by Jeremy Szal
Juvens removed a torus-shaped device from a slot in his armour and pressed it into my palm. I flicked my shib on and an encryption key blurred into my system. The device shuddered and died in my hand and I set it aside. ‘In the meantime, if you ever need us desperately, you know how to call.’ The Space Marshall had a wicked gleam in his eyes, as if he wasn’t supposed to do what he just did and couldn’t have cared less for it. ‘I’m not going to assume I can understand what your people are dealing with. But I’ve seen what stormtech does to human bodies. Anyone who has, and keeps selling it for profit, is a monster. The exact sort of people the Shenoi love. So when you find these Suns—’ his teeth clenched together, jaw tightening ‘—do me a favour and deal with them … brutally.’
I locked gazes with the big alien, my own jaw tightening. ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’
Juvens watched me for a moment. ‘You know what every species has in common, Fukasawa? We all can get very, very angry.’ A grim smirk began to spread across his face. ‘And that’s good. Because angry gets ugly work done.’
The Kaiji swiftly dropped me back to Compass. I made a beeline for my apartment, where Grim and Kowalski were waiting impatiently. I told them everything. They took it better than I’d imagined.
‘All right,’ Kowalski said slowly, running a hand through her hair. ‘You know I have to tell Kindosh. If she doesn’t know already – there’s probably surveillance equipment in here.’
‘There was.’ Back in his neon skeleton underskin, Grim poked his head out of the kitchen – a grinning red skull – and glanced at us. ‘Until I disabled it.’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘But this changes nothing. We have to take down the House of Suns, exactly as planned, and quickly.’
‘I guess we’re unofficially officially in bed with the Kaiji,’ Katherine muttered as Grim emerged from the kitchen with three mugs of tempered glass, containing coffee. We both took one. ‘I’m surprised they didn’t ask for a seat on the Harmony Command Board in return.’
‘If the Kaiji are right, more than a dozen civilisations have been killed because of stormtech. No other spacefaring species we know of has had prior combat experience with the Shenoi, let alone achieved a victory. They could be demanding servitude or worship or whatever it is aliens want. Instead, they’re offering us help. We’d be stupid to turn them down.’
Kowalski fixed me with a sceptical look. ‘You saw the size of their armada, the level of their tech and materiel. You don’t raise your civilisation to that stage by having the interests of other species at heart. We don’t know what they got up to in the greater galactic community. We get dozens of alien species every standard year requesting to join the Common or seeking refuge, trade agreements, alliances, whatever. First rule of interspecies diplomacy: if an offer sounds too good to be true, then it probably is.’
‘We know they’ve got demands. They made that clear the moment they asked to join the Common. Doesn’t mean they won’t have an offer of their own on the table.’
‘There’s a difference between genuine concern and professional manipulation.’
‘You think that’s what’s going on here?’
‘I think we’d be naive not to consider it.’
I thought of Juvens, and how the big, sly Space Marshall had been willing to share private information and risk the wrath of his Ambassadors, just to give us a leg up. If they were giving us a chance, we had to return the favour. ‘You’re the ones who wanted a peace alliance with these guys,’ I said. ‘Here’s your shot.’
Kowalski nodded reluctantly. I could hear the air rising from her lungs, steaming out of her mouth. My skin rippled with goosebumps, my arm hairs all standing up. My senses had been heightened since the fight in the arena. The metallic stink of the spaceport, the spicy scent of the Kaiji, the smoky stench wafting from nearby ventilation shafts were all bouncing around in my skull. The world swayed in sticky and surreal motion, everything hyper-elevated, like fragments of a dream. It was all the stormtech.
If I stopped feeding it entirely, I could start Shredding again. I hated the idea of it. The process would cripple me for weeks, maybe months, as my body wrung the alien DNA out of me. The stormtech would put up one hell of a fight with every agonizing day. Harmony’s suppressors were off the table, and I wasn’t about to risk darkmarket meds.
Whatever my body was doing to me, I was stuck with it.
Would Artyom still be doing this if he knew he was pouring gasoline on the fire? Had my brother looked me dead in the eye, knowing what was really in those stormtech canisters and swirling around in my bloodstream? I felt the cold metal of the pendant against my collarbone and for a moment I wanted to tear the cord away completely. Cut him out as he had me. But I couldn’t give up on him. If only for Kasia’s sake.
Kowalski’s voice floated up from somewhere distant, as if on the other end of a crackly comms line. ‘Vakov?’
I snapped up. ‘What?’
‘Remember those stormdealer trafficking routes we picked up in the Warren? Well, they got results. Took a hell of a paper trail, tracking them across shell companies, orbital refineries, space-factories, dockyards, distribution channels in and out of Compass, but we got them. Most of them were operating out of a dockyard front, concealing stormtech supplies in shuttlecraft and carrier-pods going to half a hundred spacedocks. We did a raid last night, nabbed half a dozen stormdealers with direct connections to Reaper deaths. These guys aren’t working alone. It’s one tiny cog in an entire syndicate of stormdealers, running like clockwork. Suppliers, distributors, factories, everything.’
‘But you found a source.’
‘We did better than that. The dockyard manifesto led us straight to several House of Suns suppliers.’
‘They’re not cultists, though.’
‘No. They’re third parties, operating on Compass and across several systems worth of outposts and stations. But they’re just as responsible for the Reaper deaths. Caught them in the act and hauled the whole lot in for questioning.’
‘What about those biolaces? The suicide triggers?’
‘Sector Prone’s been working on an override key. It neutralises the hardware, but they’re constantly supplying updates to get around us. We had two suppliers die on us, both killed remotely. When the rest survived, they sent a squadron of gunships armed with heat-seeking missiles after us. Fortunately, we’ve got better combat pilots then they do, and blasted them away. We’ve got the other four suppliers, nice and secure in lockup. If asking nicely doesn’t work, we’ll apply pressure until someone cracks. There’re thousands of other stormdealers out there. We can only guess how many of them are shipping the Suns’ product. But it’s a start.’
‘What about the stormtech canisters? You tried tracing those back?’ Grim asked.
‘Dead ends, false leads,’ said Katherine, taking a long swallow of coffee. ‘Informers who come forward with intel in exchange for a fresh start go missing or end up shot to death on the street the next day. Space-factories and warehouses full of canisters and drug labs one day, cleared out and scrubbed clean the next. We even found a chainship, retrofitted into a moveable storage unit. By the time we found out, it didn’t exist anymore. Turned to scrap in a darkmarket shipbreaking yard, the debris jettisoned out into space. They’re ahead of us every step of the way. Almost makes you think they’ve turned someone within Harmony.’
‘How likely do you think that is?’ I asked.
‘Kindosh has her suspicions.’ She stabbed a button on her palmerlog. Oddly shaped dataspheres containing charts appeared in my apartment, rippling at her touch like the surface of water. ‘We know there’s been a steep growth of stormtech on the market. More are infected every day, and hardly a fraction of them come to us for rehab or substitutes. They’re too proud, too guilty, or think they’ll kick it on their own. Meanwhile, stormdealers have been getting more organised.’
‘In some cases, definitely. Drug trafficking’s rarely a solo operation. It’s too high-risk for that. They’re not hustling it on street corners like the idiots who sell grimwire do. They’ve started operating behind firewalls, and on darkmarket servers. Others sell within exclusive circles. And then there’re the stormdealers who work themselves into neighbourhoods. Get friendly with the locals. Maybe set up a front, work themselves into the social infrastructure. Deal stormtech out the back, giving out free samples of bluesmoke and synthsilver, selling cheap to the locals. Letting people know they’re a legitimate seller. Build their workforce; get people on their side, spread the word. Before you know it, they’ve occupied the entire neighbourhood, then the whole floor. They use children as foot soldiers and mules. Start buying out businesses to occupy their territory. Anyone who objects, anyone who tries to rat them out, gets silenced. Often by their own neighbours.’ A grainy edge came into her voice. ‘We’re seeing it most in the toughest areas. Working classes. People looking to get ahead after life’s kicked them into the gutter. The stormdealers know they’re easy targets.’
She hid it well. But I know what barely supressed guilt sounds like when I hear it. The oblate dataspheres scattered and vanished like burst soap bubbles. ‘It’s still a work in progress. Give me a day or two and I’ll have something we can link to the suppliers. We’ll go from there, see what the connection is to the House of Suns. If Kindosh tries to chew me out for this whole business with the Kaiji, I’m sending her your way, deal?’
‘Deal.’
‘You look after yourself, Vak. You too, Grim.’
Grim nodded but remained passive even after she’d left. He’d barely spoken a word about the whole arena incident. He knew we had bigger things to deal with. It’s so easy to see the big picture that you lose sight of the smaller things that make it up. I know that better than most people.
‘How you holding up?’ I asked him. He shrugged but didn’t look at me. Outside, the pixelsheeting swirled with darkened cloudbanks, the sprinklers activating. The windows pattered with rain. ‘Did the Suns hurt you?’
Grim pulled his knees up to his chest. ‘No. They just grabbed me off the street and tossed me into a carrier-pod. They wanted to, but they didn’t. They said you’d do that for them.’
‘Did you believe them?’
Grim shook his head, but I could see a part of him had believed it. I placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘You’re like my brother, Grim. I’d never hurt you, no matter what they did to me.’
‘I know, Vak. I know. But being taken like that, having you look at me the way you did, scared me, Vak. I haven’t been that scared since I left Harvest, you know?’ He stared out the rain-streaked windows, as if expecting to see something lurking there.
‘Do you want to move in here?’ I asked.
Grim glanced over at me. ‘Seriously?’
‘I don’t want you going back home, Grim. Not anymore. You hang here, at least until we sort this out. If they try anything again, they’ll have to go through me first.’
I expected him to break out into a zany, toothy grin. Start cheering at how he’d finally wormed his way into my apartment, even if it meant getting kidnapped. Instead, he sniffed and thumped me on the back, muttering his gratitude. He was more shaken than I’d realised. I was going to have to watch him. I returned the gesture, pushing out vivid images of me stumbling towards my friend, teeth bared, hands reflexing with the urge to rip him apart.
That would never happen. That would never happen.
Grim insisted on celebrating the occasion the way he always does: with drinks. I wasn’t about to complain.
He whirled me away to yet another bar that did space-themed cocktails while actual footage of space played around you in a broad spectacle. The bar, designed to look like the revolving endcap beneath a giant space station, was outfitted with large dome shielding, displaying an elliptical galaxy full of etiolated young stars known as the Asamotah Cluster. The screen zoomed in to show the ever-changing surface of a small hydrogen-helium gas-giant. The debris from shattered moons had given it an extensive ring system, like a soot-black belt. We watched as fast-forward footage showed the heat of a nearby star slowly blasting the gas-giant’s atmosphere away. By the fifth round, I called it a night on the drinks, not in the mood to carry Grim home after last night’s incident. It was a wonder he could even stand after how much he’d drunk.
Kowalski was right about the stormtech blooming, as we found out on the return trip. There were more skinnies wheezing in the alleyways, coughing as they shielded themselves from leaking pipes. Scratching furiously at scabs and wounds as they rifled through the trash for a hit. Twitching under bundles of rags. There was a woman with sunken eyes wrestling with a protesting sweeperbot, trying to claw the bags back in hopes there’d be a sliver of stormtech left. I turned to witness a man on his knees near our apartment, vomiting up a gush of blue, retching like an animal. His sweet, sticky stench got my stomach muscles tightening.
Shrugging it off, I followed Grim back to my apartment. He’d brought along a collection of cult films. I wanted to think about anything but stormtech, and Kowalski had not called us with her follow-up intel, so I agreed to a marathon. We sprawled on my couch, printing up an endless supply of snacks from Compass’ weirdest and wildest establishments as Grim’s films got bloodier, crazier and more abstract.
After the fifth feature and second bowl of seaweed-flavoured chips, the Rubix’s rabbit avatar hopped onto the coffee table and eyed the screen with a wide yawn. ‘Oh, films. How very droll. Really, is there nothing else you can do?’
‘Toss off, bunny. I’m educating Mr Fukasawa here,’ Grim said. ‘Have you seen the trash they play in New Vladi?’
I nodded at the screen, where a young woman in a bloody dress was spewing curses and violently strumming a guitar equipped with chainsaws, the incoming crowds of dull-eyed, brain-dead adults being blasted backwards with shockwaves of righteous sound. ‘Yeah, and this is the height of culture.’
‘My culture.’ He slapped my arm and grinned. ‘It’s a rite of passage.’
I endured it, more for Grim’s benefit than mine. I wasn’t sure what time it was when we were done, but I printed out a mattress for Grim, the sweeperbot gobbling up the crumbs, and then crashed down into my own bed. I stank, but couldn’t bring myself to move.
Tendrils of stormtech were squirming hard along my sides, digging into my armpits. I ran my hands down my body, trying to dislodge it, but it didn’t work this time. I tossed again, feeling the bodies of the men I’d killed in the arena floating over me. I replayed myself. Kicking, punching, clawing. Stormtech or not, that had been me. And I was ready to wave it away as an excuse.
Was I already becoming my father?
The thought was so dirty I was going to need a shower right now. I rolled off the bed to shower and change when I heard a strange, muffled scratching coming from the door. A faint yellow light flitted through the cracks. The soft blip of a security bypass programme. The Jackal hadn’t received the satisfaction he’d wanted from the arena fight. I’d beaten him, publicly, and cost him money. Not only was I still alive and kicking, I hadn’t killed Grim in front of a crowd. He was sending people along to remedy that right now.
The door crashed open, a shadowy figure rushing forward. The flashing stormtech was like a beacon on my chest. I threw myself sideways as he fired his scattershot. The muzzle flash flared up in the darkness, the shot blasting a mouthful of concrete and wood from the wall behind me. A shell went clattering to the floor, surprisingly loud. My assailant whirled around, firing another shell towards the AI’s rabbit figure. The projection stuttered from the shot, as it turned its black, furred face towards him. ‘Oh dear. I fear you have made a very grave mistake,’ the rabbit informed the intruder in a huffy tone. He aimed his scattershot upwards as the turret slid out of the wal
l and levelled towards the shooter. ‘Mine’s bigger,’ the rabbit said, an evil gleam in its black eyes as the autocannon ripped to life. I hugged the floor, hands clamped around my ears, the thunderous roar bursting in my skull. The high-calibre rounds punched through the intruder’s chest like nails being hammered into wood, the kitchen exploding in a shower of glass and plaster. Pipes burst and sprayed water into the room.
A second figure charged into the scene, out of range of the autocannon’s sensors. I stole forward and hurled my mattress at him. He punched a smoking hole through the fabric with his scattershot, missing me. Heart jackhammering away, I kicked the coffee table into his shins. He yelped, smashing down onto the wood, the broken glass cutting into his cheeks. He growled, firing blindly and gouging a hole in the ceiling. Debris rained down as I clawed for my handcannon on the end table. Not fast enough. The world crunched as he slammed the butt of his weapon into my face. I grabbed a wooden stool, brought it smashing down on the hand holding the weapon, and then his kneecap, splinters scattering with a loud crack. He dropped the weapon but had the strength to stab a kick straight into my stomach, right below my ribcage. He turned, frantically searching for his discarded scattershot. Head ringing, blood in my mouth, I crawled over the broken glass and snatched up my handcannon, rolling on my back. There was the dull whine of a scattershot priming as my assailant turned towards me. I squeezed down, the recoil vibrating in my hands. The round punched through his neck just as he tilted it upwards and went spitting out the top of his skull. His head whipped backwards with a splitting crack, taking the full force of the blow. He sagged to his knees, almost comically, before falling face-down on the glass.