by D P Wright
Kessler passed Father Jacob’s unfinished letter to Bishop Sansom, “I am working for Bethany Turner, helping her find out who was behind her uncle’s death. I thought you may be able to shed some light on the matter. In his letter to you he seems worried, he requests a meeting with yourself to speak to you about getting Bethany safely out of Downtown. Tell me, what danger was he referring to?”
“Mr Kessler,” the Bishop sighed and spoke in a dismissive tone, “if you want to discover who was behind Father Jacob’s unfortunate demise all you have to do is look all around you. Try switching on one of the many infogrammes, listen to the broadcasts, the Devil’s voice is everywhere and he makes no apologies for his hatred of the human soul.” The bishop spoke as he examined another piece of candy.
“You mean the Council?”
“Of course. You said yourself that they burnt St John’s down and all its treasures within. They look down on us from above so naturally they think they are our god.” The bishop looked up from his holopad to stare directly at the detective, his lazy, whimsical look replaced now with a cold, steely stare, “But, Mr Kessler, Hightown may be above us but it is no heaven. The Council are just men, sinners like us all.” He crunched down hard on another candy, “As for his niece, well, Downtown is a dangerous place, especially for children. I had been suggesting to him for years to allow her to stay with us, above the Rim.”
“Well it makes sense that’s for sure.” Kessler rubbed the bristles on his chin in thought, “In the weeks and months leading up to his death he mentioned in his writing numerous incidents from vandalism to violent acts against the church.”
The bishop nodded, “St John’s, like much of the community in Downtown, has been constantly harassed by the Council through their gangs of Corps Boys. The Devil’s children, I tell you. The few God-fearing citizens left down there do not have a moment’s peace. The Council’s influence grows within the Corps Boys with every passing day bringing with it more confidence. Their acts of violence are becoming more brutal of late and district governors have their heads turned by Council credits. I told Father Jacob this. Many times. He was a stubborn old fool.”
“Their attention seemed to be more concerned with the creds the church was making as opposed to what it was preaching. You Christians seem to have a knack of making cash,” Kessler stared at the gold jewellery which the Bishop was laden with.
“Times are hard. Our parishes must find the means to sustain themselves to be able to spread the word of God.”
Kessler continued, “You don’t seem to be doing too badly.” It was hard not to notice the many glistening jewels that seemed to weigh down his plump fingers and the large gold medallion which rested on his belly, its thick chain becoming lost amongst the excess skin on the back of his sweaty neck.
“Mere bobbles,” he gave Kessler a toothy grin while nervously playing with a ring, its large red stone glistening in the pale electric light of the room, “the real treasures are found within.”
“Before the church was burned to the ground there was a DPD patrol outside guarding the gates and there have been rumours of Councilmen in Downtown. Strange to see the Council take any notice of the lower city.”
“Yes, Jacob mentioned he had seen police in and around District 2. Hotel Sunset, that’s where you’ll find them, by the way. Conniving with their Corps Boys. Not that you will want to go there, Hell itself, I have been told.”
“Again, strange to see DPD so openly supporting lawless gangs.” Kessler did not know what to believe.
“Evil attracts evil, Mr Kessler.” The Bishop had turned away from him and now seemed fully focused on eating his candy.
“In the days leading up to his death, Father Jacob was making numerous visits to Morbus Sector, a particularly nasty area in the slums of D2. Any idea why?”
Bishop Sanson looked irritated, “We have many clergy spread throughout the city, how am I to know what Jacob went there for? I am a very busy man with a lot to do.”
“One more thing before I go.”
“Be quick then. I have other, more pressing matters to attend to.” He sighed between words.
“Do you understand what this says?” Kessler took out his view finder and showed him the holo projection of the words ‘Lux Ferre’.”
“Where did you see this?”
“These words were hacked onto the priest’s desk, a calling card left by whoever killed him, I guess. Miss Turner said that it was written in an old language used by you guys.”
“Yes, in centuries long past. It reads ‘Light Bringer’.”
“It certainly doesn’t sound like anything the Council would do.”
His eyes still stared at the image, “They claim to provide light to the citizens of Dis but there is only one true bringer of light and that is Christ.”
Kessler lit a cigar, “Thanks for your time.”
“God be with you.” Kessler had already left the room before the Bishop could finish his sentence. He did not care to hear anymore of his god’s words.
SUNSET IN DOWNTOWN
Midtown’s District 5 buzzed with activity. Citizens from across the city packed the streets, shoving, pushing, all bustling past, eager to get to the Midtown markets. Dotted throughout the throng, the yellow, blue and red rain shields and expensive fashions of Hightown mixed shoulder to shoulder with the black garb of techpunks with flash jackets, the synthwear of jakkers and the many Midtowners who sheltered under thick, gaudy coloured plastichem. In amongst this melting pot, Council Adepts, draped in their thick, black synthleather robes, chanted praise to the rulers of Dis and the ever present Venters menacingly trained their assault rifles on anyone who dared to glance in their direction.
The familiar sight of merchants from Downtown could be seen emerging from below, desperate to get their exotic goods to market, trying not to miss the early busy buzz and lose out on any opportunities to make a quick cred. Their long train of Dregs in the drab, grey rags from below struggled with huge packs strapped to their backs. The load, which towered over them, swayed precariously in the rain and every few steps they would stumble under the strain. The warder was sitting atop a carriage strapped primitively together with an assortment of scavenged carbonised iron and plastisteel tied together with rubber tubing, cables and wiring and was being carried by four grim-faced men who struggled to support their master’s weight. Every so often he would stand up wielding his huge spark whip and lash out at his servants barking, “Quick, quick,” in a thick Downtown accent that seemed to gurgle from the depths of his throat, his flailing whip forcing the throng to part in his wake causing the more high-living citizens to shout and curse.
Kessler could feel the heat of Downtown seep through the carbonised iron that lay beneath the hordes of feet as he walked through the lively streets of M5 and he could not help but think of what dangers lay waiting for him down below. The Bishop’s hatred for the Council was not to be unexpected but for them to be so active in Downtown and so openly in support of the Corps Boys? Kessler thought it was unlikely. Not even the Council could explain that move to the citizens of Dis whose attention was always glued to the many infogrammes reporting the news and gossip throughout the city. It would be very difficult for them to keep their squeaky-clean reputation intact.
He stood still and tried to gather his thoughts while the jostling crowd forced its way passed him. He was tired and his shoulder and arm were aching. He now had his medivent with him but was wary of using it too quickly as he did not know when he would be able to meet up with Doc for a refill. Kessler was angry at himself. Forgetting to take his meds while enduring the Bishop’s company had resulted in his entire body raging in protest with every movement and, to add to the pain of his injuries, he cursed himself for doing that sim back in the office. He should have known better but now the last traces of the chem still left in his body dulled the effect his meds were having and his eyes itched as its claws left their mark. He took a hit of Ox from his inhaler which seemed to momentarily e
ase the throbbing.
Kessler did not like where this investigation was going. If the Corps Boys and the Council had a hand in the priest’s death then, “Light help me,” Kessler sighed. How would he get his creds from Bethany if they were involved? No one interfered with Council business and ended up smiling. What justice could she expect to get? Besides, the last thing his broken body needed was a trip down to Hotel Sunset. The fat Bishop Sansom had got one thing right, Sunset was a place you did not want to be.
Kessler knew that there was one person who could provide the answer to his questions and he happened to be resident a few streets from the Pipe here in M5. Jimmy Six always had answers, just not always the right answers.
With a plan set out in his head, Kessler strode with purpose through the crowd down a side alley where, amongst the rubbish and refuse of Midtown, he grabbed hold of a heavy manhole cover and heaved it to one side. Adjusting his gloves, hood and securing his medivent, he climbed down a ladder, making sure to stop to seal himself inside, leaving the detective in complete darkness.
Kessler hated this place. The sewers below the streets of M5 were a boiling haze of putrid fumes. He stood, back against the slime-covered wall, and made sure not to fall into the torrent of filth which thundered down the tunnel to eventually be ejected out over the streets of Downtown. The city and its millions of citizens pumped out a never-ending deluge of waste from above and it all ended up here. He cursed his old friend for choosing to live right in the middle of it.
Kessler had known Jimmy Six for many years. Always the expert with any tech around, he also had an eye for forging documents and gathering information. These particular skills had gotten them out of a fair few scrapes in their younger days but in more recent times had helped Kessler solve what few cases came his way. Lately, Jimmy had disappeared off the streets, sought refuge under the ground of M5 and rarely, if ever, emerged. Alone and undisturbed by prying eyes, Jimmy kept his optics on the city through his own network and his permanent jack to the Mainframe. If anyone knew anything about this bad sim running around Downtown or the Corps Boys business then it was Jimmy.
After walking down a narrow ledge, guided by his torchlight, making sure not to slip on the rubbery, green mould that grew out from every surface, Kessler reached a doorway. Its shiny metallic finish stood out from its grim surroundings and a camera, which moved noisily back and forth, tracking Kessler’s every move, gave it away as being the entrance to Jimmy’s place. The detective looked up, pulled down his hood, took off his optics and waved. After a few moments there was a loud ‘clunk’ that echoed down the tunnel and the door slid effortlessly open.
Walking through the entrance into a small room, Kessler was greeted by a large screen on the wall which flickered into a fuzzy picture. Large goggles, flashing with yellow and red circuitry, rested on a small, round nose. A large, toothy grin stared out at Kessler, “Hey Jimmy, long time no see.”
“Kes! Great to see ya. Where you been all this time? Why you not come to visit your old friend?” His voice switched from a low, deep Midtown brogue to the fluctuating mechanical pitch of his voice box. One of the many permanent reminders of the six times Jimmy had been blasted and somehow lived to tell the tale.
The door behind him closed and the floor began to descend with a low hum. “No offence Jimmy but your place isn’t exactly welcoming, could do with some brightening up, a clean here and there maybe?” Kessler looked in disgust at his coat and gloves which were now covered in the same green slime that caked the sewer walls. He took off his medivent and breathed in, with great relief, Jimmy’s clean, filtered air.
“Nonsense, you complain too much! What’s that I see on your face? You hurt?”
“I had some trouble in Downtown, got caught up in a fire. I’ll be alright.” The floor came to a juddering halt and the door opened to the buzz, whirl and hum of machinery.
“Always the adventurer Kes, always in trouble. Take a seat my friend and tell me all about it. You want something to eat, drink? I have the best as always?”
Along the left wall a bank of monitors lit up the space with various images throughout Dis and a very large screen played an Endelian Enterprise infommercial, the familiar sultry tones of the Endelian girl filling the room with her catchy jingle. The far wall consisted of a large, curved glass window that revealed, to Kessler’s uneasiness, the dark abyss that looked over Downtown’s upper level. Various lights lit up the ‘sky’ above the lower city, corps drones and various media satellites zipped by, their green, red and yellow flickering lights competing with the white glare of the consoles which illuminated Jimmy’s room. Far down below, through the haze of rain, lay Downtown 1. Kessler took a step back. “I never get used to that view.”
Jimmy sat in the centre of the room on a huge chair that bristled with tech. His slight frame was covered by the thick black rubber of his synthwear which pulsed electric blue with energy and linked him, quite literally, into the Mainframe. He was immersed in a tangle of tubes and wires which grew from the suit and into the chair. A large pump, which hissed and wheezed, was connected to Jimmy via a large red cylinder that was attached to his chest.
“You’re looking ill.” Jimmy pointed a mechanical finger at Kessler.
“I’m ok.”
“Rubbish. You look terrible. Take this, it will ease your pain, give you energy.”
“I need a clear head, I’m on a case at the minute.”
“It’s good to hear you’re working.” He paused and stared intently at Kessler, “I can see from your eyes that you’re still partaking in sim? Well, this will take the edge of the come-down, brother.”
“Thanks.” He grabbed the tablets from Jimmy’s hand, which had extended across the room, and quickly threw them down his mouth.
“And eat this.” He handed Kessler a Nutri Bar. “Go on, I insist.”
Kessler took the silver foil off the Nutri Bar and stared at the dry, grey husk that made up the staple diet the Council tried to force onto its citizens. He turned it over in his hand thinking of how much he hated this tasteless, bland food before stuffing it into his mouth.
“Good. Wash it down with this and then we talk.” His chair moved along a rail to the back of the room where he grabbed a can of soda from a fridge that appeared from the wall at a push of a button. Jimmy threw the drink at the detective and Kessler caught it.
As he drank down the cold, fizzy liquid he watched one of the many small bots that were littered throughout the room. It stared at him and followed his every movement. “I don’t know how you can stand living down here all day every day.”
“I like my privacy and this place gives me it. Residing under Midtown has its benefits. It takes me off the grid and out of the way of any Council meddling and besides, here I have got direct access to the Frame, I’m permanently jacked into the network through the Council’s own telemasts,” Jimmy chuckled to himself, “and they have no idea.”
Kessler glanced outside through the thick reinforced glass to see the black silhouettes of the hundreds of masts and cables that reached out from the underbelly of Midtown. It was through these that the Council could keep a check on its citizens, watch what they were doing, listen to what they were saying. A large drone suddenly swept past obscuring his view, its huge spotlight slowly passing over the room.
“Nothing to worry about Kes, the glass is blacked out from the outside, and I have scrambled their sensors. It can’t detect us.”
Kessler put down the empty soda can and the robot mimicked his movement. “I still think you should get out of here sometime, it’s not healthy being cooped up in this tin can all day.”
Jimmy continued to laugh, looking pleased with himself at getting one over on the Council. “What would I want to go outside for? Everything I need is right here,” he clutched his neck and visibly winced as he spoke. “The Council aren’t going to control my life, no filthy rain or bad air is going to get me, and besides I have my bots for company and, of course, my monitors keep me up
to date with the outside world. I can access everything at the touch of a button, no need to worry about me, Kes.” He cleared his throat and looked Kessler up and down, “I am, however, worried about you.”
“I told you, I’m fine. Surviving.”
He nodded slowly, still examining his old friend, “Well then, let’s get down to business. What brings you down to my delightful abode?”
“There’s a new sim running the streets in Downtown, pretty nasty stuff, burning a lot of Dregs. Do you know of it? The vials I found are marked with a burning sun.” Kessler reached into his pocket and gave it to Jimmy. “I haven’t heard of it making an appearance here or further up city.”
He examined the empty vial, his goggles extending close to magnify the image, “Yea, I’ve heard of it. The Frame’s alive with chatter, mostly chemheads wanting to get their hands on some. This Lux, as they call it, is the next best thing, I hear.” Jimmy threw the cap back to Kessler, “You know how chems work, Kes. There is always some new next best thing doing the rounds.”
“Where did it come from? Who’s making the stuff?”
“Not sure. It surfaced in D2 a few months back and has been steadily making its way up through the city. Sorry friend, that’s all I know. You give me a couple of days and I’ll find out though.”
Kessler nodded, his thoughts turning to the Le Morte twins and how little time he had to pay his debt, “I was in D2 earlier on and saw the strangest thing, a squad of Venters.”
Jimmy turned to his monitors, “The city is talking of something big happening below us. The Council seem worried. It’s all over their dispatches. More and more Vents are being sent down for some reason or another.”