He could have used a shower, a change of clothes, and more than the four hours of sleep he got in the passenger seat of the aircar. The throbbing headache and muscle aches didn’t help his temperament much, either. Ness smacked his leg a couple of times to wake him up.
“0800 and still no movement,” she said.
Clay opened his eyes instantly and tried to draw her into focus. His head still throbbed from the “fight” the night before, and though it was not Ness’s fault, he was angry and humiliated at his performance thus far. “Worst room service ever,” he joked.
“There will be a mint on your pillow when you get back,” Ness chuckled and hit the button to open the hatch next to him.
She had parked at the edge of Nakano’s market district, about a kilometer’s walk from the hostel where the tracker was still transmitting. Street vendors, peddlers, zealots, and highwaymen converged and mingled around Clay until they were indistinguishable. Sometime while he slept, the weather had broken, and a blanket of snow and slush now covered the ground while an unceasing wind, somehow worse than the night before, whipped between buildings and stung any patch of skin left bare. Despite all of this, and the abundance of large disused structures in the district, the market was still set up outdoors in the streets and alleyways, as was tradition all year round. It was probably the only tradition the godforsaken planet held to, Clay thought.
After four generations, the general population didn’t appear to have evolved much from the political agitators and social criminals who volunteered – or were exiled – to establish the original colony. If history was the basis of cultural identity, then these people were a blank slate. The winners are inevitably the ones who write history, and on Notosia, there are no winners – or if there were, Prevo and Mother Eye would have ensured that they were erased. Most might mistake all of this for anarchy, but Clay knew enough about history to see it was even more troubling. He worried that Ness might be right, that everyone might have already picked their side and were merely being quiet about it.
A holodisplay on table ran a ticker of the latest headlines. The gentleman behind the holo sold something called “Corrections.” Clay stopped and regarded him for a moment, then caught one of the headlines as it scrolled past.
“Correction:” the display read. The story about a bomb attack at the Nakano starport last night was reported in error. Footage of troops and vehicles moving towards the terminal were in fact part of a training exercise.”
“The government’s covering up the starport bombing. Why?” Clay asked. “It would be the perfect excuse to grab Klein and bring him in.”
“I’m sure Mother Eye has her reasons.”
“Not Prevo?”
“Prevo may not have even heard about the bombing. I’ve found, in those instance, it makes more sense to reframe her corrections as nothing more malicious than simplifying the news so people have to think and worry less. If the bomb was Klein’s doing in order to evade the Tokusha, it’s not a real threat to the general public, she’s trying to get them to forget about it insteady of worry further.”
. Prevo probably hasn’t even heard about the bombing, yet.”
“How benevolent of her.”
“We don’t need any more chaos.”
He trudged through the slushy streets to the modest hostel’s front door. It was reinforced steel and set into a windowless plascrete ground level. Fortunately, he knew how to make his physical presence appear slightly more menacing than it was, and most of the lowlifes seemed to go out of their way to avoid him rather than try to make a quick sale, con, or snatch-and-grab. A blast of welcome heat greeted him as the door opened. The morning sun shone through the entryway into a common room/commissary, reflecting off the pale, zombie-like faces of the patrons within. All stared at him with loathing for letting in the winter air.
Ness crackled through the earpiece. “What’s the atmosphere like?”
“Like hell’s version of that green-level passenger lounge,” Clay muttered.
“Charming,” she said, appropriating his overused phrase. “Sounds like my kind of place.”
He sat at a table as close to the corner as he could find, ordered a meal from the kiosk screen, and busied himself by pretending to read the latest headlines and editorial commentaries on his datapad. In reality, he had already paired it to his heads-up display and was scanning and pulling profiles on each patron he had an unobstructed view of. So far, no one here seemed too far out of place, and the few who appeared slightly above the station of the average clientele checked out as off-world merchants or transport captains.
A gruff-looking server brought him his breakfast, a bowl of porridge accompanied by a large piece of fruit he didn’t recognize, and a steaming cup of black sludge that, according to the menu, was what passed for coffee on this world. To his surprise, he decided to try that first and liked it. It was spicy, it was persistent, and above all, it was strong, much like the planet. He decided he was imagining the faint taste of industrial waste, as that would have made it too on-point.
“As an outsider, you’ll be expected to pull up that terminal next to you and gamble a little.”
“Gamble?”
“Yeah, it’s how the place operates. Room and board are free for people who need them, and cheap for those who can afford them. They offset this with their take from the games. It’s rude if a rich-looking guy like you doesn’t lose a few cred to the house.”
Clay scoffed. “Any chance I’ll win?”
“Only if they owe you for goods or services. It’s how hard cred gets laundered around here.”
Clay obliged by sliding a few credslips into a slot and watching a series of images flash in holo next to him. Ultimately, they stopped with an audible tone that served as the universal sound of mocking defeat.
“Stay sharp. The case is on the move,” Ness said via comm.
Clay grabbed his datapad and sat back, trying to take in as much of the room as possible. Many people were leaving, but the only people to arrive after him had been from the street. The most recent arrivals sat at a square, four-top table three meters away. He noted that they were seated beside each other instead of on opposite sides as if expecting someone to join them. He was certain that’s where the transfer would be made. He slid down the bench slowly to better view the proceedings.
There was a sudden shift in the room’s tone as several conversations stopped. Clay looked around and saw that most eyes were now on a newcomer who had just stepped off the lift and entered the commissary.
Anybody could see she didn’t belong on this planet. She had the wrong build, the wrong clothes, and a look of determination about her. She was tall and slim, and Clay guessed her to be approximately twenty years old. Blonde hair framed a pale, angular face marked by sunken, gray eyes. She wore a form-fitting gray tunic and pants ornately accented with a white, vein-like pattern. A dark red, multi-layered cloak, fastened loosely around her neck, was billowy enough to easily conceal the case and anything else she might be carrying. She moved with an angular grace and balance that he could not decide would be more befitting a ballet dancer or a predatory animal. Her eyes darted around the room, subtly making a quick study and assessment of each inhabitant – expertly as well, Clay determined from the speed with which she was doing it.
As expected, she walked immediately to the table where he had noticed the two sitting before, smiled slightly, leaned forward, and spoke softly. Her face was expressionless, her lips hardly moved, and despite his best efforts, Clay could only make out the faintest timbre of her voice over the background noise.
“I love being right. That’s Ursza Venter,” Ness said in his ear. “Small-time operative. Used to work for Cerberus until they cut her loose. As of late, she’s been exclusively working as Hēi Gēzi’s handler.”
“Handling him for whom?”
“Between the two, they’ve probably worked with everybody at one point or another.”
“Well, whoever hired them is about to get Keraunos, and we’re playing catch-up.”
Deciding she was sufficiently engaged, he looked directly at the trio long enough to make decent scans of the other two faces and upload them to the datapad. Almost immediately, Ness identified them as Sora Feng and Dejan Lucik. They were locals, had no official residence, no political or faction ties to speak of, and aside from a few minor scuffles with local authorities, they were not in any particular trouble with anyone.
“They’re civilians,” Clay said, amused, reading the report in his heads-up display. “Boring ones at that.”
“I told you, there’s no such thing here. There’s no way those two are that boring. They’ve probably been hired as couriers for one of the factions.”
Ursza retrieved a small bag from her waist and clumsily dropped it on the table as she began involuntarily shaking. There was an unmistakable clamor of metal, and a dozen credslips spilled out onto the table. Judging by the bag’s size, they represented only a small percentage of what she was carrying. The two men quickly scooped the currency back into the bag and handed it to her. Clay caught a glimpse of the one called Feng, expertly dropping a clear vial of liquid that was palmed in his right hand to the bag at the last minute. Ursza smiled appreciatively. It was a well-rehearsed act. If she had clandestinely given them anything in exchange for the vial during the performance, Clay had missed the pass completely.
The two men shifted and looked around nervously. The unmistakable sound of hard currency had caused a lull in the room’s noise, and several pairs of eyes were now watching the three of them suspiciously. The girl showed no concern but merely smiled and nodded their dismissal. The two stood up, bowed slightly, and made their way for the exit.
“She must have passed them something. Meet me on the corner,” Clay said, suddenly standing up.
“I don’t think so, Clay. She’s still got the case on her. I don’t think that was the Keraunos deal. It may have been a distraction to pull you away.”
Ursza studied the room out of the corner of her eye. Her hands shook as she raised her cup and sampled her tea. It wasn’t nerves. She began scratching at her palms, and Clay recognized the reaction immediately. Suddenly, everything dawned on him. “She’s strung out. One of them passed her a vial. She was buying a fix of something.”
“I’d heard rumors she’s a Shard addict, and that’s why Cerberus cut her loose.”
“Shard?”
“The local flavor. Nasty stuff. Some crime families use it to hook you into working for them. Then, they discard you when you become too unreliable and expensive to keep around. Hēi Gēzi probably spends a fortune keeping her upright and functional, but it ensures her loyalty to him at least.”
“That’s a pretty sizable bankroll she has on her. They passed her something, but didn’t seem to take any of it.”
“You can’t just buy Shard from street vendors or small-time connections. It’s very high-end and in minimal supply. That’s why the syndicates have no problem cutting you loose when you become a liability. They know you’ll be dead in a day or so. The drug becomes its own punishment.”
Clay’s stomach turned, but he kept his eyes on the girl. She seemed to be deep in thought about what she should do next. If she was aware of his presence, she made no indication.
A small group of ruffians approached her from the corner of the room opposite Clay, three men who appeared to be no more than common street thugs. The largest of the three, obviously the leader, made a rather loud inquiry about her plans for the evening and offered to help her spend some of the small fortune she was carrying. She said nothing but collected her belongings and got up to leave. The other two quickly darted around to cut her off, the big one laughing in a deep baritone at his cleverness. Ursza said nothing but lowered her head in practiced submission, continuing to scratch at her wrist.
Like a wild animal enraged at the challenge, the big man stood up and put a finger directly in her face. Clay made out a few rather uncomplimentary remarks about her social habits and a particularly nasty threat if she didn’t sit back down. She stood passively, her face unchanging, eyes locked on the floor directly in front of her.
The big man nodded to his partners, who reached out and grabbed her by each shoulder. Instantly, she screamed and started to collapse, but swiftly ducked and scurried toward the door in a crab-like shuffle. She frantically tore at her tunic, liberated what Clay instantly recognized as the thin cylinder of a stuncap, and threw herself prone on the ground as she tossed it over her shoulder behind her. A split second later, there was a deafening “whoomp” as her assailants flew backward two meters, knocking over tables and raising the ire of the other patrons.
Clay spun around instinctively to see if anyone had been severely injured. Stuncaps were meant as a deterrent, not a weapon, but could still be dangerous up close. Fortunately, aside from the severe pain and nearly total disorientation from being hit by a directed polysonic shockwave, her assailants and the surrounding bystanders didn’t appear to be suffering any permanent damage. Looking back, he caught the billow of a red cloak exiting hastily through the door and down the street to the left.
“She’s on the move,” he said to Ness.
“Let me guess, you lost her. She’s across the street heading north. She still has the case on her.”
“Yeah, I sorta figured that,” he confirmed and pushed his way through the startled crowd, most of whom hadn’t even started towards the exits yet. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the momentary agony of sun on snow again — long enough for the girl to get through the market and into an alleyway at the far end. Clay ran after her, maneuvering through the crowd until he reached the entrance to the alley.
She was now walking, not running, a few dozen meters away. He trotted after her, staying as close to the wall as possible. While he had a talent for covert surveillance, nobody could remain inconspicuous in broad daylight for long with an alert target.
Ursza rounded a corner, still very calm about where she was going. Once she was out of sight, Clay broke into a run, slowing just a few meters from the turn, guessing he had made up about half of the distance between them. When he rounded the corner, he found himself staring directly down the discharge barrel of a plaser. Ursza’s palm struck him in the chest just hard enough to stun him as she brought up the gun, pressed it against his throat, and pushed him back into the wall with it.
Clay strugled to catch his breath and sputtered, “Hello. Look, I think we can help each other out here.”
Gray eyes pierced his soul briefly, searching for something. She cocked her head to one side. “You have kind eyes. You need to stay out of this before you get hurt.” Her hand began to shake again.
Clay swallowed. “I can’t do that. I’m ordered to retrieve the case.”
“For whom?” she demanded softly. Her voice had the slightest trace of annoyance.
“You first,” Clay offered. “I know you and your ninja friend are just hired guns, but he’s killed ten very prominent businessmen. Pretty soon, the authorities from a half-dozen different systems will compare notes, and you’ll spend the rest of your life running. Why don’t you turn yourself in now while you can still cut a deal?” He tried to raise his hands to show he was unarmed and just wanted to talk to her. The instant he moved, he felt the gun press hard into his Adam’s apple.
“No, no,” she warned; her tone was that of a mother who didn’t want to discipline her child. After three seconds, her point made, she eased the gun back, loosening the pressure on his throat.
“Look,” Clay said, leaning heavily on the wall, struggling to stay on his feet. “We can deal. I can protect you; get you immunity. I can get you off this planet — any place you want to go. I can even get you medical help for the Shard addiction. “
Her eyes lit up at the mention of Shard, but she quickly regained composure. “Don’t need your help,” she said through a clenched jaw.
Clay was frustrated but resisted the urge to shake some sense into a girl holding a gun to his throat. She wasn’t afraid of the law in the least. He suddenly remembered what Ness said about Shard being used to control people. “I think you do. You just bought yourself a vial of something back there. I think you’re buying Shard on your own, trying to get out from under his influence. You know Hēi Gēzi will eventually kill you for being too much trouble, but even if he doesn’t, what about your employers? Do you trust them not to kill you as soon as you hand it over? They’re eliminating everyone who knows about Keraunos, aren’t they? Do you really think that doesn’t include you?”
“And you’re different?” She arched one eyebrow.
“Yes, I’m an off-worlder and not with any faction. I’m probably a target just for talking to you like this. You can trust me. Give me the case, and I promise to get you out of here.”
Clay suddenly heard Ness in his ear, “Careful. You’re breaking mission parameters now.”
Ursza looked puzzled for a moment, then reached up, pulled the receiver from his ear, dropped it to the ground, and stepped on it with her boot.
“I’m not a mission parameter,” she said defiantly. Suddenly, and faster than should have been possible, the butt of the gun came up and struck him in the temple.
Clay awoke fifteen minutes later, lying on the sidewalk, with a second lump on his head. He rolled over slowly and found that he was lying on the case.
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