Zero

by J. S. Collyer

  Hugo managed to grab the edge of the grill and pull it back up behind him. Magnets clicked and held it in place, then they were crawling down a narrow, metal space with the stale air gusting in their faces. The green wash from the goggles revealed only the unbroken metal of the duct and Harvey's shuffling figure up ahead. Progress was painfully slow but he made himself stick to the speed that Webb set, keeping their progress almost silent.

  They turned two tight junctions and then his vision greyed as light came in from somewhere. He reached and pulled the goggles off just as Harvey clambered out of sight. He reached the grey square ahead and saw that it was an opening onto a small space with a fan whirring away under a metal grill. Webb and Harvey were crouching on the grill, hair and clothes wafting about in the turbulence, with their faces pressed against a grid through which light was streaming. Hugo shuffled himself into the space, letting his boots touch down on the grill as softly as possible, then crawled up next to Webb and looked through the grid.

  He was looking down on a small, windowless room with unpainted walls and nothing in it apart from a couple of mismatched couches, a table with a broken leg shoved in a corner and a blank wall display. There were no cameras that he could see and a rather complex lock panel on the door. The lean figure of Armin was propped against the wall, arms crossed and face set, black eyes fixed on the bearded man they had followed who was pacing the length of the room, smoking. Webb leant back away from the grill as he came directly under them before turning and pacing back again.

  The sweat on Hugo's skin had cooled and then chilled in the draught by the time the door opened to admit someone else. His patched jacket was open over a stained shirt that was pulled taut over the swollen belly and his hair was strung in a greasy rope over one shoulder. He was stubbled and chewing as he strolled in then dropped himself onto one of the couches.

  “Well this is a right fucking state of things, isn't it?” he growled as he glared back and forth between Armin and the other man.

  “And where were you?” The smoking man glowered. “Where was your credit-stacked surveillance net when those bastards were climbing in over the wall?”

  “Don't put this on me, Breonan,” the fat man said. “If you'd let me have a station in the compound like I'd said at the beginning they wouldn't have got close enough to screw you right in the ass.”

  “I hope Marlowe spills your fat guts,” Breonan growled.

  The fat man laughed, pulling a narrow panel out of a pocket inside his jacket. “I'm not that one who can't even hold onto a poxy storehouse without getting it blown up. Perhaps Marlowe will finally see sense and put me in charge of this thing.”

  “Suppose you're gonna claim you can pull a weapon cache out of your ass?”

  The fat man grunted, scrolling through text on the computer panel. “Even I can't salvage this job,” he said. “It'll be ten years before we see another contract like that one. But I've found a way to make it right.” His doughy face split into a nasty grin and Breonan started across the room.

  “Enough,” Armin's voice wasn't loud but it still stopped Breonan in his tracks. “Get yourselves together, for fuck's sake. He'll be here in a minute..”

  Breonan stood over the fat man, clenching and unclenching his fists then flung himself down on the other couch. “You better have something good, Ankle.”

  The fat man scowled. “Better than anything you've managed to dredge up from the fences, I'm willing to bet.”

  Armin looked like he might say something more but then the door opened again. Ankle and Breonan both got to their feet and Armin straightened up from the wall. The man that had entered was taller than all three of the other men, clean shaven and clad in a tailored suit. His shirt was black and his tie a dark green and his steel-grey hair was combed back from his high forehead. He had deep, dark eyes and didn't fit in this grotty room with these men, but the way the other three Splinters kept silent and still as stone as he closed the door behind him made Hugo's skin crawl.

  It took him a moment to realise that Webb had gone stiff beside him. He glanced at his commander, and saw his face in the slatted light from the grill was a frozen mask with eyes blazing and muscles bulging in his neck and jaw.

  Hugo poked him to get his attention. You know him? Hugo mouthed. Webb managed a tight nod but didn't look away from the suited man as he glanced between the three Splinters, eyes like shards of glass.

  “We fucked up,” the suited man said after a long silence. “Do we agree?”

  “We fucked up, Marlowe,” Armin said, holding himself straight, sharp eyes unwavering. His fists were clenched.

  “They were professionals,” Breonan said. “They had to be. There's no way-”

  “That sounds an awful lot like an excuse, Breonan,” Marlowe said, eyes sharp. Breonan fell silent. “We lost the cache, the storehouse, fifty men and the contract all in one night. Thanks to Ankle, there's no way the Service or the Enforcers are going to be able to trace it back to us but not for one moment are we to think this was acceptable.”

  Heads shook and there were contrite mumbles from the three men. Marlowe stood there for a moment longer, letting his cut-glass glance slide from one man to another.

  “So…” he said. “Has anyone managed to find a way to placate our disappointed client?”

  Ankle swallowed then shuffled forward and handed over his panel. Marlowe took it and started scrolling through.

  “Well, this looks like a happy coincidence,” he said, handing the panel back. “Put the word out to whoever we've got left. Call in points from the Lunar Strip and anyone we've got on Earth. And inform Evangeline Webb, as she's halfway there already. We make this happen, maybe our client won't pull the colony apart and string us all from yard arms.”

  Ankle nodded and started keying commands into his panel. “You got it, boss. It's as good as done.”

  “Very good. Try not to fuck up. Again.”

  Glances were exchanged then all the men were heading for the door. Hugo rocked back on his heels.

  “Harvey, you and Webb follow the fat one. I'll follow the suit.”

  The fact that Webb didn't even argue unsettled him. They crawled back down the duct and then hurried out of the maintenance ways into a trading lobby just as the four Splinters emerged from a door virtually hidden behind a stall opposite.

  Harvey and Webb melted into the crowd after Ankle whilst Hugo skirted around the edge of the square towards Marlowe. He met up with two Splinters at the corner of the square, all dressed in black with shaved heads and weapons at their hips that they didn't even bother concealing. They fell into step behind Marlowe without a word.

  Hugo hung back as far as he could whilst keeping them in sight, keeping to the edges of the corridors, keeping plenty of crowd between them and him. They led him on a wandering path amongst the passages and dealerships until they reached a wide open space with a bank of public express lifts.

  Marlowe turned and muttered something to one of his companions as they waited for the lift. Hugo hung in the entrance of a drug stockist after they’d boarded, keeping the lift's number panel in view and saw that it stopped on level 350. He waited ten more heartbeats then made his way into a lift to follow but there was no option for level 350 on the controls. He cursed then became aware of people watching him glowering at the control panel and chose the ground level.

  He waited until he was outside in the alley again before putting in a call through to Webb's comm.

  “Webb here, Captain.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Still trailing Ankle. You won't be surprised to learn he's stopped for something to eat.”

  “I couldn't follow Marlowe. He went up to a secure level in the block.”

  There was a pause. “We'll check it out when we get back to Doll's. Head back there now, Captain. We will meet you there.”

  ɵ

  Hugo used Doll's workstation to scour the public records and registered schematics of Houston Block. The 349 public floors
included business levels, entertainment levels, residential levels and a few levels that were vaguely classified as 'storage'. The ownership of everything seemed to be a jigsaw of nonsense but 350 was privately owned with no record of who owned it.

  Searching for anything significant linked to the name Marlowe, however, turned up a public profile as well as many articles and records. The suited man was Councillor Vincent Marlowe, an associate of the rag-tag mess that went for local government on Lunar 1 with strong links to the local Enforcers who'd attempted to fill the gap the Service had left after McCullough’s Revolution. There was nothing linking him to the Splinters, but that didn't surprise Hugo. He was just checking again that there was indeed still nothing on the rumour boards when the intercom buzzed three times.

  “Where's Webb?” Hugo asked when he opened the door to only Harvey.

  “He won't be long.”

  “What happened?”

  Harvey scowled as she pulled her jacket off. “That Ankle's a nasty piece of work. We followed him all over the sector. Webb only recognised some of the points he dropped in on but none of it was good news.”

  “What sort of points?”

  Harvey ran a hand over her shaved head. “Drugs. Weapons. Even dropped in on someone that Webb is sure is a blade.”

  Hugo shuddered. “And then?”

  Harvey turned a chair round and sat in it, rubbing her eyes. “We followed him back to his place. A hole it was too, under some barhouse in Sector 3.”

  “We need to stop them before they execute this new contract. Their client wanted all of Lunar 1 brought to its knees. God knows what they want now that that’s not happened.”

  “But how?” Harvey asked. “This shit called in on ten points at least today. Their connections are like a poxy great net over the entire colony. We can't wipe it all out.”

  “We have to think of something.”

  Just then the buzzer went again and Hugo let in a harried-looking Webb.

  “Well...?”

  “I have a plan,” he said as he moved across the room and shuttered the window.

  “What?”

  Webb turned to face them, held their gazes a moment, jaw tight, then came forward whilst fishing something out of his pocket and put it on the table. Harvey looked at it and paled.

  “Boot black?” Hugo asked, confused.

  “Jesus, I don't know Webb,” Harvey murmured. “If you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting...”

  “Does someone want to fill me in?”

  “The black cross,” Webb said.

  “What?”

  Harvey shook her head. “It ain't good. Some Lunar 1 folk sent some of that shit Haven way a few years ago. It wasn't pretty.”

  “What is it?” Hugo asked, getting impatient but the set look on Webb's face sent uncertainty creeping through him.

  “The black cross is a symbol. For revenge. For retribution. For the punishment of a grievous and personal sin,” the commander said, voice flat.

  “Boot black?” Hugo repeated, though quieter this time.

  “You wear it on your face,” Harvey ran a finger down the middle of her face then across her eyes. “Anyone sees you wearing a black cross...well...let's just say it ain't something you want to be seeing.”

  Webb pulled a can of spray paint from another pocket of his cargo trousers and set it on the table next to the polish with a toothy rattle.

  “We take them out in their homes,” he said, “where they think they're safe. All four ringleaders. And we leave the mark.”

  “Well if you're after shitting people up...” Harvey said, eyeing the spray can like it might bite.

  Hugo gathered himself. “And then what?”

  “The whole network will fall apart. No one on this colony will want to be associated with anyone who's died under a black cross.”

  Hugo looked the commander in the eye. “How do you know Marlowe?”

  “From a long time ago. It's not relevant.”

  Seeing the grim set of Webb's face, Hugo didn't push. “Marilyn, do you think it'll work?”

  She tore her eyes from the spray paint. “Yeah. If we can get all four of them without being caught or recognised... I think it'll send whoever's left into holes they won't be in a hurry to climb out of.”

  “Then we do it,” Hugo said, the words feeling heavy in his mouth.

  A nasty smile spread across Webb's face but the sound of Doll returning for lunch had him slipping the boot black and spray paint back into his pockets before she came into the room.

  ɵ

  Hugo's head ached and his skin crawled as they spent that afternoon with hard-copy schematics of the different sectors spread over Doll's table, planning their first move. Webb played with his knife the entire time, flipping it over in the air or twizzling it with the point making notches in the table top.

  Breonan, in his dilapidated apartment block without even an alarm system, didn't stand a chance. Someone had left a window open on the ground floor so they didn't even have to break in. They didn't bother checking for cameras. Webb said that if they got picked up on any feeds in their incongruous black gear, peaked caps and black crosses daubed on their faces, more the better.

  The man had counted on his lock system to keep his enemies out but hadn't counted on Webb and his multitool. All three entered the darkened apartment in their goggles. Webb found him in the bedroom and put a bullet in his head before he'd even drawn breath to yell. He sprayed a cross on the wall over the dead man's bed before turning and pushing back past Harvey and Hugo and out of the apartment.

  They were back at Doll's in under two hours. Webb made them scrub their faces clean before she came back from her night shift.

  Harvey went with Doll down to her room once she returned but neither Hugo nor Webb made a move to turn in after they had gone. They both sat at the table, staring at a card game they had stopped playing half an hour ago.

  “Do your parents know the truth, Captain?” Webb murmured into the silence.

  Hugo jolted then frowned. “What?”

  Webb met his eyes. He looked tired. “Do they know the truth? You know, that you weren't really discharged? That you're still bleeding for the Service, but you'll not be getting any more medals for it?”

  Hugo tossed his cards on the table, trying to stoke up anger but then sighed, defeated. “No.”

  Webb shrugged, gaze sliding away. “Figures.”

  “Why?”

  Webb blinked slowly at nothing. “Nothing, Captain. Just... nothing.”

  They scoured the news reports and rumour boards again the next day but found nothing to do with Breonan.

  “Doesn't mean anything,” Webb muttered. “Either they've not found him yet or they're not telling if they have. It doesn't matter. The ball is rolling.”

  “Who's next?” Harvey asked.

  “Ankle's next,” Hugo said, going back to the table to where his weapons were laid out to be checked and cleaned.

  “When?”

  “Tonight,” Webb said. “Then we lay low for a couple of days and let the rumours gather some steam.”

  ɵ

  “There are no windows at all,” Harvey said as she clambered back up on the burnt-out flyer hulk next to Hugo. “It's all below ground level.”

  Hugo frowned and looked back through his binoculars at Ankle's door. It was down a flight of steps at the back of a noisy bar.

  “Can you hack the lock, Commander?”

  “Seems our fat friend is a little more prepared than his pal,” Webb replied, frowning around his binoculars. “There's a camera over the door. The minute someone starts trying anything with the control, he'll know and he'll be sounding the alarm.”

  “How are we going to get in, then?”

  “He's going to have to let us in.”

  Hugo lowered his binoculars and scowled. “And how are we to persuade him to do that?”

  “Have faith, Captain,” Webb grinned. “We will be shown the way.” Hugo glared but then We
bb's grin widened. “See?”

  Hugo looked back through his binoculars just as a moped pulled up at the end of the alley. A girl in a bright blue cap and high-viz jacket clambered off then pulled a pizza box out the basket on the back.

  “You can't be serious...” Hugo said.

  “Harvey, go,” Webb said and Harvey was over the wall they were leaning on and moving in the shadows toward the girl, drawing her gun.

  Webb followed and Hugo scrambled after, hissing protests. They caught up just as the girl, eyes wide and mouth opening and closing, was dropping the pizza at Harvey's feet and scurrying back to her moped. The little engine hiccoughed and then she was tearing away.

  Harvey scooped up the pizza and Webb was gesturing at the door with his gun. Hugo pulled out his own weapon and took up position on one side of the stairwell just as Webb did so on the other. Harvey made sure the peak of her cap was obscuring her painted face and tucked her gun in the back of her waistband, then made her way down the stairs and pushed the buzzer.

  “What?” snapped a voice from the intercom.

  “Pizza,” Harvey said in a bored voice.

  There was a whirr as the camera adjusted its angle. Hugo pressed himself against the wall. Harvey didn't flinch, just shifted the pizza so it was more obvious. There was a pause in which Hugo felt every beat of his heart and every muscle tighten, then the door opened. Harvey looked up and Ankle cursed and tried to slam it shut but Harvey got her boot in the gap. Hugo dropped down into the stairwell and shouldered at the door. Sputtering came from the other side then Webb jumped down next to them and leant his weight to the ramming and the door gave way.

  The pinging of their silenced gunfire filled the air but the fat man scrambled into another room. They followed but he was through another door before Hugo and Webb had clambered around the jumbled furniture. They both slammed into the door but it didn't budge.

  “Get back,” Webb snapped and took out the handle and lock with a couple of shots. They shouldered the door and it cracked against the wall inside. Ankle backed up into a corner, gibbering and dropped his panel on the concrete floor.