hand at us. “My… associates need some help, the technical variety. I’ll meet any cost, of course.”

“No one on this hab would take a penny from you, Herr Oberst,” Kruger told him. “You know that, I think.” His gaze snapped to me, eyes narrowing in surprised recognition. “Captain McLeod, is it not? The news feeds said…”

“The news feeds were right,” I told him. “As far as anyone knows.”

Although the bulge of unfiltered fun-sticks in Kruger’s top-pocket told me he was no stranger to what seemed to be the main activity here, his gaze retained a shrewd clarity and he didn’t need any further explanations. “Security?” he asked the colonel with a raised eyebrow.

“
Si,
” Riviera told him. “But our own people only.”

“I will call the boys and girls. They always enjoy a reunion, and Trudy gets lonely on the farm.”

“You’re a farmer?” I asked, following along with the others as Kruger turned about and began marching towards what looked like an open man-hole.

“Of course, we all are.” He laughed and raised his arms to the haze above. “From where do you imagine all this comes?”

Chapter 15

“Forget it,” Mr
Mac told Janet. “I can swing IDs for two only, and no vampires. No offence, Doctor, but your kind simply don’t exist down the well. You wouldn’t last a day before being picked up.”

Janet didn’t really do angry, but today was clearly an exception. “You have no comprehension of my abilities,” she replied, voice soft and face very still. “And I’d thank you not to make assumptions.”

We were in the shed where Kruger kept his non-farming tech, an impressive array of comms gear and weaponry. Whilst no one on this hab went armed - they didn’t even have a police force - the former Sergeant Major felt the need to stockpile various breeds of assault-carbine and combat gear. “It was the Colonel’s suggestion,” he told me with a shrug. “Insurance against an uncertain future. For now, we govern ourselves largely without CAOS interference. It doesn’t mean it will stay that way forever.”

Kruger’s farm was one of several on the hab’s second level, a cluster of buildings rising from the otherwise uninterrupted dark green blanket of hemp. A directional array of UV lights running through the centre of the level provided a twenty-four hour light and darkness cycle. Kruger and Trudy, his wife and fellow veteran who spoke through a voice modulator grafted into her neck, maintained a small army of bots to water the plants and till the soil. Come harvest time their produce would form a full ten percent of the hab’s only source of income.

“Every time some Jed blazes up or chows down on a brownie,” Trudy told me, the Slab-born cadence of her voice jarring a little with the upper-class English accent produced by her modulator, “there’s a one in four chance it comes from Cerberus. Wouldn’t think it looking at the place, but everyone here is rich as shit.”

The Colonel’s ad hoc security team began to arrive shortly after we did, six ex-Commando types, most sporting some long-standing injury or artificial augmentation. Given their attrition rate during the war, I was surprised Kruger could gather so many. They all treated Kruger and Riviera with such automatic, fully ingrained discipline and obedience you’d be forgiven for thinking the war had ended only a day before.

“He’s right,” I told Janet, as gently as I could. “Besides, I need you to research Vargold. Leyla and Timor don’t have your skills.”

She remained completely still, eyes unblinking, though I noticed her claws had begun to extend and her mouth bulge under the pressure of elongating canines. Mr Mac began to edge away, eyes flicking towards Kruger’s armoury. “Relax,” I told him softly. Janet closed her eyes, maintaining her mannequin-like stillness for a full ten seconds before her claws and canines slowly retracted.

“Very well,” she told me, opening her eyes, though the habitual smile had vanished from her lips. “But I reserve the right to undertake independent action, should I judge it necessary.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” I said, turning to Mr Mac. “You have resources to call on down the well, I assume?”

He nodded. “So, you’re really intent on going there?”

“That’s where the leads are. Whatever it is Vargold didn’t want me to find is down there somewhere.”

“The IDs I’ve sourced will work once we’re on the ground, but I don’t have anything that’ll get us through port security. Your face and mine will be near the top of any Fed Sec recognition database, and I doubt they’ll just wipe our records on the off chance that we’re really dead.”

“That won’t be a problem,” I said, holding up the basic smart he’d asked Kruger to buy from the Cerberus market. “You’re sure this is secure?”

“All comms routed through my own private server. It’s swept for viruses and trojans every thirty micro-seconds. Costs a fortune to maintain, but it doesn’t pay to skimp on security. Just one of the reasons it took you so long to catch me.”

“I didn’t catch you,” I said and nodded at Janet. “She did. Best get some rest, we ship out at 0500.”

“Can you trust him?”

Kruger and Trudy had plenty of room, their farm buildings consisting of re-purposed ships left over from the war, including a troop-shuttle complete with sleeping compartments. Janet and I had taken the officer’s suite, though the bunk couldn’t handle two people so we’d pushed a pair of mattresses together on the floor. She lay next to me, skin free of sweat, unlike mine. Once again, her fangs had made an appearance at the critical moment, but she managed to avoid drawing blood this time.

“Completely,” I told her. “It’s one of the more depressing things about him, the delusion that we’re actually best friends.”

She remained silent for a time and I turned on my side, looking at her profile outlined in the dim blue light seeping through the cabin’s porthole. The longer I looked, the less perfect she seemed, more human. It made me want to go on looking for a long time. “I really don’t like him,” she said, breaking the silence. “He’s… wrong.”

“If you mean crazy, I think I got there already.”

“No, not insane exactly, just badly made. It’s like his internal wiring’s not right. And I’d hazard a guess he’s always been this way. The war didn’t do it to him.”

I put an arm about her shoulders, pulling her close. “Don’t worry about it.”

“We don’t have to do this. You do know that, I assume? There are many places we could go. The Belt, the Outer Stations.”

There was no real conviction in her voice, no actual desire to run away. If anything, I suspected she just felt obligated to point out the alternatives. “Joe,” I said. “Vandeman, Kurota, Rybak, not to mention that SWAT team I sent to their deaths. It all needs a reckoning. Something I realised when I first became a Demon; it’s not about justice, or the law, or controlling society or any of that shit. It’s about balance. Sometimes things get pushed too far, a gang war, a murder, a rape. It’s my job to push it back, fix it. And I think we both know that whatever Vargold’s up to really needs fixing.”

She raised herself up, staring into my eyes and I felt myself get captured. She’d told me her mesmerism tricks didn’t work on me, said I was too strong, but there were times when I wondered if she hadn’t just been massaging my ego. “I’m getting tired of this exciting interlude, Alex,” she told me, breath soft on my lips. “I’d like to be boring again, and I think I’d rather be bored with you than anyone else. So go fix whatever needs fixing, just make sure you come back.”