by Worth, Dan
Bolivar City itself was quiet, unusually so. Although it was now approaching the middle of the day, the streets were largely empty except for police and army patrols, and a few citizens scurrying to and fro. Normally, the planetary capital was a bustling, brash place. The streets would generally be packed with business folk and shoppers, the cafes and bars gearing up for the lunch time trade and already busy with smartly dressed men and women on the make, the pavements outside a pulsing river of humanity beneath the bright sun, the roads and sky lanes thrumming with traffic.
Now, it was a different town. There was the noticeable military presence, first of all. Army vehicles and groups of armoured men and women manned key points. Civilian cars moved to and fro beneath their gaze, their drivers careful not to do anything that might attract the ire of the authorities. The people that they saw on foot wore nervous expressions and were doing their utmost not to attract attention, a contrast to the normal state of affairs in a city known for doing the opposite. They moved quickly, their eyes averted from other people and fixed firmly at the floor. The city was still busy, but people didn’t linger in the open, didn’t stop to chat to others. The restaurants and pavement cafes were deserted, the shops empty of customers. People seemed to be staying in their homes or in their places of business, only emerging to travel between the two.
Isaacs guided them to a down at heel hotel a stone’s throw from the spaceport, in an area constantly noisy from the spacecraft landing and lifting off only a few kilometres away. They checked in, were asked to show I.D. by a bored looking desk clerk who only gave what they produced a cursory glance and assigned them two adjoining rooms on the top floor. The place was clean, but sparsely furnished and drab. The paint peeled from the walls, the bathrooms were stained with patches of damp and the sole screen in Isaacs and Anna’s room had an odd yellow tinge to its image.
They parked the truck in the hotel’s basement garage, unloaded its contents whilst taking care not to be seen, and carried them up to the rooms inside a few holdalls. Last of all was large, sealed crate.
‘What the hell is this?’ said Isaacs, eyeing the lump of square black plastic.
‘A little collateral,’ Steven replied. ‘It’s some of that Cloudfrond that we brought with us. I figured that we might be able to use it. It’s all part of my cover story, after all. Failing that, it’s so spicy we could probably use it as a weapon if the worst came to the worst. Would you mind?’ he said, indicating towards the crate and holding up hands that already each held a heavy bag. Isaacs sighed and, grabbing the crate in both hands, proceeded to lug it up to the room.
Pulling aside the cheap curtains, it was possible to see right across the sea of warehouses, shipping company offices, stacks of crates and ranks of parked vehicles to the spaceport itself, where gleaming, atmosphere capable ships squatted on square kilometres of concrete around the mass of low terminal buildings. Every so often there was a deep roar as one lifted off into the clear blue sky or another descended. Isaacs had been watching the ships come and go, noting the types.
‘Lot of military traffic,’ he said. ‘Hardly any of it civilian at all, actually. Local departure schedule reads cancelled for just about everything.’
‘So much for Morgan’s claims about it being business as normal,’ said Anna. ‘Sounds like they’re locking the place down.’
‘News reports are citing some bullshit about possible terrorist threats,’ said Steven. ‘I’d consider the fact that it might actually be true, given the circumstances, if I thought that the locals would have had time to organise themselves.’
‘There’s the survivors from the Commonwealth fleet,’ Isaacs suggested.
‘Possibly, I doubt it though. The Shapers are hunting them down, I think. I bet that’s what all the military traffic is for. There must be people scattered all over this side of the moon. Either that, or they’re busy quelling the locals into “co-operating.”’
‘So what now?’ asked Isaacs.
‘Now? Now I go sight-seeing. I want to take a look around. See what we’re up against, first hand. Might have a wander up near the Assembly and see what I can see.’
‘And what about us?’ said Anna.
‘You two can head on into town and see if any of your old contacts are still around. See what gossip you can pick up about what’s going on around here. Try and get us an in on anything that might get us close to anything or anyone military. Just, you know, don’t make it too obvious that that’s what we’re after. Ask, but don’t ask, if you know what I mean.’
‘Yeah, don’t want to seem too eager. I get it. It’ll depend who we run into, if anyone. If pressed I’ll make out we’re interested in black market military stuff. My guess is, though, anyone who had the chance got out of the system when they could, but we’ll see what we can do.’
‘Good. We’ll meet back here tonight. Don’t try to speak each other by any other means except face to face. It’s safe to assume that all communications traffic is likely to be compromised. If I don’t show by the morning, you leave and go back to the Hidden Hand. Got it?’
‘Sure.’
‘And no guns, either. You’re trying to avoid attracting the attention of law enforcement. We’ll only use them when we have a target to hit.’
Later that afternoon, Isaacs and Anna made their way on foot through the eerily quiet streets. Now that the mid-day traffic had subsided, there was only the occasional civilian vehicle and almost no pedestrians. Police cars and Army transports occasionally rumbled past, the occupants never giving the two figures a second glance. Litter swirled in the warm breeze around the empty furniture of deserted pavement cafes, and across streets and parks almost devoid of people.
‘Where is everyone?’ said Anna, as they walked briskly towards the centre of town.
‘Keeping their heads down, I imagine,’ replied Isaacs. ‘So should we. Don’t look anyone in the eye. Especially cops.’
‘Where are we headed?’
‘Old haunt of mine, Mulligan’s. You’ve been there before, I think.’
‘Ah yes, I remember. If in doubt, head to the pub, yes?’
‘Something like that. I’ve always found that the clientele have a pretty good idea of what’s going on around here. We freelance captains are a paranoid lot, aren’t we?’
‘Yeah well, who can blame us?’
They arrived at Mulligan’s about half an hour later, having passed only a handful of other people on foot in the meantime, and half expecting the place to be closed and shuttered. Thankfully, the bar was still open, though as they stepped from the alley outside into the gloom within they could quickly see that business was not what it had been. It was almost deserted. A few desultory drinkers clung to the corners of the room, eyeing them suspiciously as they entered. The swollen, miniature airship form of the proprietor, Ittuck, was nowhere to be seen.
Isaacs and Anna walked over to the island bar in the centre of the room and looked about themselves. Everyone seemed to be studiously ignoring them. After a few moments, Ittuck bobbed cautiously out of a back room and floated over to the bar, held aloft by his internal gas bladders. He settled behind the bar at eye level, compound eyes swivelling.
‘A surprise to see you in one piece, my friend,’ said Ittuck, his natural speech – a series of clicking sounds made by his insectile mouth parts – being translated by the pendant he wore. ‘I thought when that giant came for you that they’d be fishing bits of you out of the river.’
‘Yeah well, it’s a long story, but the trouble I had with Bennett has gone away, shall we say.’
‘I heard. Rumour has it that the military had him killed. He must have crossed someone pretty powerful, I think.’
‘Something like that, yeah.’
‘And who is this? Your female friend?’ said Ittuck, gesturing with a bunch of tentacles around his midriff towards Anna.
‘Anna Isaacs. I’m Cal’s wife. I think we met once or twice before.’
Isaacs gave her a surprised l
ook. So, she had started using his surname again.
‘Ah yes...’ replied Ittuck and looked thoughtful. ‘I think you are right. Apologies, I think you may been with others at the time.’
‘Probably, we ran a few contracts from here over the past few years.’
‘Ah hmm. Where are my manners? I haven’t asked you if you would both like a drink.’
‘Yes please,’ said Isaacs with grateful relief. ‘Got anything good at the moment?’
Ittuck looked downcast. ‘Alas, no. My stocks are running rather low. It’s become very difficult to get anything from offworld since the coup. Freighters are staying away and there is no traffic with the loyalist systems at all. I have some of the local beer, Orinoco Gold, but even that’s starting to run low. My delivery failed to materialise this week and no-one answers at the brewery. Maybe it’s just as well that my trade has dried up as well.’
‘Two Orinoco Golds then,’ said Isaacs and waved his credit chip in the vague direction of the bar’s register.
‘It’s okay,’ said Ittuck as he poured the drinks. ‘But I’d kill to get some more of the stuff I had from Arcturus. I imagine that that’s out of the question now. Truly, I am surprised to see you here. Doubly so, given the last time I saw you. Most people are staying away, and many are finding that they cannot leave now. What brings you here?’
‘Ah you know, I smelled an opportunity,’ said Isaacs.
‘It was my idea,’ said Anna, cutting him off. ‘We figured that there would be shortages, like you say. Shortages mean that people are willing to pay a premium for certain luxuries. Beer, for instance,’ she said and took her drink from the bar top where it sat in a dribble of foam.
‘Yeah, you know of anyone who could hook us up?’ said Isaacs and took a gulp of his beer.
Ittuck worked his mandibles uneasily.
‘I’m not so sure that this is a good idea,’ he said. ‘Really, this world, this system is not safe for you, I think. Many, many bad things are happening here. I have heard stories...’
‘What about?’ said Anna.
‘People grabbed on the street - armed men pulling them into vehicles. They are never seen again. At night, it is the worst. They come in the night, into people’s homes and take them away and... there are things roaming the streets at night. Strange, misshapen creatures, horrible things. They say that they are the ones who have been taken and... changed. I know it sounds ridiculous...’
‘No it doesn’t,’ said Isaacs, and lowered his voice. ‘Look Ittuck, we’ve not been entirely straight with you. A... friend of ours, a business associate, went missing around here. What you’re talking about may have happened to him. He was into some pretty heavy shit, so he may have been pinched. We got half a story about him being bundled into an Army transport. We were hoping that we might be able to effect some sort of rescue, or at least find out where he’s being held.’
Ittuck moved closer and reduced the volume on his translation pendant.
‘Are you out of your mind?’ said the Vreeth. ‘You cannot fuck with these people. The Army? Please. Go sniffing around, and what happened to your friend will happen to you. Leave now, and don’t come back, for your own safety!’
‘What about you Ittuck, why are you still here?’
‘Because I have my business, because... look I am making my own arrangements, alright? What your Admiral Morgan has been telling everyone, that this regime change is a force for good: it is a lie, everyone knows it! But his men have seized control and anyone who does anything to stop them or gets in their way, they are gone! Just like that. Like they never fucking well existed, my friend!’
‘We need to find him, find our friend,’ said Isaacs. ‘Even if it’s only to find out that he’s dead. When they grab people, where do they take them?’
‘I don’t know exactly,’ said Ittuck. ‘There are a number of police stations in the city, the prison, military bases outside Bolivar City. Your friend could be in any one of them, if he is still breathing, that is. There is a man you could try, he’s Sirius Syndicate and has contacts in the military. He makes his money from illegal arms sales that he pilfers from supply dumps, and he has connections in the Army who help him out. If anyone has information, he would be a good place to start.’
‘Does he have a name?’ said Isaacs.
‘Vittorio Molinelli, he owns a bar not far from here. He’s there most days. Here, let me show you.’
Steven moved through the quiet streets of the city, doing his best to remain anonymous. Smartly dressed in a dark suit, his face partially concealed by dark glasses, he walked with his head down, avoiding looking at anyone directly. Still, it was difficult not to stand out. There was hardly anybody on foot on the streets apart from himself. Traffic crawled by at a snail’s pace under the watchful eye of police units and soldiers who had been drafted in to assist them in their duties. They barely paid attention to his hurrying figure – he was just another nervous local going about his business - but all the same, he wished to avoid any unnecessary contact with them.
Although he was avoiding looking directly at the police and soldiers as he passed them, Steven studied them surreptitiously all the same, watching the way they moved, whether they spoke to one another, how they reacted to the presence of others, how they registered his presence as he walked past them. He was looking for signs that they were still human or whether they had been turned into mindless puppets of the enemy, trying to gauge the level of control that the Shapers had over the city and noting the locations that were being manned, which road junctions, public squares, metro stations and public buildings were deemed important.
He was heading into the centre of the city, towards the Assembly House at its heart. The building had formerly been the seat of the democratically elected government of the Achernar system. It was now the seat of power of Admiral Morgan’s new puppet dictatorship, the ironically named Freedom Alliance.
When Steven had set out from the hotel near the spaceport there had been relatively little security. He could see plenty of army units around the port itself even from the hotel room window, but on the streets in the outskirts of the city, there was very little movement. He had taken the truck and driven it into the city, leaving it in an underground parking garage just outside of the centre and continuing on foot. Here in the centre, there were police and army everywhere, and their frequency only increased the closer he got to the heart of the city.
Though he had warned Isaacs and Anna against carrying weapons themselves, he wasn’t entirely unarmed. A small pistol made of composites that were difficult to detect on most scanning devices was strapped to his lower right leg, and though its use would undoubtedly attract unwanted attention, he had taken it as a weapon of last resort were he to be cornered. Part him of secretly suspected that he had only taken it for his own peace of mind, for what use would such a weapon be against a city filled with the enemy?
In the financial district, there had been plenty of police amidst the banks and offices and the expensive restaurants that were now near empty or closed for business, but they had seemed human enough. Like the men manning the checkpoint on the highway they’d passed through on their way here, they looked bored, and he could see them talking with one another and sharing jokes, hands resting easily on the weapons slung at their sides. Some were clearly feeling the effects of the heat of the day as the sun climbed higher in the sky - they drank greedily from flasks of water or sweated beneath their helmets. The army personnel he saw seemed to be faring a little better, since the cooling systems of their body armour alleviated some of the worst effects. As Steven passed them, they usually cast him a bored glance or paid him no attention whatsoever.
When he entered the government district, however, he noticed a change almost immediately. Here, the men manning the streets stood like statues at their posts. Their expressionless features partially obscured behind armoured visors, they stood like an army of robots on parade. Steven felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle as
soon as he set eyes on the first group of them. His step faltered for a moment, but he kept on walking, forcing himself to continue, for to turn and retrace his steps would arouse suspicion. The men stood motionless beside their armoured vehicles and behind rolls of razor wire and though they did not react to his presence, Steven felt their cold and lifeless gaze upon him. Somehow those visored faces followed him, like the eyes of a painting that follow the viewer around the room and at the back of his mind he swore he heard something, a scratching or whispering of words that he couldn’t make out.
There were no other people here, save for himself. Not even vehicles moved between the massive office blocks that towered on all sides, their windows blank and lightless, silent monoliths that had once hummed with life and activity, and yet, somehow Steven knew that within those cyclopean buildings, there was still a life of sorts, but one that was not human, that was of machine and a terrible fusion of enslaved flesh, and that even now it was watching him. He felt suddenly terribly vulnerable, like a fly crawling along the delicate filaments of a spider’s web into its very centre.
The Assembly House loomed at the end of the street, a classical edifice of white marble topped with a flattened dome and fronted with a massive portico supported by Corinthian columns. In front of the broad marble steps leading up to it, were dozens of marines, standing motionless, guns at the ready in copy cat poses like a line of toy soldiers. Tanks and APCs were drawn up behind them, turreted weapons angled down the approaches as automated defence guns swept to and fro. Steven made a mental note of their numbers, their equipment and dispositions.