by Jeremy Szal
We shared a long look. He snatched his arm back and tugged his sleeves down.
‘You promised me you’d never do that again.’ There was more heat in my voice than I intended. My brother brings out the worst in me: I’m both too emphatic and too angry with him.
‘Yeah.’ He couldn’t meet my eyes as he picked at a wood splinter on the table. ‘Well, we both made promises, didn’t we?’
The images of Artyom rolling the stolen stormtech canister and Alcatraz’s broken, mangled body spliced through my mind. ‘I’m trying to help. Harmony knows you’re stealing stormtech. You’re done.’
‘My life, my business.’
‘You’re not stupid enough to believe that.’ I leaned forward. ‘I can help you, Artyom. I can get them to protect you. Whatever it is, we can make it work. I can get you out. Help me help you.’
I expected quiet, brooding anger, the sort I usually got from him. Instead, he cast me a sad, tight smile, as if I couldn’t understand. ‘It’s too late to stop this. I—’
‘Is someone forcing you, Artyom?’ They must have something on him, something dark. ‘Talk to me.’
‘Now my big brother wants to protect me? That ship sailed, Vakov. It sailed when you went to fight your stupid sodding war. You left me with Dad, knowing you’d promised to stay, knowing what he’d do while you were gone, and then you came back full of that … stuff.’ His mouth twitched into a pitying, mocking smile. ‘Was it worth it, Vak?’
‘I sent money every month.’ I was feeling more and more uncomfortable, and more and more determined to break through to him. ‘I made sure you got a share of everything I earned.’
‘You really don’t get it, do you? Nothing you sent could make up for you leaving me.’
‘But I came back,’ I said, lowering my voice. ‘After everything that happened and everything that war threw at me, I came back home.’
Artyom’s chuckle was a throaty, raw sound. ‘What, and you thought we’d all just pick up where we left off? Pretend it never happened? No. No, it doesn’t work like that. I’ve got my own life now.’
I could feel the stormtech wrapping tight around my chest like nanosteel as childhood memories crashed on the banks of my mind. I locked gazes with him, searching for a connection. ‘Remember when we used to go behind the observatory and stargaze? Just lie there and forget the rest of the world? It was just you and me up there. You picked a different soundtrack from your collection every night. You wanted every night to be different. You’d spend so long searching, because you wanted to get it right. Remember?’
Artyom’s eyes seemed to glaze over, as if digging up the bones of an old, old memory. ‘That was a long time ago.’
‘We got through so much together,’ I offered. Even if the memories hurt, even if they scarred, even if I had to reopen all our shared bruises and wounds, I would do it to reach him. I loved him too much to walk away. Because beneath the pain were the moments that had bonded us together and made us who we were. Maybe, just maybe, they could again now. ‘We can work this out, Artyom. We can fix this. We always do.’
He blinked slow and hard, as if it hurt to see the world again. For a moment, I thought I’d won him over. Then, ever so gently, he said, ‘Vak, I don’t ever want to see you again.’
It was the worst thing he could have said.
The stormtech clawed up in my chest and I imagined slapping him. Hand cracking across his face, splitting his lip. The horrible urge departed as fast as it came, but the new steely, distant look in my brother’s eye didn’t belong to the boy who’d grown up with me. The boy who’d walk the city streets with me, exploring underground pubs and concert halls until dawn.
But we weren’t children anymore.
‘Mr Fukasawa, is this man bothering you?’ The inquisitive voice came from the bar’s Rubix, acting as manager. He’d manifested as a tall gentleman in a crisp tweed suit, a blue cravat and a ridiculous bowler hat. Only heavy-grade AIs are allowed to physically roam around, even in a limited capacity.
‘Yes, he is,’ Artyom said in English. He stood. People were staring despite the privacy of the dimmed alcove. ‘I want him to leave.’
‘Very well.’ The Rubix’s grin was wide and perfectly polite as it turned towards me. ‘Sir, please vacate the premises immediately.’
I ignored it. ‘Artyom, we could—’
He wouldn’t even look at me. ‘You had your chance.’
‘Artyom—’
‘Don’t, Vakov. Just don’t. Go out with a bit of dignity, why don’t you?’
‘Sir.’ The Rubix’s voice had sharpened. Eyes bulging with exaggerated anger. ‘You will leave.’
‘Not until I’ve finished talking to my brother.’
‘For god’s sake, Vak, for once do as you’re bloody told.’
‘Get out of my bar.’ The handsome Rubix face had melted into a nightmarish monster, its voice becoming thick and barbed. A crown of horns protruded from its misshapen, bloodstained head. A mass of needle-sharp teeth growing out of its mouth. The tweed suit was beginning to blacken and sprout poisonous thorns. It didn’t scare me, but I couldn’t say the same for the other patrons. ‘Leave my bar and never come back.’
The Rubix would get shut down if it hurt me. But it could summon security, and then I’d have Kindosh on my back. My body told me to squeeze Artyom, see how far I could push this before I was thrown out. I had to physically swallow the urge as I stood. ‘You can’t push me away. Not over this,’ I told Artyom, my voice hard and brittle.
Every eye was trained on me as I left. There was a wet slithering and the Rubix’s voice, and presumably its face, returned to normal as it spoke to the startled patrons. ‘I do apologise for that, everyone. May I offer you a free round of drinks—’
My knees shook as I took the stairs to the thoroughfare, a thin sheen of sweat coating my skin. Had I really turned my brother into this angry, bitter young man? I tried to shrug off the weight of memories before setting foot on the street. Only someone was blocking my path.
It was Katherine Kowalski.
Oh hell.
4
Noodles
‘How did I know?’ Kowalski laughed, lacing her hands across the nape of her neck. ‘It took you all of ten minutes to go behind my back. Ten. Minutes.’
My maelstrom of emotions deflated like a popped bubble. ‘Sorry?’ I offered.
‘No, you’re not,’ she mumbled as she vaped, plumes of smoke disappearing into the air. ‘You’re not sorry in the slightest.’
‘That stuff isn’t good for you,’ I told her.
She fixed me with a glare, then pushed out a sigh. ‘We should talk. But not here. It’s late and I haven’t eaten and you probably haven’t either. Should we find somewhere?’
I’d expected to be arrested then and there and have my arse dragged back to Harmony to be thrown headfirst into a stinking cell for the week, so I wasn’t about to decline dinner.
We took a switchback stairwell out of Limefields to a floor strung with a vertiginous boulevard of multicultural bistros and eateries. Kowalski picked a Japanese restaurant out of the selection. The rich scent of sake and rice vinegar whirled me back to the noodlehouses on New Vladi I’d visit on wet, dreamy afternoons: cupping my hands around a hot bowl of miso soup and inhaling the steamy aroma. Listening to the quiet spatter of rain on the breath-fogged viewport, chainships glowing green and red as they soared over the mountain ranges.
There was a Torven watching the restaurants. I’d seen the aliens over vids, and knew they made up a small percentage of Compass’ population, but I’d not been here long enough to see one before. It was almost as tall as me with skin the colour of dirty sand. Its sharp, pointed face was vaguely avian, with large eyes and small nostrils. Bony arms sprouted from broad shoulders, digitigrade legs bound tight with muscle, dexterous-looking hands equipped with four fingers. The alien had the
spicy smell of cloves and pine-needles, and wore a grey one-piece suit that had the appearance of dolphin skin.
‘How long have they been here?’ I asked.
‘Almost since Compass was built. They were the first spacefaring species to become a part of the Common. There’s the fifth, maybe sixth generation of Torven living and trading here.’
The alien watched us as we passed, narrowing its dark eyes in what seemed to be an expression of mild irritation, as if we’d blocked its view of the eateries.
We were about to enter the restaurant when the Rubix at the entrance stood in front of us. ‘All exoskeletons and armoured suits must have shutdown mode activated,’ the AI told us with an air of self-entitlement. Its gaze swung over to Kowalski. ‘Nor can you bring weapons.’
She rolled her eyes, but parted with her service thin-gun and glanced at me. I sighed and thumbed the option on my palmerlog. The exterior lights pulsed a tepid green, the suit’s systems stepping down from combat-readiness. My helmet had already slithered back into my neck joint, the armour along my hands doing likewise. Wasn’t too happy about it, but I wasn’t in the mood to get into a shouting match with another Rubix.
I picked an alcove on the fringes of the restaurant, trying to expose my stormtech to the minimum of people. A wall-spanning viewport peered out at the rest of the sprawling floor. The restaurant was garlanded with hanging lanterns and mini sculpted bonsais, the walls heavy with kanji calligraphy and swirling designs of bloody samurais. Mumbled shreds of conversation from other patrons echoed around us. A low soundtrack, by a group that my shib told me was The 5.6.7.8s, played softly in the background.
Kowalski caught me staring at the kanji. ‘Can you read that?’
‘I’m from New Vladi. Everyone there knows their parents’ ethnic language as well as English,’ I said. ‘Got Russian and Japanese up my sleeve. At least the dialects we speak. You?’
‘I’m Polish, but I’m too lazy to learn it.’ Her fingers twitched for her vaper. ‘Must be nice, communicating in another language with family and friends.’
It might be nice for others. I opted not to mention that Artyom had refused to speak Japanese for years. It was our father’s language and culture and my brother had long pretended that part of him didn’t exist. As if he could just deny it out of existence. I know better than most people how permanent genetic makeup is.
I didn’t get as many glances as I’d expected from the three dozen customers, though a scattered few were not so subtly staring at the stormtech that was busy curling up and down my forearms like jellyfish tentacles. Live with this blue stuff plugged up into you, and getting side-glances and double takes becomes the norm. Not that I was anything special; there were plenty of Reapers around here, and even more skinnies. But the fascination with glowing alien DNA twitching inside human flesh never went away, and their glances made me squirm in my seat. I wished they’d just gawk. At least they’d be honest about it.
I weighed up how much to tell Kowalski as I ordered. I was a long way from being friendly with Harmony. But my brother’s rejection still stung and something was off about his behaviour. To Kowalski, he was a lowlife suspect, a drug trafficker. I kept that in mind as I related our conversation, his refusal to talk, and my own theory of him being blackmailed. She folded her hands under her chin, taking a few quiet moments to process this new information.
‘If he’s involved with the theft and sabotage of Harmony property,’ she said finally, ‘even at a minor level, we need to take action.’
‘You don’t know that he’s involved in anything bigger. Not for sure. Not completely.’
‘Which is why we’re having this conversation. You’re as much at risk as anyone else.’ She flipped open her palmerlog and glanced at a newsfeed. ‘While we’ve been here, a Reaper Blued Out a few floors up, right in the middle of the town square at rush hour. She was in rehab, taking our suppressors.’
I almost didn’t want to ask. ‘What’s the damage?’
‘Bad. She killed four pedestrians, one a husband in front of his wife and kids, before she went down.’
‘Oh, hell.’
‘Yeah. She’d already shot and injured five more. Worse, one of them was an offworld Torven, not native to Compass. So the Alien Embassy’s become involved. They say she tried to blow her own brains out in the end, but she started convulsing with a seizure before she could finish the job.’ Kowalski eyed me over the flickering, membrane-thin screen. ‘No kid should have to see their parent murdered in front of them. I want this plague stamped out of my city, out of my asteroid, and I want it done now.’
‘And you think this incident is connected to the other deaths.’
‘I don’t see how it could be a coincidence. Even if it isn’t connected, it’s doing the same damage to people, and to Harmony. These deaths have been escalating, occurring more and more in public places and harming civilians. It’s deliberate. Vicious. Because the Reapers will get their suppressors, and the skinnies and party-goers are going to get their fix either way. If the Reapers don’t trust us, they’ll turn to the streets. And that stuff is lethal, unregulated, cripplingly addictive.’
‘Let me hazard a guess: stormdealers and other drug-trafficking syndicates are your top suspects.’
‘We don’t want to jump to conclusions, but it’s hard to imagine anyone benefiting more than them.’ She drummed her fingers on the table. ‘We captured a mule a little while back. He’d crammed five phials of stormtech down his throat. His stormdealers had a sharpshooter take him out within minutes, clean through the heart. This isn’t just about saving Reapers; it’s a war against drugs from a source that’s not even human. And we’re losing.’ She rubbed her eyes, bloodshot with the residue of too many sleepless nights. ‘We can’t even call it a war.’
‘Why’s that?’ I asked.
‘Wars end.’
‘No, they don’t. Wars last as long as there’re people to remember them.’
The awkward silence was only broken when an octodrone brought our steaming food over. Its gangly electromuscles, thick as my arm, served our ramen while our chopsticks autoprinted.
‘Even for a guy your size, that’s a heavy serving.’ Kowalski nodded towards my bowl, filled with karaage ramen, boiled eggs, spring onions, and sides of tempura and gyoza.
I sprinkled chilli seasoning on my meal. I’d never much liked the stuff before the stormtech, but now I had a perpetual craving for it, along with acids, sodium, spices, dairy. Anything with a kick, and the stormtech liked it.
I pointed with my chopsticks to the knots of stratospheric cerulean climbing down my arms. ‘I’m eating for two. The blue boys need fuel. It’s like being pregnant for ever.’
‘Very funny.’
The food wasn’t up to New Vladi standards, of course. But the chicken karaage was juicy and the ramen soup was filling enough. The green tea Kowalski had ordered melted into my stomach with a pleasant, warm glow.
When our bowls were scraped clean, Kowalski leaned towards me again. ‘So. What’s the plan?’
‘Artyom won’t talk to me,’ I told her.
‘Reapers are dying every day, Fukasawa. And Artyom is the only lead we have. The only reason he’s not in a Harmony interrogation cell right now is because we’re giving you a shot. We know he’s not acting alone. Arresting him will tip our hand. You’re our best shot at doing this cleanly.’
‘You have an idea who’s behind this, then?’
‘I’ve told you about the mule we picked up. We’ve also picked up stormtech distributors, xenochemists, even top dogs among the more dangerous stormdealer syndicates, the ones who control the trade and practically own floors. So we know a little about their security. The low-key guys get installed with a bioleash. It messes with their brain chemistry, makes them activate a suicide trigger in their molars if they’re caught. Sometimes that’s combined with a smelter-bomb wired to
their vitals. They like taking a few of us out too, if they can.’
A sour knot tightened in my gut. ‘And you think Artyom’s wired with one.’
‘We’d be naive not to assume it’s a possibility. It might explain his reluctance to talk. Even assuming we take Artyom by force, and assuming he makes it into interrogation alive, there’s no way in hell they won’t be tracking him. The moment he’s compromised, they’ll pack up and vanish. Our only lead disappears and Artyom needs armed protection for the rest of his life. We’ve played this game too many times not to know the rules. We’d risk grabbing him if there was no other choice. But now we’ve got you, and you being a Reaper means there’s a chance to fix this.’ A steely look came into her eye. ‘Every minute this problem exists on Compass, more people get hurt. We’re gambling a lot of lives on giving you and your brother this chance. My advice? You use it, and you use it wisely.’
‘Forgive me if I’m not glowing with gratitude.’
‘It doesn’t matter what you are as long as you get him to come clean.’
‘If he won’t talk to me, he sure as hell won’t talk to you.’ My little brother’s infinitely more stubborn than I am. No easy feat.
‘Don’t be naive. Harmony always gets the answers it wants.’
I understood the veiled threat. Commander Sokolav had said as much when I’d served in his Battalion. He’d been merciless with the Harvest soldiers we’d captured. I’d never known his methods. Didn’t need to, because he always got results. I shivered as I imagined Artyom, strapped to a chair with a distortion-mask wrapped around his face, an interrogator standing over him with pliers.
Kowalski slid a thumb over the sweeping engravings on her ceramic mug. ‘Artyom tried to sign up for the Reaper programme too, didn’t he?’
Of course Harmony had dug that data up from somewhere. ‘The chances of your body rejecting stormtech are astronomically low,’ I said quietly. ‘Artyom never got over the disappointment.’
When Harmony asked, I’d said I joined the Reaper programme because I couldn’t sit back as habitats and moonbases and whole planets got blasted to rubble and ash by Harvest warships. I’d never admitted I had to escape a violent father … or that one of us would have ended up dead if I’d stuck around. And if I’d killed him, his colleagues in high places would have ensured I’d been dumped in prison for killing a good man and Artyom would have ended up in foster care. Not exactly material you can scribble across the dotted line.