“From what our investigative people have found, he’s made his home in HB-17 on Tier 7. It’s a residential-zoned district built years ago but never occupied by paying tenants. By the time Primus had enough people to populate that far down, the area had… devolved.” Pavo lowered his arm, causing the display to flicker off. “You should wait until we’re off light duty. I don’t want you going down there alone, and I can tell Imari wants a piece of him.”
Aurelia snarled.
Risa lifted her cup to her lips, savoring the scent of vanilla. “Why do cops and soldiers always call each other by last name?”
They both shrugged.
“How long?” asked Risa.
“Couple weeks,” said Aurelia, sounding defeated. “As much as I want to punch that shit-eating grin off that son of a bitch’s face, I know what she’s talking about. Genny is terrified. I’ve been trying to get her to go out and do things, but she always comes up with some excuse. I’m concerned she’s going to expect me to feel like I’m the problem.” She shook her head. “I’m gonna tell her tonight. You should go put her fears to rest.”
“Wait,” said Pavo, struggling not to grin. “You’re going to send my girlfriend down to Tier 7 so your girlfriend can sleep better at night?”
“You’re lucky you’re smiling or I would’ve seriously hit you.” Aurelia grumbled. “But yes, basically.”
“I’ll be fine.” Risa wanted to make the last bit of chai last longer, but it had already become perilously close to not being hot anymore. “They’re nothing more than a street gang, right? No training?”
Pavo hemmed and hawed for a moment, but wound up nodding. “Yeah. No training, but they’ve got better weapons than you’d expect from a gang of punks. With your augs, you should be fine if you don’t do anything dumb.”
Risa smiled.
“Go back to Earth, darkie!” yelled a maybe-eighteen-year-old Marsborn. He, with two of his friends cheering him on, pointed at Aurelia.
“The hell’s an Earther doing wearing cop armor?” yelled a chubbier young man.
“Yeah,” yelled the first man, and hurled a pastry at her.
Speedware slowed the hurtling cupcake down to an easy grab. As time snapped back to normal, Risa held it up, perched like a big diamond on her thumb and two fingers. “Black forest? You should be ashamed of yourself for wasting this.”
“Aww, shit,” said the shortest kid. He looked about fourteen, and scared shitless. “That chick is a tí-zhèn!”
“Ahh, the entertainment’s arrived.” Pavo put on his helmet and pulled a stunrod off his belt before offering his hand as if inviting his partner to dance. “Shall we?”
Aurelia’s response came as a growl. Risa swirled the last inch of tea around her cup as her two friends chased the punks. She helped herself to the intact confection, making a startled “mmm!” when a burst of cherry compote filled her mouth. About forty yards from the coffee place, Aurelia caught up to the heavyset teen and body-checked him into the stone wall of a clothing store. Pavo tackled the cupcake thrower, sat on top of him, and punched him until he stopped moving.
Takes a real genius to antagonize the Defense Force. Stimpaks hide a lot of sin.
The sound of Pavo slugging the one teen gave way to him trying to pull Aurelia off the other one, saying he’d had enough.
Risa shook her head, looked away from the beating, and hurried to the stairway at the south end of the mall. At least one out of four people she passed checked her out. Far more than usual. For most, interest ranged from a two-second glance, the instinctual reaction to an approaching person, to unabashed leering. No one, at least not on Tier 2, gave her the sense they’d do anything more than stare.
Okay, maybe having metal eyes did have one upside. She hardened her glare and kept her attention sharp. I really hope I don’t have to kill anyone other than Heitzenroeder. Risa entered the square-walled stairwell, wide enough for six people to walk abreast. It coiled in a switchback arrangement in half-story segments separated by landings full of beggars, hawkers, prostitutes and dosers. With each tier down, they got thinner, dirtier, angrier, and more dangerous.
A woman, a hair over six foot tall with a large frame and bulging arms, locked eyes with her on Tier 6. She wore a thin red one-piece dress short enough to reveal the truth of her feminine sex. Damn… is it still considered prostitution if the client doesn’t want it?
“Well look at this sweet little upsec,” said the muscular prostitute. “You best keep on walking, honey. I own this tier.”
“The only tears you own fall from the eyes of any man dumb enough to actually think about fuckin’ you.” The raspy voice emanated on a cloud of luminous blue vapor from a doser in the corner. Notes of tinkling glass rattled in his subsequent chuckle, and a trace of peppermint wafted by.
Risa cringed away, afraid even smelling it would be enough to get her high on Icewhisper.
Two thinner, younger prostitutes hid their faces against the wall, trying to suppress the urge to laugh. The big woman stormed across the landing and set to kicking the frail man in the head. Risa hurried past. On the way down the last set of stairs to Tier 7, she secured her NetMini in its belt pocket with the strap she’d never before bothered using.
13
The Merchant of Death
HB-17 occupied the southeast corner of Tier 7. Sixty-two years ago, workers had carved the housing block district out of Mars rock. An entire complex of fully furnished homes waited for the ideal middle-class families that never came.
Primus, the first true city the UCF set up on Mars―aboveground pod colonies notwithstanding―had been the product of exuberant idealism that caused the developers to dig chasing rosy predictions. Alas, before the population could grow down to Tier 7, other cities sprang up, attracting those who had already stigmatized depth with social standing. The eventual lure of Elysium’s surface living, of not being trapped underground for the rest of one’s life, drained away the builder’s last hopes for the future. The deep tunnels became homes for the poor and unwanted.
Risa halted in a dim octagonal chamber seven stories plus twenty meters below the surface of Mars. Metallic-blue tiles glinted on the floor and walls around empty booths and vendor stalls that had never seen a single credit pass over their counters. Trash gathered in clusters the way tumbleweeds might have in Earth’s Old West. A large collection of spent instant-warming meal packets piled up against the face of an information desk in the middle of the open space. The look of the furniture, the benches and stools around the food court, and the clothing style of people on nearby adverts made her feel as though she’d gone back in time. A plasfilm poster on the wall showed a smiling family: man, woman, son, and daughter. Each held a neat little suitcase, too small to carry anything useful.
“Find your perfect life on Mars! Emigrate to Primus City,” said a scratchy electronic voice as she walked close to it.
On another poster, a military man in an armored space suit proclaimed Primus “The future of humanity!”
She shook her head at the idealized fantasy of Mars life and headed down an offshoot east toward where her floating virtual map placed HB-17. Her position indicator inched along in the upper-right corner of her vision. Elements of the display reacted to light in the real world; the amber map grid, sapphire dot, and dotted green line gleamed like glossy gems whenever she walked under a struggling LED. It would take a few weeks to get used to the better graphics from the upgraded electronics in her head.
Empty storefronts lined both sides of the street, filled with shadows and dashed optimism. She instinctively tried to turn on night vision, but got an ‘unsupported vision mode’ error in unfriendly red letters.
You wanted this. Risa steeled herself with a deep breath. Yes. I did. Why does it feel so strange to have my living eyes back? I can buy a night vision mod. I can’t buy my way out of going blind if the NIU fries. Not like Shiro’s going to help me out again. Who am I kidding? That was government money, not his. Money he probably
hadn’t been authorized to even spend on me, considering they sent him here to take me out. She concentrated more on her augmented hearing. Even if she couldn’t see what’s lurking in the dark, nothing short of an actual ghost would be able to get close enough to be a threat without making a noise she could detect. Her ears hadn’t changed.
The cry of a raven, as loud as if she were inches away from it, made her jump. She whirled to the side, locking stares with a massive black bird on the other side of an intersection. It perched on the backrest of a bench wrapped around a tree planter filled with cups and plastic cartons rather than soil. Alarming sentience dwelled in the animal’s onyx gaze.
What the hell is that? It’s huge.
It snapped its head to the left, peering at her with its other eye. A second later, it let off a low caw, and leapt into the air. Risa jumped back, but it headed to the right, flying in the same direction she wanted to go, vanishing in seconds amid the dark. She remained motionless until the whispery flutter of feathers faded to silence. Chances are, the Jesters wouldn’t be happy to have guests. Risa advanced, staying close to the wall in the shadows to avoid the open street. This necessitated climbing through four empty planter boxes as well as a dry fountain.
About fifty meters later, a barricade made of Epoxil slabs―likely doors removed from the various housing units―barred the street. Two patches of auto-spray graffiti depicted a grinning white face with an exaggerated pointy chin and belled jester’s hat. It would’ve been creepy even if the eyes weren’t drawn hollow.
Her quick glance gave no indication of a way in aside from going over it, as the bird had. Yeah, and as soon as I pop up, I get shot. She backed up to a doorway on the right labeled ‘Leasing Office,’ and froze. The façade, as well as the bench to the right matched the image of Garrison meeting with Heitzenroeder. Four seconds of meditation helped convince her he hadn’t lied when he said he had no idea he’d obtained a rigged detonator.
He didn’t know he was my father then. Risa trudged into the leasing office. Okay, he acted like it anyway. I was the angry one who always ignored him. She climbed over a waist-high wall dividing the customer area from the employee area, and headed to a vent on the left wall. Put that crap in a box. Don’t get emotional now. Deep breath. Stow it for later, like when you planted bombs. Ice time.
Risa reached up and clawed at the vent cover, slicing metal until it opened. She closed her eyes and cringed away from a dustfall, but managed to catch the slats before they made noise. Pulling herself up and into a narrow shaft rumbling with the noise of distant fans felt like old familiar routine. Since Habitation Block 17 was officially ‘not in use,’ none of the local air pushers should be on. The weak breeze on her face had to be coming from the primary distribution fan for the entire tier, easily a half-mile from here.
She couldn’t get upright on all fours, and wound up crawling on her elbows. Her headware estimated she traveled one-point-three meters forward before she could turn right, and then nine-point-six meters later, she hit a T-junction. She went left, which pointed her back towards the Jesters’ home, and crawled for another thirty-seven meters before the shaft offered a new option: up.
Risa stopped, stretching her arms out over her head and lying flat to give her muscles a break. While she relaxed, she compared her approximate position with a map overlay. The schematic of HB-17 resembled a grid of nine large squares with the main access street protruding out of the left side. The central space appeared open, while the others all contained four smaller squares along each inner line. Based on the notes in the City Records Archive, each grid square held sixteen residences, while the middle area was designated as a ‘park,’ where genuine plant life would assist with air quality.
Going up would lead her into the rock slab between Tier 6 and 7, and likely give her free access to everything inside. Renewed, she squirmed around to sit and worked her way up the narrow channel. She ascended by bracing herself between opposing walls, and slithered over the top into a mercifully larger conduit where she could crawl normally.
Minutes later, her map dot glided into the area of the southwest section of HB-17, putting her about forty meters south from the entry street. I’m inside someone’s house. Well, it would’ve been someone’s house if anyone legitimately lived here. She crept ahead, peering into each vent grille on the way. Occasionally, she’d spy people sleeping, lounging about, or screwing. The Jesters all had a fondness for black clothes and wild hair colors―lime green, powder blue, and fuchsia among the favorites. Most appeared to range in age from late teens to late twenties, and all of them looked reasonably content.
Heitz is going to either showboat in the center of the park, or be as deep inside as he can to put the maximum number of thugs between him and danger… or between someone he wants to kill and the way out. Risa thought about that cocky grin on his mugshot and opted to try the park first. Ten feet from where the ductwork met the edge of the central space, narrow pipes entered from overhead and ran along the lower-right corner of the airway. Guess the plants would’ve needed water.
The first grille she found let her peer down on a nightmare of dead things. Bushes, flowers, and even a handful of trees sat amid a field of brown grass littered with more plastic garbage. Shot-up lamps, artificial sun pumps, dangled on loose cables. Scratching sounds in the largest tree attracted her attention to the enormous raven. It flicked its head about, stared at her for an instant, and flew off to the east, heading for the connecting passage to the middle space in the easternmost row, the deepest section. HB-17 was a dead end with one way in, making that the easiest to defend.
Risa took the first opportunity to go right, and crawled as fast as she could without making too much banging and clattering. Voices echoed in the duct, all male, discussing particulars of a deal to sell a handful of pulse laser rifles to a mercenary squad. According to her map, her dot entered Courtyard 6, the middle box in the farthest right column. She rushed up to a grating in the bottom of the vent that offered a view into the central courtyard between the apartments. A bad angle didn’t allow her to see faces―only a couple pairs of legs and long, dark coats to the left.
“I’m all for depriving fools of their money, but your interests would be served more readily by ballistic weapons. Perhaps a 60mm rocket. FMMC security uses energy-resistant armor.” The silky, cocky voice with a trace of grit reminded her of one of those ‘elves’ from a Monwyn holovid. “Everyone on Mars uses lasers, friend. A wise man does the unexpected.”
That’s gotta be Heitzenroeder. If not for his attempt to kill her adopted sister, Risa might’ve allowed herself a little space-pirate fantasy. He sounded quite the rogue.
The raven cawed. A deeper-pitched man yelped at the sudden fluttering of feathers.
“Oh, don’t mind, Muninn,” said Heitzenroeder. “He’s merely a raven.”
Men murmured amongst themselves.
“Damn ravens ain’t that big,” said a wheezy man.
“We don’t wanna be luggin’ ninety pounds of ammo across the middle of nowhere. I want some energy weapons involved. Gimme two of the Matsushita rifles, two of the DTF assault rifles, and throw in the missile tube.”
“Deutsche Technik Firma… an excellent choice,” said Heitzenroeder. “Twenty-eight three for the lasers, 9,750 apiece for the ballistics, and an even forty for the sixty-millimeter. 116,100. Are you sure you don’t need any demo charges?”
“Nah, that tube will do the job.”
Electronic chirps broke the following silence.
“A pleasure.” Heitzenroeder chuckled.
Risa waited for the footfalls of men carrying heavy things to get quieter. She extended the claw from her right index finger, sliced out the vent slats, and lifted the assembly into the shaft. Her NetMini served as an improvised fiber-optic cam. After linking the optical sensor to her headware, she held it down only enough for the lens to get a view of the chamber below.
A man with an appearance matching Pavo’s picture of Heitzenroeder st
ood with his left shoulder to her, the enormous raven perched on his shoulder, more than twice as tall as his head. Most of him hid beneath a heavy, black coat. A long folding table beside him held an array of weapons ranging from pistols to rifles, at least three broadswords, and two other blades that resembled elongated katanas.
He reached up and stroked a finger under the bird’s chin. “What whispers do you bring from the fickle muse of fate, Muninn?”
It didn’t bother her that he seemed to be talking to the raven in whispers, but it did catch her off guard when the animal spoke back.
“A woman cloaked in shadow has infiltrated the court.”
Risa almost dropped the NetMini. Expecting general alarm, a massive gunfight, and a missed opportunity, she shoved the device back in its pouch and jumped down. Boosted agility and a quick tuck and roll took much of the noise out of her landing. Still, to her tweaked ears, she sounded like a drunken janitor doll. She took cover behind a decorative partition, perhaps intended to separate each resident’s ‘front yard,’ and looked among dead grass, withered trees, and the skeletons of decades-dead bushes for anything that would provide cover.
The bird stared at where she hid.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” Heitzenroeder turned ninety degrees, presenting a sideways silhouette, and speaking in a rapid cadence as if reciting some ancient play. “Only a fool sneaks into the house of Death, yet perhaps we fools are drawn together. Dost some poor deluded fool approach, seeking the king of fools? Who can say then if you are as such? I certainly cannot, in the absence of first sight.” He laughed. “Why have you come?”
If the words themselves didn’t, intonation and pace of his speech made her question his grip on sanity. Nothing in the MDF files indicated he had any sort of augments. Risa drew both pistols and stood, for the moment leaving them pointed down. “Information.”
Ghost Black Page 14