Lower Downtown has a style all its own; two parts rot, one part blood from the last Gorezone, and three parts broken dreams.
I call it home.
I lead the squad down to sector 221-G, it’s not that far from where I live. Close enough that the gangers recognise me and know better than to mess; we have an unofficial policy of not getting in each others’ faces. I don’t want to be hunted down and killed by a couple of hundred pissed-off affiliates, they don’t want to be skinned and hung up on the wall as an object lesson. And before you ask, I only did it once, and only then to punish them for killing my sister, so you can wipe that self-righteous look off your face before I do it for you.
‘You LIVE here?’ Knight asks, appalled.
‘Yeah. Your point?’
He catches the warning tone in my voice and subsides into silence. Most Ops live Uptown, or at least in Suburbia. Me, I like to remember why I became an Op in the first place.
‘Contacts?’ Szy’m’czyk asks. I nod.
‘Yeah, there’s a local KT affiliate covers most of the district.’ I nod up the street to where a bunch of kids in their early teens are hanging out on the steps of a half-ruined tenement building. ‘And speak of the devil.’
‘Which gang is that?’ Knight asks, fiddling with his helmet. It takes a moment to realise that he is recording. If this BPN comes out okay, we might turn over a few extra credits selling the camera record to Third Eye or SIC.
‘Collateral Damage,’ I say. ‘They go for ultraviolence in a big way.’
‘My kinda slimes!’ Crucify says cheerfully, and before I can say anything he saunters over to them. ‘Hey, meat, what’s the word?’
The gangers look him over like a three-day dead rat, then return their attention to the card game they’re playing. Crucify’s face darkens. ‘Hey, I wuz talking to you!’
‘So?’ one of the gangers rejoins. I recognise him, Shiv. Not from Shiver, but because of his skill with a knife.
‘Okay, that’s it – we’re goin’ ta buttkick city, population one!’ He is about to leap at Shiv when I take his feet out from under him and Fred sits on him while he’s down.
‘Don’t mind him, he’s a moron,’ I say.
‘I’ll give ya moron, ya fragging…’ Crucify’s ranting gets somewhat muffled as Fred puts one hand over his mouth, then lifts a finger to his own lips.
‘Ssh. They’re talking.’ Oh yeah, I’m going to like him.
‘Gabriel,’ Shiv says by way of greeting. ‘Got a squad now?’
‘Working on it. Looking for a bloke.’
He raises one eyebrow at me, waiting. I toss him a small bundle of uni which he pockets without checking. We both know better than to stiff each other. ‘Show me.’
I nod to Knight, who flips open his Oyster and calls up the picture of the missing census investigator. Shiv glances at it, then nods. ‘Yeah, I seen him. Couple days ago, I think, just before the last Gorezone hit. Dumb motherfucker got grabbed by a big-arse carriens, figure he’s kibble by now.’
‘Where?’
He points back down the road. ‘The hatch on 4th and 22. You know it?’
‘Yeah, I know it. Thanks, Shiv.’
‘Whatever.’
We move back a ways, Fred carrying Crucify kicking and ranting. Once we’re round the corner, I turn to them. ‘Okay, let’s have this out here and now. Fred, let him go.’
Crucify drops to the ground, snarling curses. I shut him up with a boot in the face. ‘Now you listen to me, you little prick. I will tolerate a certain amount of crap off of you when we’re off duty because you’re a Brain Waster and you don’t know any better. But if you give me shit while we’re on an op, I will put a bullet in your brain myself and fill out the warrant posthumously. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Bastard!’ he spits, mopping his bleeding nose.
‘Your call, numb nuts. You’ve got plenty of teeth I can knock out before I need to shoot you.’ I draw back my foot again and he holds up his hands.
‘All right, all right, you’ve made your fragging point!’
I eye him thoughtfully. ‘Let’s hope so. Because… Fred?’
‘Yes, boss?’
‘If he steps out of line, slap him.’
‘Yes, boss!’ The stormer gives Crucify a big grin, one which might even be reassuring without all the teeth.
‘All right, Shiv’s lead is as good as we’re going to get,’ I say. ‘We’ll head down into the sewers, see what we can find.’
‘Always the sewers,’ Knight sighs. ‘Why is it always the sewers?’
‘The question is always the answer,’ I tell him, ‘provided you want the answer bad enough.’
From the look he gives me, I don’t think he really does…
The banging on the door has stopped, for which I give heartfelt thanks. My head is aching in a point just behind my left eyeball, and the constant barrage of sound was fraying my nerves.
Szy’m’czyk hunkers down next to me. ‘How long?’ she asks.
I check my watch. ‘About another hour and a half until full daylight. Figure another half hour on top of that to make sure they’ve moved clear.
She nods. ‘Think we’ll make it?’
She’s a Shaktar. Anything other than the truth would be dishonourable. ‘No. I think we were toast the second we got our sorry arses washed down here. But I sure as hell ain’t going to make it easy for them.’
‘Agreed.’ She looks at me thoughtfully. ‘You couldn’t have known.’
Bloody Shaktar’s too perceptive for her own good – or mine. ‘Nobody could have known,’ I say, looking away. ‘Supposed to make me feel better?’
‘We started with five. We still have five. Under the circumstances, that is little short of a miracle.’
‘Maybe.’ I sigh. ‘If I can keep it up.’
‘You will. You have what we call skrn’s’frl, the enduring spirit.’ She pauses, thinking. ‘In your speech… You are a tough bastard.’
In spite of myself, I laugh, and she joins me. ‘Thank you,’ I say.
‘My pleasure.’ Szy’m’czyk glances around, then says ‘I thought you would want to look at this in private.’
‘This what?’
In response she produces the Oyster we took from the investigator. I raise an eyebrow at her. ‘You didn’t offer it to Knight?’
She taps her temple significantly, and I understand. Knight almost certainly carries a finance chip, which means Station Analysis know everything he sees and hears. That’s interesting; seems I’m not the only one with questions about this op. I open the laptop and we both crowd round it to examine the file contents.
Straight away it’s clear that there are no census figures on here, at least not in the traditional sense. ‘What the hell?’ I mutter, scrolling through the lists of items. ‘Carriens movement patterns… migration predictions… genetic analysis? What the hell are they analysing Carriens for?’
‘Stop,’ Szy’m’czyk says suddenly. ‘Go back… there.’
I read the segment carefully. ‘Analysis of DNA supports the theory that the isolated cases of augmented intelligence are the result of a recessive gene. This, coupled with the greater size and strength of the individuals, assists in controlling lesser members of the species. Speculations on other means of control remain unsubstantiated…’ I stare at the screen. ‘Unsubstantiated my arse… They knew. They bloody knew all along.’
‘I mislike this reference to a recessive gene. Recessive to what?’
‘I don’t know, but I do know this: if Gilbert bloody White finds out we know this, our lives won’t be worth a spent cred.’ I draw a blank dataslug from my pocket and download the data onto it. ‘Insurance. Just in case.’ I level a finger at Szy’m’czyk. ‘As far as anyone else is concerned, we never read these files.’
‘I understand.’
I wish I did.