Galaxia

by Kevin McLaughlin

The last few days had been a blur. After Franz had been killed—murdered—Michi had been briefly held and questioned until her father, with Ham Harris, the family lawyer in tow, arrived at Propitious Interstellar’s holding cell and demanded her release. She had been taken to St. Graeme’s for a check-up, been sedated, and then taken home.

  When she woke the next day, the enormity of what had happened finally hit her, and she broke down and cried, alone in her bedroom. A couple of hours later, her mother poked her head in the room, and seeing Michi awake, convinced her to get out of bed and come out to the kitchen for coffee and a bite to eat. Only her mother and Talla, the family maid, were in the house. Her father was at work, her sister at school. It didn’t seem right that they were just going about their normal routine at such a time.

  When her mother told her that the company jacks would not release Franz’ body, Michi almost ran out of the house to confront the bastards, but her mother held her back, telling her the union was working on it. Franz was an indentured, so the union did not officially have any capacity to be involved, but as they represented the 65% of free citizen employees of Propitious Interstellar, the company paid attention.

  It still took two more days, but finally, Franz’ body was released. With no family on the planet, Hokkam and Cheri had accepted custody, and the funeral had been planned for the next day.

  Cheri hugged Michi, murmuring, “I know, dear. We’re all devastated about this, too.”

  “What’s going to happen now? When’s the inquiry?” Michi asked.

  “Hokkam’s going to be working on that. He’s really taking this hard, you know, considering, so it might take him awhile to get his thoughts in order.”

  “Considering? Considering what?”

  “Oh, that’s right. You wouldn’t know,” Cheri said, looking to where Hokkam was getting out of another taxi. “He feels personally responsible for Franz’ death.”

  “Why?” Michi asked, momentarily confused.

  “Well, it was him that told Franz to up the ante, to mention force and hint at a strike. Hokkam thought it was time to elevate the pressure, and if Franz got arrested, it would bring more attention to our cause. He never thought there would be any shooting.”

  “Arrested? Franz thought he was going to be arrested?”

  “We thought it would be a possibility, yes. I’m so sorry, dear. If I had known what would happen, of course I would have stopped it,” Cheri said, tears forming in her eyes.

  “And Hokkam told him to go ahead anyway?” she asked, anger beginning to burn away some of the lassitude that had taken over her soul since Franz’ death.

  “It wasn’t his fault,” Cheri started. “Franz knew the risk, and he wanted to do it. Hokkam just—”

  “Michiko, dear, I want to tell you again how sorry I am about this tragedy,” Hokkam said as he came up, cutting off Cheri.

  He gave Michi a perfunctory hug and a peck on each cheek as Michi recoiled ever-so-slightly. A stark vision of Hokkam, edging back from Franz just before the firing started splashed in her mind.

  Not only does he tell Franz what to say, but then he hides from the consequences, Michi realized.

  Still, she allowed Hokkam to kiss her cheeks and express his regrets. She was saved from listening to more of his BS by the acolyte that came out and announced that the service was about to start. She linked arms with Cheri and steeled herself to enter the nave.

  As a member of The Clan, Michi was also a practicing member of The Kirk, although as The Clan and the Kaitakusya had intermingled, Shinto was also observed by many. An amalgamation of religions was in the best tradition of Shinbutsu shūgō, after all. She had never been in one of the planet’s Roman Catholic cathedrals, though, and was not sure of how they did things. So, she was relieved to see the closed casket in the front of the apse. She wasn’t sure how she would have handled it if Franz had been in an open casket as she had heard was done elsewhere.

  Cheri escorted her to the second pew where they both took a seat. Michi was annoyed when Hokkam stopped at the same pew, and the two of them had to scootch over to give him room to sit, but she tried not to let it show.

  The service started, and most of it went by in a blur. The priest said some words, there was the singing of some hymns, and various prayers were made. It was actually quite similar to what took place in Kirk funeral services, which shouldn’t have been surprising as the Church of Scotland was essentially formed from the evangelical Presbyterian Free Church way back in the 1800’s, Old Reckoning. Presbyterian churches shared much of the same litany with Roman Catholicism.

  Michi stood up, kneeled, and followed along with the gathered mourners more by rote than by intention. After Hokkam stood up to say what a great man Franz was, Michi’s thoughts turned towards revenge. Not against Hokkam. He was just a cowardly ass. But revenge on Propitious Interstellar Fabrication, Inc., the ones who caused all of this. She didn’t know what she would do, yet, but only that the company had to pay.

  As Michi sat in a House of God, her thoughts were not on Christian forgiveness, but on vengeance.

  Chapter 3

  Michiko pinned the red wig she’d bought at Harrelson’s into place and then carefully pulled the hood of her cozy up and over her head. She checked the mirror one more time, but even with the wig, her face was deep within the hood, out of sight.

  She checked the rolled tissue she has taped inside each Clodder, up against the outer heel. Both were secure, so she slid in her feet, careful not to dislodge the taped tissue. She took a hesitant step in the heavy work boots. It felt different, at least. Whether it would spoof the surveillance cameras or not by giving her a different gait, she didn’t know. Super Agent Franny Justice had used the technique in “The Pullman Gambit,” but flicks didn’t always adhere to reality.

  Michi pushed open her door a fraction and listened. The house was quiet. She slipped out, crept down the stairs, and out the kitchen door in back. She checked her PA: 11:45. She had a hike in front of her. If she drove her Sullivan, the hover’s position would be recorded and could be evidence against her if things went wrong. For the same reason, she couldn’t very well call up a taxi, so it was a five km hike into the entertainment district.

  One thing she hadn’t considered was that with two cozies on, she was getting pretty hot. The night was cool, but the exercise and extra clothing was making the hike rather uncomfortable. She slowed down her pace to keep from overheating.

  Within 30 minutes, she was out of the residential area, the lights of the Slab visible ahead. She didn’t head directly there, though; she turned left, instead, down G Ave, coming across the first people she had seen since she left her home. A man and a woman were staggering past, leaning together for support, clearly drunk, and both in very good moods. Michi waited until they passed, then stepped into the small garden in front of the Krishna shrine. This was an area that Michi was positive was not under routine surveillance. She gratefully pulled off her cozy and sweat pants before stashing them in back of the far-right bench. Underneath, she had on another cozy, this one with the Firebird logo of Lipper University on it. She felt a little weird wearing it. Michi was not a big proponent of interscholastic rivalry, but still, the Firebirds were the “other” university in town as opposed to Michi’s own University of Holcomb Diamonds.

  She settled this cozy’s hood around her face and then pulled out a few strands of the red wig so they were visible.

  You can still quit, she told herself. Nothing’s gone too far yet.

  But she didn’t turn back. Taking a deep breath, she walked around the shrine and went out on F Ave, a totally different person than the one who had entered from G Ave. Super Agent Justice would have been proud of her.

  It still took her another 20 minutes before she entered the Slab. It was almost 1:00 AM, and the party animals were out in force. Consequently, the jacks were, too, keeping the peace. Michi stood taller as she wandered through the bars, restaurants, hookah dens, and music venues, trying to find a ta
rget. Two drunk frat boys hooted at her, each raising his hand in the Firebird salute, but she ignored them. Unfortunately, the jacks were ignoring her, too. She tried to catch a few of their eyes, but with the hood over her face, a fat lot of good that did.

  She hadn’t really thought things through. She had a burning desire to extract some payback, but she didn’t really have a detailed plan. Even if she could catch the attention of a jack, what was she going to do? There were too many people out and about for Michi to do anything.

  There was a place, though, where things were quieter. Michi and her schoolmates had driven through the Gut a few times for kicks but had never even got out of the hover, much less wandered about. She had to push down a little tremor that tickled at the back of her mind. The area had a reputation, and good girls didn’t go there.

  At that, Michi laughed out loud. Whatever she was, whatever she was about to become, a “good girl” wasn’t it. She straightened her shoulders and made her way past the city’s elite as they sipped their specialty drinks and listened to the latest zhoul or boxbox tunes. Michi had spent more than a few evenings herself doing the very same, but now she looked at the partygoers with more than a little disdain.

  How could they party when the PI jacks could get away with murder? she wondered.

  Michi walked several blocks more before turning right on Craxton. Immediately, the lights of the Slab disappeared.

  Welcome to the Gut!

  Several shapes stood in the shadows, rentboys and rentgirls plying their trade. They stirred as Michi made her appearance, but no one approached her. She didn’t look the part, she guessed. She was not dressed as one of them, nor did she look like a party girl out for a fling. Party girls did not hide behind cozies, and they did not wear steel-toed Clodders. It was just as well. Michi wanted to quietly fade into the further recesses of the Gut where she could lay her trap.

  A drunk came out of the darkness, making Michi recoil, but other than a slurred, “Hiya, baby,” the man was too far gone to be really interested.

  One huge advantage of the Gut was that there was no surveillance there. The company put it up, but the rentboys and girls immediately took it down. The fact that PI bigwigs came into the Gut themselves probably accounted for the fact that the jacks didn’t seem too dedicated to keep replacing the cameras. What happened in the Gut was not illegal, other than the inherent tax avoidance and some drug use, but still, not too many people in high places wanted their presence in the Gut widely known.

  After a few minutes of wandering, Michi found her own spot: a small, alley leading back to nowhere. She positioned herself at the front of the alley, a trapdoor spider monitoring her web. If a civilian came by, she eased back until she was in the darkness, only to edge back out again as he or she passed. It took more than an hour, and Michi was beginning to second guess everything, when a lone jack came sauntering by.

  It was common knowledge that jacks sometimes demanded freebies from the rentboys and girls. Everyone knew it was true—at least people repeated it, so it must be true. Everyone also knew that college kids were in high demand in the trade. So Michi stepped out farther in to the light, so the iridescent Firebird logo on her cozy seemed to take on a life of its own. A jack, walking alone in the Gut. A uni rentgirl. This was a no brainer.

  Only the jack didn’t even slow down. He walked around Michi without saying a word.

  “Uh, excuse me?” she said, afraid to lose the man.

  With a sigh, the jack stopped, and with his body posture screaming resignation, turned around.

  “Yes, miss? Is there something I can do for you?” he asked without enthusiasm.

  Michi had just realized that what they all knew about the Gut may be more rumor than fact, and she immediately changed tack.

  “My friend, he’s, well, his dad’s a VP with the company. We bought some light, but something happened. My friend’s back here, and he’s in trouble.”

  The jack immediately became alert. Light was illegal, and possession carried a stiff punishment. And if the son of a company VP had taken it, well, the ramifications could be severe. As a jack, one of his jobs was to make sure none of the higher ups were ever embarrassed in any way.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he quickly said. “Where is your friend?”

  “Back here,” Michi said, pointing to the back of the alley.

  The jack brushed past Michi, hurrying to find the VP’s son. He got to the end of the alley and looked around in confusion. “Where?” he asked as he started to turn around.

  Michi’s roundhouse kick in her steel-toed Clodder caught the unsuspecting jack right below the chin and alongside the neck. The man fell bonelessly to the trash-laden cement alleyway. Michi followed through, pouncing on the man, giving the back of his head her elbow before she realized the jack was not resisting. Warily, she got up, giving him a nudge with her foot. The jack didn’t react, and it was only then that Michi saw the angle to the jack’s neck. This jack would never be getting up again.

  Michi jumped back, her vision narrowing as she almost lost her balance. She had to take a few deep breaths to gather herself.

  How the hell did that happen?

  During Michi’s short foray into MMA, she had knocked out exactly one person. In her second match, she had taken down her opponent and rained hammer fists down on the poor girl’s head until the ref jumped in to stop the fight. Michi’s other three wins and her one loss came as a result of the judges’ decisions.

  Michi knew how hard it was to get a solid enough strike for a knockout. Yet here, in this unnamed alley in the Gut, she had somehow, against all probability, broken the neck of a trained jack. She couldn’t believe it.

  She moved back to the jack, then reached forward, only hesitating a moment before placing her fingers on the man’s neck, feeling for the carotid. There was nothing. He was dead.

  Michi fell back onto her butt as she stared at the jack. He looked young, only a little older than her. She wondered what his name was. She felt numb, but not sorry, and that surprised her. She was a Clan girl, a First Family girl. She was supposed to go to school, choose a profession. First Family girls did not kill people.

  Yet she felt no remorse. In fact, she felt a sense of pride beginning to build up within her, an ember flaring into life. She recalled how satisfying it felt when her foot connected with the jack’s neck, how solid it felt.

  She reached out with one foot and gave the body a kick. It jerked under her foot’s impact.

  I did that, you glaikit boaby! I did it! I took your worthless life! You weren’t worth a hair on Franz’ head, and now you’re less than that!

  She felt a surge of righteousness at what she had done. She knew the odds of what had just happened were infinitesimally small, so she wondered if there hadn’t been something else guiding her, some other higher power at work here.

  Michi wanted to stand up and scream into the night, a lioness celebrating her kill. She didn’t know what kind of sensors the jack had, and she knew she should get out of there before his buddies came to look for him. Despite that, she had to stare at her victim for a few more moments, drinking in the sight and cementing it in her mind.

  She stood back up and went over to the body, reaching across to slide the jack’s Jamison out of its holster. The Jamison was the standard issue sidearm for the Propitious Interstellar jacks. Some companies went on the cheap for their jacks, but not PI. The Jamison was a sweet firearm, able to send out both lethal and non-lethal beams with a high degree of accuracy. It was too bad that this jack wasn’t carrying a rifle, but the Jamison was certainly no slouch as a trophy. Michi slid it in her cozy pouch pocket, and without another glance at the dead jack, left the alley. There were fewer figures—service providers and customers both—still out, but she tried to walk with a purpose that might forestall anyone reaching out to her. It must have worked as no one said a word.

  In a few minutes she was back in the Slab, music still wafting out from various stages. The lights seemed too bri
ght after the dimness of the Gut.

  Two jacks came walking up to her, and for a moment, she wanted to bolt. She kept walking at them, going over the various kicks and strikes she could employ.

  “Evening, miss,” one of the jacks said as the two passed her.

  Her heart pounding, she realized that taking the Jamison had been a stupid act of bravado. The gun bulged in her pocket, and if one of the jacks had seen it and searched her, her little war on the company would be over before it even started.

  She debated tossing the gun, but that might be worse. Instead, she made her way back to the shrine where she had stashed her other clothes.

  Michi almost trashed the Firebird cozy, but then thought better of it. The less evidence of her passing, the better. The redhead wig came off and was thrust into the pocket with the Jamison. She pulled on the other cozy and the sweat pants, and then slowly strolled out onto G Ave.

  An hour later, she slipped back into her house and up to her room. She stripped down, hiding both the Firebird cozy and the Jamison in the back of the bottom drawer of her wardrobe.

  Michi didn’t even shower, but simply slipped between her sheets. Within moments, she was out, and for the first time since Franz had been killed, had an uninterrupted and deep sleep.

  Chapter 4

  “Do you have something to tell us?” Michi’s father asked as she came in the door.

  “No,” she responded in a surly tone as she dumped her backpack on the couch.

  What do they know?

  She made as if to go to the kitchen anxious to get out of her parents’ piercing stares.

  “I think you do,” he said, stopping Michi in her tracks.

  “We got a call today, from the uni, asking if you were OK. They said you haven’t been to class since, well, you know since when,” her mother spoke up.

  Relief swept through her. This wasn’t good, but at least no one knew what had happened in the Gut last week, at least as far as her participation in it.