City of Darkness

by D P Wright

  “Yes,” he sighed. “Just what I need.” He smiled to himself as the thick fog of reality lifted ever so slightly. His mind was clear now, not burdened by tiredness nor distracted by pain. He reached for the priest’s diary that lay on his desk. As soon as the book was opened, a piece of synthpaper fell out and landed on the floor. He bent down to pick it up. It was a short letter written in the now familiar hand of Father Jacob, seen many times by Kessler in his journals back in his study. It appeared to the detective to be an unfinished draft as many words were neatly crossed out and their replacement written above. It was dated a few weeks back to a Bishop Sansom, Eden Inc. Grey Abbey Sector, Midtown 5 and was a request for a meeting of ‘utmost urgency.’ It voiced his concern about increasing dangers to the church and stated options about getting Bethany safely out of Downtown. Kessler’s thoughts began to turn sombre. He looked over again at Bethany and thought of her life living with her uncle. Growing up in most parts of Dis was never easy but in Downtown it must have been a very lonely life, locked away in St John’s, an uncle’s vain attempt to shelter her from the filth that surrounded them on all sides.

  The diary itself was a beautiful piece of art, like many of the treasures within the now destroyed church. The priest must have spent many hours carefully writing and reading from this book. It contained the usual daily comments on the ordinary goings on of life within St John’s: brief notes on sermons, comments on various repairs throughout the building, daily running costs, remarks on the quality of the ale being produced and ideas on how to expand the business. There were a couple of entries about a series of threats from a local gang of Corps Boys whose business interests seemed to conflict with the priest’s Holy Ale enterprise. Father Jacob noted many times Bishop Sansom’s concern at this unwanted attention.

  In the last few weeks leading up to his death, the name Judecca Glaxon appeared often, alongside the details of numerous trips Father Jacob was taking to the slums. An address was written in the margins of the diary ‘407 Nimrod Heights, Morbus Sector, D2’. He remembered Bethany mentioning a brother Glaxon had worked alongside her uncle at the church but what were they doing in the slums? Kessler had heard of Nimrod Heights, often mentioned in the newsreels as being a particularly nasty area full of Dregs, Mutes and chemheads. Why would Father Jacob, obviously well aware of the dangers of Downtown, want to go down there? Stacey Steckles had mentioned that he visited skin labs, maybe he was out trying to convert the local Dregs? If he was, he was brave. Or perhaps he was going to get fixed up on sim? Questions without answers crashed around Kessler’s chem-addled brain. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes, a dead priest, a church burned to the ground, Bethany’s life as she knew it destroyed, and then there was the new chem causing havoc amongst the Dregs that somehow ended up in her uncle’s body. Dark thoughts made his head spin.

  He broke into a sweat as the chems took hold and dropped the diary onto his desk. Images flashed through his mind in a range of gaudy colours. Monstrous faces with glowing red optics were feeding off of the church, taking large handfuls of the building and gorging on it. Men dressed in black with large luminous yellow cogs on their uniforms laughed hysterically as green flames burned their flesh. Citizens prayed before an altar looking at pictures of missing loved ones before taking huge syringes out of their robes and injecting their eyes. ‘Lux Ferre.’ The words swilled around and around in his head. What could it all mean? The sim talked to him and danced its magic through his body. He could feel its delightful tendrils flow in waves, lapping over him and pulling him into the sea of unconsciousness.

  EDEN INCORPORATED

  Complete, utter darkness. He searched his pockets for some form of light but found nothing. Arms outstretched, he began fumbling forward. Whispers emerged from somewhere, “Hello?” He shouted louder, “Is anybody there?”

  Strange, guttural sounds surrounded him. Murmurs from the dark.

  “What? I don’t understand. I can’t see.” He turned, round and round, frantically moving towards voices which now snapped and barked from every direction. He spun around blind, feral noises closing in, getting louder and louder, “Please, I can’t see you. Who’s there?” Something cold took hold of him. Shadows encircled him.

  The darkness disappeared in an almighty flash as it was replaced by a bright, burning sun. “Come to the light.”

  “Lux Ferre.”

  Kessler woke up with a start, nearly falling off his chair. Sweat pounded out of every pore as he wheezed heavily, desperate to get air into his corrupted lungs. Rubbing his face, he tried to focus and get his bearings. With his damp, soiled sleeve he wiped saliva from his mouth and through blurred, heavy eyes stared at the clock on his desk which told him he had been out for three hours. His body ached for sleep but like a scratch he could not itch, he had to deal with it. He knew the routine.

  As the foggy haze and shards of shattered images faded from memory the nightmare was replaced by thoughts of burning buildings and painful injuries. He gingerly touched his heavily strapped left arm and was greeted immediately by an arc of pain. He reached for the medivent and sucked heavily on its mouthpiece. The empty canister rattled back at him and he threw it to the side and reached into his drawer for some of his own painkillers.

  Across the room, Bethany lay asleep on the sofa, her injuries covered by Macy’s large pink blanket. Her face had been cleaned of the soot and grime, her hair brushed, the stress of the last few days and the terror of the fire now gone. If it was not for the medivent that was feeding her medication, helping her breathe, anyone would think she was in a contented, deep sleep. Macy’s head rested on the sleeping patient’s shoulder. With her carefully spiked blond hair, face studs and red plastichem bodysuit that ended just above the knee revealing long, slender tattooed legs, Macy was a girl that followed the fashions of the city. The closest thing he had to a family, a daughter, she made this place look good, Kessler thought as she began to stir from her sleep.

  Propping herself up on her elbows, Macy squinted at the detective in the low light until eventually his bulk came into focus. “Kes,” she let out a large yawn, “you have messages.”

  “You should have gone to bed, you didn’t need to stay up with us.”

  She laughed, “Bed? I was getting ready for a night out with Deaks when you called. Besides, I told Doc I would keep an eye on you two.”

  “Humph.” Always mothering him, he thought.

  “She doesn’t look too good.” She looked down at the prone Bethany still holding her hand.

  “So tell me about these messages.” His head began to swirl back and forth at the effort of trying to talk. He looked around for those spare medivent canisters that Doc had left.

  “Kes, I know you have a lot on your mind right now,” Macy looked away, took a couple of breaths before returning her attention to him, “the Le Morte brothers called again to say they’re done with running after you and…” She trailed off with a sigh.

  “Yea, go on.”

  “Ok. They were done talking with you and would let their knives speak for them from now on. They left one as a reminder.”

  “Nice.”

  “No more jokes, Kes. It’s getting serious. They trashed all my stuff. I thought they were going to kick off and I nearly reached for my pistol.”

  “Never do that.” It was serious, there would be no doubt of the outcome if Macy had confronted the Le Morte brothers, they would not hesitate to slice her to shreds with their beloved blades. “Not with those guys, anyway.”

  “I know it’s just I get so pissed at…”

  “I’ll take care of it, I promise.” He interrupted her and stood up, wincing as his body protested. He reached over for a clean shirt which had appeared, draped over his desk. He nodded a thank you to Macy as he discarded the bloodied rag which he was wearing and, tentatively, over bandaged arm and shoulder, pulled it over his head. “Anything else while I was away?”

  “Mrs Grubaker has called four or five times.”

  “
And what did the old lady want this time?”

  “She wants you to go and pick up something from her husband’s house. Wouldn’t give anymore details. She was her usual self and refused to speak to the help.”

  Mrs Grubaker’s Hightown ways were difficult to take but her Hightown creds were not. “Macy, you know the score with Grubaker, she’s harmless. She also pays for your wages.”

  “Ha! Wages? I thought I volunteered for this outfit.”

  “Yea, well, I understand I owe you some cred…” Kessler mumbled his reply and rubbed the stubble on his chin sheepishly.

  “Just make sure you com her, Kes, otherwise I’ll say something I might regret.”

  “Will do but it’ll have to wait. Macy, I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you look after Bethany while I go back out to check on something?” Kessler glanced at the fragile-looking girl on his sofa and wondered if she was going to pull through.

  “You’re not seriously thinking of going anywhere in your state?” Her voice was raised as she shook her head.

  “You know how it goes, time is money.” He unstrapped the medivent and lit a cigar. “I’ll have Doc come by later on and check up on her.”

  “He wouldn’t approve of you smoking that thing. Here, have this instead.” Macy had that look which Kessler had seen many times before, lips pursed and frowning, the look of disapproval. Her hand was held out and holding a canister of medicine. He stared at her as she leaned forward and with her free hand took the cigar from his mouth and stubbed it out in the over-flowing ash tray. “This place is disgusting, I honestly don’t know how you find anything.” That disapproving look slowly scanned the room.

  Kessler was sitting in his chair, canister in hand and mouth open. “I like this place as it is, and I don’t want you messing with it. I have everything right where I want it.” He picked up the empty medivent, fitted the canister and took a long, deep breath.

  *

  Kessler sat outside his office in his junker eating the carton of noodles which Macy had given him. He did not realise how hungry he was and could not remember the last time he had eaten. Now that the final embers of the sim were slowly ebbing away, the detective felt ravenous. He wolfed down the whole container in seconds and sat for a couple of moments in silence, savouring the flavours of his favourite food. Macy always knew how to make him feel better.

  Looking outside the canopy into the urban sprawl, he began to form a plan. Who killed Father Jacob and why? Ignoring the possibility that the old guy had gone crazy in a chem-induced frenzy and desecrated his own church before overdosing on this new gear, who else could have killed him? “Anyone could have,” Kessler mumbled aloud, answering his own question. The city was full of sick people, especially Downtown.

  He forced his thoughts back over the events of the previous day. The DPD were obvious culprits. It was common knowledge that any form of religion was illegal giving the police a good reason to burn the church down. All the way below in Downtown, far from Council Protocols and prying eyes, they could easily get away with pretty much anything. However, Kessler had never heard of them enforcing law so far down city where the district governors governed, especially for a small operation like St John’s. All the Council cared about was business and profit. What benefit would they get for sending their goons down that far below the Rim? It was a costly exercise. Perhaps they wanted to put a stop to the booze the priest was selling? Maybe one of the corporate-backed Corps Boys complained, did not like the competition. Stacey’s sighting of Councilmen seemed to confirm that something serious was going on. Kessler’s thoughts turned to the priest’s activities in the last few weeks before his death. He needed to pay a visit to Nimrod Heights and find out what Father Jacob found so interesting about the place. Much to Kessler’s disgust, another visit to Downtown seemed unavoidable but first, taking the priest’s note from his pocket and scanning over it, Kessler hoped Bishop Sansom at Eden Inc would be able to shed some light onto events surrounding the death.

  His head began to hurt thinking through all the possibilities, “For light’s sake,” he cursed frustratingly, “maybe he was just a chemhead who burned bad on this new stuff.” Kessler shook his head and reached down to ignite the junker’s thrusters when a sharp clinking noise to his left froze him in place.

  Pascal Le Morte was tapping the driver’s side window with a knife, its blade glistened in the yellow light of a neon sign that flashed nearby. He stood smirking at the detective with long, straight, pale blond hair and pointed sharp face, the black gloss of his cyber shades reflecting back the detective’s haggard looks. “Hey mon frère, you are not looking too good these days, is that belle fille not looking after you?” He brought the knife up to his mouth and, with his obscenely long tongue, slowly licked the blade.

  “Hey,” Kessler forced a smile, “I’ve been looking all over for you I…”

  “Non, non, non, mon frère, you have been a naughty boy, me thinks.” Pascal opened the door and with one hand started juggling the blade, the other waved for Kessler to get out.

  The detective put the empty carton of noodles on the passenger seat and looked around to see the other Le Morte twin. Wherever one was the other was always close behind and always playing with their knives. Each was a disease on society, but together they were an epidemic. Killers to the bone. He was grinning and waving at Kessler, leaning against their distinctive, bright yellow roadster. Such a beautiful vehicle, he thought to himself, shame he could not look at one without being reminded of these two poisonous wretches. He turned and smiled at Pascal and got out of his junker.

  Pascal stood a full six inches above the detective. Slender and tall and dressed completely in white synthwear, his long white flash jacket gleamed with distinctive gold thread. “You see Mr Kessler, your long absence from our lives has upset my brother,” he looked over his shoulder at the other twin who was now making his way slowly towards them, “and you know how angry he gets when he is disappointed, and he is very disappointed, yes he is.” Pascal smiled as he spoke. “Edouard, I was just telling our friend how angry you are.”

  “Merci beaucoup brother, but that is an understatement.” Edouard, looking identical to his twin apart from the blue trim lining of his coat, grabbed Kessler by his collar and lifted him up to his eye level, his strength belying his slender frame.

  “Easy there Edouard, easy, it’s cool, I have everything under control.” Pascal placed the back of his hand on his brother’s chest and Edouard backed slowly away.

  “You see mon petit ami? Little Chi needs that cred or else he will let us off the leash, comme ça?”

  “I have it, or I will have it very soon. I’m working on a big case at the minute, c’mon guys you know me.”

  “Ah oui, we know you Mr Kessler all too well.” Edouard had his knife drawn to Kessler’s throat and was moving it slowly down his body. “If Little Chi don’t get his five thousand creds in two days then we will have to get very intimate.” He pressed his knife hard against the detective’s groin.

  “Ok, ok, easy. No problem.” Kessler’s back was against a wall as he tried to pull away from the blade.

  Pascal started laughing, “It better be no problem or that fine secretary of yours will experience an entirely different intimacy.” Both brothers walked back to their roadster, laughing hysterically. They strutted away slowly, swaying their hips as if to some silent music. Kessler got back into his junker and, with his coat sleeve, wiped the sweat from his brow. He had to think clearly, he had to get somewhere with this case, it was his only chance to clear this debt with Little Chi. He looked around to check for the Le Morte brothers and could not see them. Things had gone too far, no one messed with those two parasites without coming to a painful end.

  Five thousand creds was a lot of cash. He only had two clients, Grubaker provided a steady stream of cred but that was small time, he needed far more and fast however his only other client was unconscious up in his office. Bethany was the answer though, he was sure of that. I
f he could just find out who killed her uncle he was sure that she would pay whatever it took to satisfy her need for revenge. She could do whatever she wanted with them, Kessler did not care, as long as he got paid for his work. Morals took a back seat when your balls were on the line.

  He typed the name ‘Eden Inc’ into the naviscreen and immediately the computer took control of the vehicle. Kessler hoped that the intended recipient of the unfinished letter had the answers he needed.

  The old junker drove through the streets of District 5. Morning was fast approaching and with the life blood of Council power flowing more freely through her arteries, she began to come alive. Tower blocks were lighting up as citizens stirred from their slumber, the gaudy colours of flashing neon began to dominate the sprawl as businesses opened and began to ply their trade and the frazzle and buzz of thousands of lights began their daily fight with the eternal darkness of Dis. Soon Kessler came to a stop at the side of a road and exited the vehicle. Using his bioware, the vehicle was lowered into a parking bay.

  In amongst the sludge, smoke and blackened plastisteel of the city the polished white marble and chrome plate building of Eden Incorporated majestically stood far above the clawing Midtown sprawl. Kessler stood outside as the rain hammered down around him looking up at the impressive building. Walking up the steps to the entrance, Kessler was greeted by huge doors of thick reinforced plastiglass which instantly opened allowing him to walk into a large lobby of glistening chrome and polished white plastic. The doors closed behind him and immediately the noise from the busy Midtown streets ceased, replaced by the gentle, flowing tones of some upper city orchestra.

  The receptionist stood behind her desk below the gigantic golden letters of ‘Eden Inc’ wearing a flowing white gown with black rimmed glasses and blond hair tied back into a tight bun. She was surrounded by the glowing green light of multiple holoscreens and was waving her hands over them quickly, her pale blue eyes completely focused on the banks of flickering text in front of her. Kessler cleared his throat and tried to get her attention. Small groups of citizens were dispersed throughout the lobby, some sitting down reading, others in discussion or watching one of the many monitors built into the curved wall that wrapped around the room. Some wore the white robes of the receptionist but most tended to wear the fashions of Hightown, gaudy coloured circlets wrapped around their ankles, sleeves and head. Kessler wondered what important errand would bring them so far from the safe heights of their home. He began to feel awkward as he stood waiting to be acknowledged by the girl. His grubby Midtown rags had no place amongst the expensive clothes and crisp robes found within this building and all of a sudden he was aware he had not washed in days. “Hey lady, am I invisible or something?” Kessler waved his hand in her direction. A sharp pain down his left side reminded him that he had left his medivent in the junker.