“Damn, these are heavy,” she said, regaining her balance.
“That’s why you’re here. You’re the muscle, remember?”
She smiled. “Smartass. How many do I have to carry?”
“As many as you can. Yun said we–”
He stopped suddenly and his head whipped toward the doorway. Talia turned and saw the big guy they’d seen at the panel of lights earlier, his large frame filling much of the doorway.
Behind him Talia could see two other men.
“Yeah, here they are,” the man said belligerently. “I figured they were up to something.”
12
Knile stepped out into Level Fifty-Three, one of the commercial hubs of Gaslight, and for once he didn’t feel like he was the centre of attention.
Lately it had seemed as though everyone had been against him. He’d gotten on the wrong side of the Enforcers again – nothing unusual about that – but he’d also had to contend with Alton Wilt’s men, and then the Consortium and the Redmen as well. Since his return to the Reach, everyone had seemed to want him dead for one reason or another, and that had not been a particularly pleasant situation to be caught up in.
Today, however, Knile sensed a shift in the attitudes of those around him. These people were wary, on edge, but none of them seemed to find Knile particularly interesting.
He wasn’t sporting a circular marking on his forehead.
I guess I should thank you for that at least, Children of Earth. I no longer feel like public enemy number one.
If Jozef Gudbrand and his followers had wanted to create unrest in the Reach, they had succeeded. Even though he had spoken to none of the people around him, Knile could sense the tension that had pervaded Gaslight. It was written across the commoners’ faces. It was in their eyes, in their suspicious glances. Conversations were stilted and terse, even perfunctory.
Knile decided that, like these others, he did not want to linger here longer than necessary. People who were skittish and on edge were often like sticks of dynamite, just waiting for an errant spark to set them off. He didn’t want to be around when the panic escalated, for obvious reasons.
In contradiction to other areas of Gaslight, the marketplace on Level Fifty-Three sported a relatively large crowd. Knile wasn’t hugely surprised by this; the marketplace was one of the more popular locations in all of Gaslight, containing many of the finest vendors the place had to offer. Aside from those bartering and purchasing goods, there was also a maintenance crew working on a camera in the ceiling, and several clumps of janitors who seemed to have gathered for their morning break. Their clothing was easily recognisable – grey coveralls with vertical yellow stripes across the shoulders and matching yellow station caps. They stood about their parked cleaning carts munching on sugary dirt-buns and sipping steaming brews, generally giving no indication that they were about to return to work any time soon. The behaviour was not unusual for cleaners in Gaslight – one look around at the state of the place was enough to suggest that they weren’t the most industrious folk – but Knile hadn’t seen this many in one place in a long time.
Perhaps with the recent unrest, he figured, there was a feeling among them that there would be safety in numbers.
Further afield, Knile could see a number of Enforcers gathered outside the Consortium office on the other side of the marketplace. In the past the Enforcers had been shunned by the Consortium, explicitly instructed to keep their noses out of business that was not theirs. It seemed that, since the recent attack, that mindset might have changed. There were around fifteen Enforcers spread out across the marketplace, scrutinising those passing by with a great deal of interest.
It seemed that Commissioner Prazor had finally come up with a response to the threat posed by the insurgents, although Knile wasn’t sure if it was going to help. The generally apathetic Enforcers were unlikely to withstand the fervour of Children of Earth should they be confronted with any kind of real threat.
“Dirt-buns, dirt cheap!” a young woman exclaimed at Knile’s side. He turned to see her brandishing a bun in each hand and waving them at him like she was directing a dirigible in for a landing. Behind her, the stall seemed to be running low, with only a handful left.
“No thanks,” Knile said, continuing on.
“You can’t resist the taste of these, I’ll bet!”
“They taste like dirt, lady.”
“C’mon, fella!” the woman said, crabbing after him. “Put some meat on those ribs of yours.”
Knile waved her away. “I said no.” He nodded at the cart. “Seems like you’re doing a fine trade without me, anyway.”
Although the buns were considered by some to be a staple in Gaslight, Knile had never really taken a liking to them. Low in nutritional value, the buns sometimes contained a bread-like interior, but more often than not consisted of large amounts of a synthetic, foamy material that was barely digestible. The hallmark of all variations of the dirt-bun was a sugary glaze that coated the outside, which seemed to Knile to merely be a way of trapping stray ants and moths that were unfortunate enough to wander too close.
Further into the marketplace he found the store he was looking for, a dingy little spare parts outlet that had been labelled Tech Paradise, complete with a cruddy neon palm tree that had dimmed to a shade of piss-yellow. There were more cleaners by the entrance, and Knile was forced to shoulder his way through the pack as one of them complained loudly about how his wife was eating him out of house and home.
“Goddamn janitor convention,” Knile muttered.
Inside Tech Paradise there were four rows of shelves filled with all manner of discarded technical goods – antennas, magnets, printed circuit boards, resistors, inductors, transmitters, and many different types of leads and adapters. The goods had all been ripped from old gear, of course, and much of it was useless, but for those with a keen eye there were always a few diamonds in the rough. Knile had been a regular here back in the day and he’d rarely been left wanting when searching for parts.
He found the first item on his EMP shopping list almost immediately, a transformer that fell within the specifications he needed. From a nearby box he also picked up two 5000 µF, 400 volt capacitors that suited his purpose. He scrounged through several more containers in search of a trigger mechanism, but he couldn’t find anything that was appropriate for the job. He realised that he could probably rip a trigger out of the gear back at Skybreach if necessary, and that it wasn’t essential that he locate one here.
He was about to begin searching for the next item when he heard a voice behind him.
“Knile?”
He turned and saw a man behind the counter staring at him over a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles. He was a swarthy man with black hair, and Knile recognised him immediately.
“Oh, hey Prasad.”
“It is you,” Prasad said, beaming at him from the other end of the aisle. “I thought you were dead, man.”
Knile began to walk toward him. “I’ve been hearing that a lot.”
“So, what happened? I haven’t seen you in… must be four or five years.”
Knile dumped the goods on the counter and offered Prasad a shrug.
“I guess I just needed a change of scenery for a while.”
Prasad raised his eyebrows appreciatively. “Don’t we all.” Something seemed to occur to him. “Hey, where’s that little honey that used to hang around with you? Gorgeous smile, long brown hair.”
Mianda.
Knile gave a little quirk with his mouth. “She’s long gone, Prasad.”
“Aw, shit,” Prasad said, snapping his fingers dejectedly. “Shot through, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s the way with the good ones, yeah? They never stick around.” He leaned across the counter and nudged Knile with his elbow. “I always thought she was too good for you anyway, man.”
“I guess so.” Knile pushed the parts across the counter in an obvious attempt to change the topic. “I’d
like to take these off your hands, if I could.”
“Of course, man, no problem.” Prasad picked up the transformer and tapped something into the terminal on the desk. “I tell you, it’s good to see one of my regulars come back.”
“Business slow?”
“You wouldn’t believe it. I’m going to have to shut my doors if this keeps up.”
Knile gave him a sad smile. “The place wouldn’t be the same without you, Prasad.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t suppose you have any copper wire lying around? I couldn’t see any out there–”
“For you, no problem,” Prasad said. He leaned down and rummaged under the counter. “I keep it here with me. Otherwise it can tend to go walking, if you know what I mean.”
He slapped a coil of glinting wire on the counter and pushed it across for Knile to see.
“I’ll never understand how you come by this stuff, Prasad,” Knile said. “You’re a life saver.”
“Copper? That’s easy, man. You wouldn’t believe how much wire is still out there. There’s a crew that moves around a few of the cities in the south, yanking out cables that have been sitting there for a hundred, two hundred years. Stuff was never taken out.” He spread his hands. “They bring it back here and it gets melted down over on Sixty-Three.”
“Yeah,” Knile said, running his eye over the wire. “This is good. Perfect.”
“Anything else?”
“I think I’m good, thanks.”
“Just swipe here, Knile.”
“Thanks.” Knile dabbed his cred chip at the sensor, then bundled the goods into his backpack.
“If that cutie turns up again, send her my way.”
“Sure will.”
Prasad gave him a wave as he began to walk away. “Hope to see you again soon, man.”
Outside, the cleaners hadn’t yet bothered moving, and Knile was forced to squirm through them once more. His eyes fell upon the sign for the grocery store, Ollie’s, on the other side of the marketplace, and beneath it the glowing ‘C’ that denoted the location of one of the Consortium consulates.
His mind was suddenly filled with images of the last time he had been here.
This was Jon Hanker’s consulate, the place where Knile had been issued with his passkey. The place where he had met Ursie.
This was, in many ways, the place where his last journey through the Reach had been irrevocably altered. He hadn’t known it then, but Ursie’s brief time with him would come to affect his life in many profound ways.
Was that only a week ago? It seems like a year.
He began to head away from the marketplace, but another thought occurred to him and he came to a halt. Something had been nagging at him since the meeting back at Skybreach, a recurring question that he couldn’t dispel. Neither Silvestri nor Askel had much intel on Habitat One at this point. There were no solid details on the number of Redmen they’d be facing or the conditions inside the habitat. Knile hadn’t even seen a floorplan yet. That disquieted him. He felt as though they were unprepared for that leg of the journey, that Skybreach would be stumbling into a situation that could unwittingly end in disaster. Sure, Aksel seemed confident that he would discover the information in time, but what if there was a way to shortcut the process?
Knile looked back at the consulate.
Hank had always been a good friend, and he loved a nice chinwag. Maybe if Knile spoke to him, there might be the opportunity to casually throw around a few questions pertaining to the habitat.
The old boy might let something slip.
Knile reached for his holophone. He still remembered Hank’s number from the old days. If he could come up with a–
Knile froze, his eyes locked on a narrow alleyway that adjoined the marketplace on a slanting angle. At the edge of it stood one of the janitors, a thin man with a black goatee, his head bowed as he spoke into a holophone. He glanced at Knile and then quickly averted his eyes, but Knile had already seen enough to know that something wasn’t right.
That brief exchange was enough to trigger alarm bells in Knile’s mind.
Suddenly it all began to make sense – the overabundance of janitors, the way they were clustered around the place making smalltalk. The proximity of the consulate. The look on the man’s face.
Those finely honed survival instincts that had protected Knile all these years were practically screaming at him to get the hell out of there.
This wasn’t a guy taking a break from his morning’s work. No way.
Something’s going down.
Knile strode over toward the man, and the janitor spied him from the corner of his eye as he spoke on the holophone. He turned his back and began walking down the alleyway in the opposite direction. Knile lifted his pace and the man glanced over his shoulder, still talking on the phone, and then Knile lurched into a run. The janitor did the same. He scrambled forward and leapt over a puddle of green fluid that was leaking from the ceiling, then stumbled as he hit the other side. Knile launched himself at the man and tackled him heavily to the ground. Both the janitor’s station cap and his phone went tumbling away across the alley floor and the man screamed in surprise.
Knile wrenched the man’s shoulder and pulled him onto his back, clutching his flailing wrists and forcing them to the ground. Knile opened his mouth to ask his first question, but with the cap dislodged he found that he already knew the answer.
The man bore a carving of a circle in his forehead.
“Oh, fuck.”
13
The man slithered out from under him, then got up and stumbled away, and Knile was too numb to even attempt to stop him.
Holy shit. They’re going to do it again. They’re going to do it again right now.
His first coherent thought after that was that he needed to get out of there, get as far away from the consulate as he could. If this attack panned out in much the same fashion as the first, there wasn’t going to be anyone left alive in this general vicinity in a few minutes’ time.
Then another idea occurred to him.
What if I could stop it?
Knile had never viewed himself as a hero or a martyr, but as he stood there contemplating what to do, he realised that it was in his best interests to thwart this attack if it was within his power to do so. If Children of Earth succeeded – if they forced the Consortium to somehow alter their mode of operation, things would become far more difficult for Skybreach. All of the time and energy that Skybreach had invested in learning the Consortium’s processes and systems might amount to nothing. Those very systems that Silvestri and the others had documented in fine detail might be tossed aside in order to cope with this new threat. If that were to happen, it could put a serious dent in Skybreach’s plans.
In short, it worked in Knile’s favour to keep the status quo.
He turned and forced himself to start walking back toward the marketplace. Each step felt as though he were edging ever closer to the lip of the volcano, toward impending disaster. The whole place might erupt any second, and, having foregone his chance to escape, he would be swept up in the maelstrom of fire and fury that had enveloped the last consulate.
He briefly wondered why the Enforcers hadn’t reacted yet, why they hadn’t realised something was going on, but he already knew the answer.
Because they’re lazy and stupid.
In Knile’s experience, very few of them had the instincts or the awareness to do the job effectively. Someone like Duran might have figured it out by now, but not these guys. The average Enforcer wouldn’t twig to a threat until it reared up and kicked them in the face.
You have to keep going. Warn the Enforcers.
He could see the janitors still out there in the marketplace. It seemed no one had noticed his scuffle with the man in the alleyway; at the very least they hadn’t reacted to it yet. Perhaps there was still time.
But how was he supposed to deal with the Enforcers? Approaching them directly would be sheer madness. Why would they believe anythin
g Knile Oberend said? It was more likely that someone would recognise him after the events of the past couple of weeks and arrest him. Surely at least one of them would have seen his face on the bulletins that would have undoubtedly gone out after the events in the Atrium and the ground floor gates.
If the Enforcers put Knile in cuffs, he would probably die here with them.
Still trying to figure out what to do, he stepped out into the marketplace and tried not to make eye contact with the janitors. He didn’t want them to know that he understood what was going down. That might just stir them into action more quickly.
Do something. C’mon, think!
He looked around for ideas, and his eyes fell upon the Consortium logo once more.
Hank. Tell Hank. He’ll believe you.
Knile gripped his holophone and punched a series of digits onto the screen – Hank’s old number.
He only prayed that it hadn’t changed.
The phone began to ring. One of the janitors nearby was staring at him oddly and so Knile turned and began to walk back into the alleyway again.
“C’mon, Hank. Pick up the phone. Pick up the goddamn–”
“Good morning, Consulate Seven.”
“Hank?”
There was a brief pause, and then Hank’s face appeared on the screen. He looked unflustered and relaxed, his grey beard neatly trimmed as usual, not a hair out of place.
“Knile, it is you. I thought I recognised the voice.”
“Hank, listen to me, you’ve got to–”
“How are you doing, buddy? Where are you?”
“Hank, just shut up and listen. I’m right outside the consulate. Your consulate. The insurgents are out here. Children of Earth.”
“Huh? Hold up there a minute, I–”
“Hank, just listen!” he practically shouted. He glanced out surreptitiously into the marketplace again. “The insurgents are here, Hank. They’re disguised as janitors. My guess is that they might have concealed weapons in their cleaning carts.” Hank was staring at him, perplexed. “Are you hearing any of this?”
Skybreach (The Reach #3) Page 9
