by D P Wright
Kessler stepped through the gateway into an empty large inner courtyard where the constant rain had mixed with the piles of rubbish to make rivers of waste that flowed freely across the ground and over Kessler’s feet. A door burst open from across the yard and a Corps Boy stumbled out past the detective cursing and shouting, slurring his words in a state of complete drunkenness. The opening revealed the raucous sounds of loud voices, laughter and the clinking of glasses but this was soon drowned out by a blaring, grating noise as the music by the gate started again. Above the door was the battered picture of a dark orange sun with the name Sunset in a blaze of red neon. Kessler looked up at the darkness above then quickly readjusted his hood against the rain. The irony of the name was not lost on him, the sun had set on this place a very long time ago.
Laughing drew his attention to his right where a lone boy was slumped up against a wall sheltering from the rain underneath a tattered cloth overhang. Kessler took another glance at the doorway and back to the laughing boy and decided to try and avoid contact with the mob that lay within the hotel.
He slumped down by the kid who sat smiling with his knees drawn up close to his chest. He wore a tattered flash jacket that had long ago lost its glow and baggy plastichem trousers with scuffed, heavy boots. His damp hair was thick and wild and had been sleeked back to reveal a chubby, freckled face which smiled back at Kessler, dimples denting his red cheeks. The boy could have been any mother’s cute kid in another life but, in this one, his bloodshot eyes bulged from their sockets and his tongue hung between rotten teeth as the chems had their way with him. Kessler lit a cigar from his pocket and took a long draw before speaking, “Good chem, kid?”
The boy’s head rolled around to look at Kessler and he giggled, “Best.” The word sloshed out of his wide open mouth.
Kessler nodded, “Listen, I need some info and have cred to pay for it. Buy all the sim you want?” The boy stared at him, his body shaking and eyes twitching, still with that permanent grin strained across his face. A tear fell from a red eye. Kessler reached into his coat and from it grabbed a couple of creds before returning to face the kid, “Have you heard of St John’s church? A Christian joint run by a Father Jacob, close to this sector? He…” Kessler stopped talking. The boy’s head had slumped to rest on his shoulder. He grabbed hold of a tuft of hair and stared into the now lifeless eyes. A quick check of the boy’s pulse confirmed that he was dead. Taking another long puff from his cigar he stumped out the end on the wall and put what was left back into his pocket before getting up and making for the door into the hotel itself. As he got up the boy’s body fell to the floor with a dull thud.
Complete chaos reigned inside the building. The old hotel would have been a grand sight back in its day judging by the impressive chandelier which hung in the centre of the room and the huge spiral staircase that swept up to the floors above. However, these details were all that was left of its once fancy past. The expansive lobby had been converted into a saloon, the reception, which formed a large circle around its centre, was now the bar where a horde of boys now queued to get served by a harassed-looking barman. Music, which could just barely be heard above the cacophony of screams, curses and laughter, was emanating from the far side of the room. An old man, whose rags hung from his gaunt frame, was chained to a large instrument of some kind. Every so often he would stumble in his playing only to be struck by an assortment of objects from the crowd. The ground by his feet was littered with the many different missiles used previously to keep him playing. A group of Corps Boys were having an argument over a game of dice, a table had been overturned and it was getting physical. One kid was sprawled across the bottom of the stairs shooting up sim and as the drug entered his system he began to writhe in ecstasy, his little legs kicking out in all directions. A large group were crowded round a table cheering and shouting, watching two huge rats claw and bite each other. Creds were being thrown onto the ground by boys hoping that the vermin would make them a quick fortune. Across the room, on the far side of the reception, a group of men sat silently around a table in the black gloss uniform and white capes of the DPD and next to them, sitting by himself smoking a long, thin nic stick, was a face that Kessler recognised. The Venter officer from St John’s, who had so unhappily stood just feet away from him before the church’s altar, sat staring into space, lost in his thoughts. His sinister, ghoulish features and cyber-optic implant, which glowed red in the low light of the saloon, were hard to forget.
So the rumours were true, Kessler stared, shocked by what he was seeing. The Council were openly allying themselves with the Corps Boys. It must have been of great importance for them to risk tarnishing their clean image which they spent so much time, cred and energy trying to maintain. Kessler wiped his brow and steadied his breathing. Whatever it was it must be something big and he was just about to walk right in on it. He cleared his thoughts and reminded himself of the reason he was here. He needed to find out if the Corps Boys had any involvement in the death of Father Jacob and time was not on his side. He walked through the bar towards where the DPD were sitting and nervously touched his ear where the capsule was still generating his disguise and sat down on a stool. This part of the bar was half empty and, unlike the Corps Boys, most of the Venters sat in ordered silence, looking down at their drinks and mumbling under their breath. Both groups seemed to be keeping their distance from one another.
Kessler looked around for a barman to get himself a drink. His new look, which stared back at him from a mirror behind the bar, had got him this far and had not drawn the attention of any of the Venters from their drinks or their hushed conversations. He ordered a whiskey and made sure the barman left the bottle. He stared down at the brown, cloudy liquid swirling around in his glass. Finally he was beginning to feel at ease. He lifted the drink up to his mouth and let the burning liquid slowly spread its warmth through his body. It was not Piper’s but it would do. Downtown whiskey had a gritty, grubby texture to it and to begin with always felt as if it was burning a hole through your insides. It was nothing compared to the more gentle caress of the Midtown standard Kessler was used to, but he drank it anyway, enjoying every drop, every kick.
A Vent was sitting on a barstool next to him shouting for the barman’s attention. The flustered man appeared from around the corner, wiping his hands on a soiled apron. “You don’t take no notice of those kids, the law needs serving over here, if you know what’s good for ya.” Unlike his colleagues, his voice was loud, words emerging between drunken slurs.
“Of course sir, what can I get you?” The barkeep kept shooting worried glances over at the other side of the bar, towards the horde of drunken boys demanding his services.
“Ale. Make it quick!” He started laughing into his empty glass as the man scurried away to get his order then he turned towards Kessler, “I don’t know how you can stand drinking that lower-city muck, however, their beer is just about bearable.”
“I’ve had worse.” Kessler growled. Like most people on Dis, bounty hunters had no love of the law and he did not want to sound too eager in his attempts to garner information.
“Yes, I expect you have.” He thumped down hard his empty glass and took hold of the new bottle that had just been put in from of him. “You lot are used to the lower districts,” he sneered.
Kessler ignored the insult, “I did once taste a fine ale down these parts, a Christian church close to this sector, St John’s I think it was called, made quite a drink. Shame, heard it burnt down recently.”
“No place on Dis for preachers and cults. That’s the law.”
“True.” Kessler mused, “but shame the priest died taking his recipe with him. Now we’re stuck with this piss water.”
The Vent doubled over with laughter slamming his hand against the bar drawing glances from some of his colleagues, “He got what was coming to him.”
Kessler felt adrenalin pump through his system and mix with the warmth of the whiskey. He could sense he was close to an answ
er. He remained calm by pouring himself another drink and gulping down the entire contents of the glass. “Preaching under the nose of the Council, it was inevitable he would come to bother.” Kessler lied in mock agreement.
“Trying to brainwash citizens into wasting their time with his god. That old man should have known there is no place for preaching in these parts when you have this filth.” He held up his bottle of beer and took a long drink, “Now I’m in heaven!” Another burst of laughter followed, drawing a stern look from the Venter officer, his face a disgusted sneer.
Kessler waved over the barman and ordered another bottle for his new found friend who grinned back at him. “Probably good you got rid of him, less competition for Council booze. Although, like I say, that Holy Ale was damn fine.”
“Yea someone got him real good, saved us the bother.”
“You’re telling me you didn’t end him? C’mon I know you lot all too well.”
The Venter quietened down and through his drunken haze whispered slurred words. “His business was finished. His secret,” he looked around him as if worried others may be listening, “was chems from Meryll but we soon put a stop to his supply. All that was left to do was take him in but,” he burst into wild laughter, holding onto the bar to prevent himself falling off his stool, “like I say, someone else got to him before us. Very nasty end I hear. Serves him right, he was a chem head.
“What about these kids in Sunset? They seem to do what they want.”
“Not without our say so. No. It was probably some pissed chem dealer, anyway, we do not have time for Dreg priests with what is happening down below.” He hit the bar with his fist toppling his drink to the floor with a loud crash. “Now look what you made me do!” He paused and while swaying slightly from side to side squinted at Kessler, “Wait a minute, do you have a serious twitch or something? Your face, is like all flickering.”
Kessler quickly looked in the mirror. His face blinked slightly and the buzzing in his ear was becoming erratic. A quick look at the time told him he still had over an hour left. “Damn that Jimmy and his dodgy tech,” Kessler mumbled under his breath ruefully.
“Wait a minute, were you wearing a different coat a second ago? You’re all fuzzy.”
Kessler looked down at his chest. The holo suit was obviously failing. He had to get out of there fast. Turning back to his drunken companion, Kessler was greeted by the sight of the officer grabbing his colleague.
“Lieutenant Bane, I…”
“Get a hold of yourself Constable Illder.” Bane stuck him hard with his gloved hand and the man shrieked, “Get out of my sight.” His red optics turned towards Kessler who sat nervously on the stool, his hand moving quickly towards his carbine.
The detective got up to leave, everything around him was spinning as panic began to take hold of him. Looking around he could see the chaotic clamouring hordes of boys pushing to get served across the bar, the whimpering drunken Vent who was now holding his swollen face in pain, stumbling up the stairs and the officer standing before him, in his immaculate grey great coat and brimmed cap, despite the heat of the saloon. He raised a long thin hand to Kessler’s chest, “Going so soon? You have not finished your drink.” His mouth opened to reveal sharp, yellow teeth. Kessler could hear the whirling of gyros and cogs as his implants focused on him.
“Out of my way, Vent.” Kessler told himself to calm down, his only way out of this place was to keep faith in the dodgy tech and the docs Jimmy had given him.
“This place,” he looked Kessler up and down, his long spindly finger trailing slowly from his stomach to his chest, “is covered in filth. It disgusts me.” His head turned towards his departing subordinate, “It needs to be purged before it infects us all.” Kessler moved again to escape when the officer stepped close to him, barring his way. “Your face paint tells me, bounty hunter, that you are from the refined air of Hightown 3 but your accent, I just can’t seem to place it.”
Kessler cursed Jimmy again, he had told him his district tattoos placed him from Downtown. He looked around him, trying to buy time to think of a response. Most of the Venters sitting quietly at their tables were all staring at him. “Listen,” Kessler tried his best to put on the high nasal quality of Hightown, “this accent has been all over just like I’m going to be on you if you don’t get out of my way.”
“Yes, I suppose it has,” he began to chuckle to himself, a wheezing and rasping sound from the depths of his throat gurgled his pleasure. Suddenly, he stopped laughing and stood completely still and silent as he looked into the detective’s eyes. “That weapon you are carrying, it has been a long time since I have seen a Luther. Very rare indeed. Only awarded to those who have committed the finest of deeds.” He peered into Kessler’s eyes and nodded his head slowly, “It must have been a very difficult kill to take such a weapon as your own.”
Kessler looked down to see the chrome plate and glowing power cell of his carbine, still holstered by his waist, as his disguise flickered violently. He began to sweat. He stared at the gaunt face of Lieutenant Bane, his grey lifeless skin seemed stretched tight over his implants, dark purple veins pulsing just beneath the frayed surface. Moments passed. All Kessler could think about was the holo suit capsule that was stuttering for life in his ear. He had to get out of Hotel Sunset. Fast.
The detective made for the entrance hoping that the officer would not be quick to act on his suspicions. As he waded his way through the crowd he could hear his suit crack and fizzle as its power cell began to run dry. Kessler could feel the officer’s eyes boring holes into his back as he slowly barged his way through a wall of drunken Corps Boys. He could see the door to the outside world on the other side of the saloon, beyond the hundreds of shouting, brawling, wasted bodies. Looking behind him, the officer still stood by the bar staring at him, his fellow Venters now risen from their seats all stood around him. One of them turned and pointed towards the detective. Kessler wiped his brow, all around him faces, glazed drunken eyes, toothless grins, hooked noses and tattooed bodies all turned to stare at him. He began to feel claustrophobic. All seemed lost, his hand went to his ear and touched the power cell, hoping it would last. The Venters strode towards him and began to work their way through the crowd, catching up with him quickly as the mob parted more easily for them.
Suddenly the crowd lurched forward carrying Kessler with it towards the exit in a surge of bodies. He felt the holo suit fail with a loud pop followed by a burning sensation which made him clutch his ear in agony. He looked around the bar, desperate that no one noticed his changed appearance. The officers were in the centre of the melee, their barked orders at the hordes of boys who barred their way now lost in the din of the saloon. Still, despite the chaotic scene, the ghoulish red glow of Bane’s cyber optics were on him at all times. His face had a grim determined look, his jaw set. Kessler couldn’t help but nod his head towards the furious officer before donning his hood, stepping over a prone body which lay sprawled across the entrance, and making his escape.
Walking past the two guards, he exited the compound and quickly made for the safety of his junker. He continued to curse himself for using Jimmy’s second-rate tech and promised that he would think twice before trusting him again. Kessler looked back at the darkness behind him, checking for anybody following him. He was in no doubt that Bane would quickly send out a patrol after him. He grabbed the capsule from his ear and smashed it on the ground before jumping in his vehicle and making for Nimrod Heights.
NIMROD HEIGHTS
Kessler gripped the junker’s controls tight as he strained to concentrate, blinking repeatedly and wiping the sweat from his brow, trying to focus on the road. Every so often he looked behind, waiting to see the Venter’s Interceptors emerging from the darkness, sirens blaring, engines roaring. He could feel the clawing need for a hit of sim begin to bite at the back of his throat, the voice in his head trying to reassure him that it was the only way to clear his mind, think straight, defend his body against the blind
panic that was beginning to take hold. Questions crashed around his mind. Had the Vents seen through his disguise? Had the holo suit failed and revealed his face? Kessler was sure that it had. He cursed himself for his stupidity and smashed the console with his fist in anger, “Great Kes, just walk right into Sunset and ask a couple of questions, get some answers and stroll straight back out. Fantastic plan!” He shook his head, now that they had seen his face it would only be a matter of time before the DPD or, even worse, Councilmen picked him up off the streets. Using illegal tech, forging Council docs and gate crashing the Vents’ love-in with the Corps Boys, Kessler laughed at himself, he was done for, there was no escape, they had eyes everywhere. His thoughts went to Macy and he wondered if she could fend for herself, all alone in this city, if he was rotting in some Council cell. A fit of coughing interrupted his thoughts and the vehicle swerved suddenly as he reached for the medivent which was lying on the passenger seat. The canister’s rattle told him that it was nearly empty but he did not care. Long gulps from the medicated oxygen soon slowed his breathing, numbed his pain. After a few measured breaths he took hold of his Luther and laid it beside him, at the ready, just in case bad company was close by.
Nimrod Heights was a huge crumbling, decrepit tower block in Downtown 2, one of the many thousands which festered throughout a district where millions of Dregs lived out a meagre existence, left to rot by those living in the city above. The whole of Downtown was decaying under the feet of those citizens living above the Rim who were too focused on their own survival to care for those rotting in the depths below them.
