Ash in the Blood

by Lyn Forester

  At the next room, Drake’s heart skips with excitement. The Hut’s aphremore reservoir. Purely functional, the cylindrical glass container fills the large space. Hoses stick out the back to disappear into the wall. They’ll lead to a smaller, more decorative, reservoir in the club itself.

  Reagen breaks their long silence. “How much should be in there?”

  “Based on last month’s report, it should still be a quarter full.” He points to the marker etched into the side of the container. “The Hut won’t receive a refill until day one hundred, based on rate of consumption.”

  “Huh.” Reagen paces around the empty vat to peer at the siphon hoses at the back. “How much Ash do you think he could make with a quarter of the vat?”

  “More than we’ve seen on the street so far.” Grim, Drake waits while Reagen pulls out her palm-port and takes pictures for evidence.

  “Hopefully he hasn’t made his big distribution yet.” She steps close to the container to record the small traces of iridescent liquid at the bottom, too low for the hoses to pull out. “There were crates at the warehouse.”

  “I’ll call in a team to go there now. Watch the door.” Once Reagen takes up a lookout position, Drake shoots off a quick message to Black Corporation with coordinates and instructions. “If Troy’s not here, hopefully they’ll catch him at the warehouse.”

  “We should send people to his house, too.”

  “Good idea.” Drake sends off another message before he puts his palm-port back in his pocket. “Ready for the last door?”

  “So excited.”

  Her calm voice belies the statement, and Drake smiles. This is, without a doubt, one of the most boring takedowns he’s ever participated in. “Hey, we were shot at.”

  “Once.”

  “It still counts.”

  “Hardly.”

  “You’ve had enough excitement for the day.” He pops an elbow out for a nudge, and she steps into the hall to avoid him. “But if it helps, I’ll find a dumpster for you to jump into when this is done.”

  She flips him off in answer.

  “Too soon?” He takes up position at the last door, hand on the knob as he waits for Reagen to take her place.

  Psy-gun up, shoulder to the wall, she nods.

  A tiny, empty office greets them. Drake frowns. “This is so not what I hoped for.”

  His partner paces inside, circles the small desk, just wide enough to fit a chair under. “Think it’s Troy’s personal guard’s office?”

  “Could be.” Drake hovers in the doorway to avoid crowding her. When she opens a drawer in the filing cabinet against the wall, it stops halfway as it hits the edge of the desk.

  She frowns, lips a pink blur through her face mask. She bends to open another drawer, then another. “They’re all empty.”

  “Most records would be on a desk-port.” He glances at the empty surface of the desk. “Might have been stolen during the break-in.”

  Reagen walks to the left wall and paces across the short space to the right. “Twenty-five.”

  “Huh?” He stares at her in confusion as she taps against the wall. “Twenty-five what?”

  She moves along the wall. Tap, tap, tap. “Twenty-five paces to Troy’s office. Twenty-three to this wall.” Tap, tap, tap. She stops in front of the file cabinet. “Little over three feet of missing space.”

  “And Troy’s furniture was out of place in his office.” Drake moves into the room as Reagen runs her fingers along the edge of the cabinet. After a moment of searching, a quiet click sounds, and the cabinet slides aside.

  Behind it, a short doorway cuts into the wall. Drake bends to peer inside the dark space. To the right, light shows at the end of a short tunnel. “Well I’ll be damned.”

  Reagen crouches to peek inside. She holsters her psy-gun and holds out a hand. “Give me some flash tape.”

  Drake pulls a long strip off and passes it to her. She lays it against the side of the cabinet, where hidden casters allow the heavy piece of furniture to slide easily. As she pulls the silver backing off the tape, smoke fills the room as metal melts.

  She tosses the backing aside and gives the cabinet a shove to make sure it can’t move.

  He grunts. “Good idea.”

  No way they’ll get locked inside the wall now.

  She eyes the black hole. “You want to go first?”

  “Not really.” But he steps inside anyway. Once through the short opening, he stands to his full height, the ceiling well above his head.

  The narrow space, just wide enough for his shoulders, dead-ends at his back. In the other direction, faint light comes from around a corner, where the hidden hall turns right to follow the building’s exterior wall behind Tony’s office. Cool air brushes across his face. He holds his breath to listen, but only the faint noise of the club below reaches his ears.

  Psy-gun raised, Drake creeps forward on silent feet. At the corner, he glances back to find Reagen inside the wall. As she moves toward him, her eyes skim floor and ceiling. She freezes, one foot forward, gaze locked above his head as she holsters her psy-gun. He peers up, squinting at the darkness overhead.

  Nothing jumps out, but Reagen sees something, and he trusts her. Out of her pocket comes the black rectangular device, and she takes a minute to fiddle with the knobs before she presses the top button once more. The pale hint of light flickers, pitching them into complete black for a moment. When they come back on, she nods and motions him to check the corner.

  He crouches to peek around. Empty.

  He pulls back and stands. In a whisper, he says, “Long hall, six feet wide, stairs down at the end. Might drop behind the candy room downstairs.”

  “The schematics of the building showed a storage space back there.” Fingers tap against her left thigh as she thinks. “Access to the back alley, where Henly saw the delivery truck. Half the size of the shop downstairs. Might have hired muscle down there, but the room is small. They’ll be outside, either in the stairs or alley, if there are any. Maybe one in the room.”

  That would be a hassle. “Think Troy could afford more people?”

  She stills, head down. Black strands of hair fall to hide her face. He gives her time as he peeks back around the corner. Still clear. But someone is bound to notice the extra security system went down.

  Finally, her head lifts. “Jerald was at the warehouse. I remember his voice. He had another man with him, might have been one of the guards we already took down.”

  “Only two disc-bikes left the warehouse in pursuit of your friend.” He waits a beat to see if she’ll confirm his suspicion. With the limited amount of light though, he can’t see any subtle flickers of response. Her face remains impassive. “Troy’s probably running this with a skeleton crew.”

  “I agree it’s the most likely scenario.” She fiddles with the straps on her face mask and rolls her shoulders. “We’ll take it slow, just in case.”

  “Want to go first?”

  She moves forward far enough to peek into the hall beyond. “Why me first?”

  “You’re smaller, harder to hit.”

  “But I like using you as a shield.” She slides around the corner, out of view. He swings into the hall, psy-gun leveled on the stairs. She moves fast, knees bent as she covers the distance in a matter of heartbeats. Shoulders pressed to the wall, she peers down the stairs. A hand comes up, motioning him forward. Slightly slower, but just as silent, he joins her to hug the wall on the opposite side.

  The empty stairwell ends at a door. The frame around it, swollen and bowed inward, prevents it from closing all the way. Light spills out of the opening, the source of illumination.

  Reagen steps forward, and Drake motions for her to stop. She freezes, foot poised midair. He waves her back, head cocked. The faint noise comes again, a quiet scuff of shoe against floor.

  A voice floats up the stairs, the polished tones roughened as the man speaks. “Troy, please reconsider. If you turn yourself in, Black Corporation will show le
niency.”

  Reagen turns to mouth, “Newland.” Drake nods. The older man sounds worse for wear as he pleads with his captor.

  Hysterical laughter greets the statement, followed by another scuffing noise.

  Reagen moves onto the stairs, scurrying down them with Drake hot on her heels. A high-pitched buzz fills his ears as they near the door. It itches at his eardrums, and he fights the urge to shake his head.

  Horror fills him, and he lunges forward to grab Reagen’s jacket. He yanks his partner back, slamming her down as he throws his body on top of her. The concussive whomp of the explosion blows the door closed, containing the damage.

  Ears throbbing, he lies still, stunned by the sound.

  Reagen wiggles beneath him, hands pushing at his shoulders as she moves him off of her. As she sits up, she probes the back of her head. She probably hit it on the stairs when he tackled her.

  Concerned, he reaches for her, and she waves him off. “I’m fine.”

  The words sound muffled. He rubs his ears and peers around for his psy-gun. It rests in front of the door, orange light glaring at him in reprimand for dropping it. When he stands, it takes a moment to be steady on his feet as the world tips sideways. The bomb took his equilibrium with it. Reagen takes a second longer to gain her feet, hand still at the back of her head.

  He leans forward, face close to hers, and peers at her eyes. Pupils look good, but she could still have a concussion. “You sure you’re okay?”

  The words vibrate in his throat, but don’t reach through the waves of his pulse that fill his ears. Reagen doesn’t seem to have the same problem because she nods with a wince as her hand drops to her side. She moves down the steps to place the back of her hand against the door.

  After a moment, she steps back, squats to retrieve his weapon, and brings it back to him. “It’s not hot, no fire. Probably the same type of device that took out the drug dealer.”

  Drake reaches up to make sure his mask still covers his face as he eyes the door. His pulse pounds harder, distracting as it crashes inside his head.

  The air could be filled with aphremore.

  Newland could still be alive in there.

  Waiting for human backup would be safer for them, but not for the man inside. If the bomb didn’t take him out, he could be wounded and bleeding to death while Drake hesitates. He glances at his partner. She stands back, face impassive as she waits. Left to her own devices, she’d probably choose to wait. But if he moves forward, she’ll go with him. He feels that in his bones. She has his back. He wasn’t sure how it happened, or even when, but they’d become a team like what he used to have back in his gang days.

  Which makes the decision harder. As a halfbreed female, she’s in more danger from the drug. He doesn’t want to risk her for Newland. His shoulders tense with the realization as he decides to potentially leave the other man to die.

  Reagen’s hand squeezes his shoulder for a moment, as if aware of his decision. Then she steps in front of him and slams her foot into the door, just below the knob.

  It flies inward, bounces off the wall, and comes back. She catches it before it can slam shut again, hand shaky as she places it against the solid surface to hold it open. With a push of her fingers, the door swings inward once more to reveal the room.

  Debris litters the floor, glass shards glittering among chunks of metal and melted black plastic. The damage seems to be the worst on the right, where crimson splashes the walls and ceiling. The rush of blood fades from his ears as he takes in more of the scene. Meaty viscera plops down from overhead to land on a group of large blue barrels shoved against the wall. One, tipped on its side, spills clear granules out. Two pieces of a table lie on opposite sides of the room, tops blackened and metal legs twisted from the explosion.

  Drake moves to stand next to Reagen, focus on the opposite side of the room. In the center of the wall, a bar rests across the front of a heavy metal door. Next to it, discoloration in the paint shows where a shelf stood. The blast must have toppled it over. It lies on the ground, the base higher off the ground than the top. Black slacks and a pair of polished shoes stick out from the side, the rest of the body buried beneath the shelf.

  He nudges Reagen, and she nods, having spotted the same thing. Cautious, they move into the room. Glass crunches and rolls under his feet as they make their way over. Reagen goes to the door first to check its security. Shaking the bar, it stays in place, door locked tight. She holsters her psy-gun as she moves to crouch next to the shelf. He holsters his own weapon and kneels to grip the opposite side. Together they heave it straight up.

  Newland lays squashed beneath it, hands tied behind his back. Blood trickles from his hairline, turning the silver strands at his temples red. Reagen nudges his shoulder with her foot, not hard, but enough to shake his body. The older man groans, eyelids fluttering, then stills. They move the shelf off to the side and set it down.

  “We have to call this in, if someone hasn’t already,” Reagen murmurs, distracted, as her gaze travels around the room once more. With Newland verified as alive, her interest leaves him. “Do you want to call in a Black Corp cleanup crew now? Or wait until the blue guards process the scene?”

  He bends to check Newland’s head to verify all the blood is just from it being a scalp wound. Satisfied the man won’t die, Drake stands and peers around. “Kidnapping is blue guard jurisdiction.”

  With slow steps, she walks toward the explosion site. “Turf wars between drug dealers fall within Black Corp’s purview.”

  “It’s a clusterfuck all around.” Drake scrubs a hand over the back of his head, fingers tripping over the strap of his face mask. “Why would Troy blow himself up?”

  She turns to raise an eyebrow at him. “Really?”

  “Okay, yeah. Stupid question.” Black Corp’s policy on traitors would make anyone choose suicide as a more pleasant option. He digs his palm-port out of his pocket and sends out a request that a cleanup team be sent to their coordinates. “Blue guard should be fine with a report. A Black Corp team will be here in twenty minutes.”

  “Sounds good.” Reagen unlashes the satchel from her thigh and opens it to pull out a pair of gloves, then crouches in the center of the blood splatter.

  Before Drake can put his palm-port away, it buzzes in his hand. Frowning, he hits the answer button. “Esten speaking.”

  “Mr. Esten, sir, we found it!” Sub Timothy’s overeager voice chirps from the other end.

  The headache hovering in Drake’s head throbs to life at the high-pitched voice. In the background, shouts echo around a large space and an engine revs. Who let the kid go on the warehouse run? He was supposed to be stuck at a desk right now, writing up a report Drake no longer needed.

  Drake unclenches his teeth. “You found the Ash?”

  “An entire cycle’s worth of it! They had it created up here and ready for distribution!”

  “Good work, Tim.” He gives Reagen a thumbs-up. “Have it sent to the head office. I’ll deal with it from there.”

  “Yes, sir!” The kid pants into the phone. “This was really exciting, Mr. Esten. I’d like more fieldwork added to my training!”

  “We’ll discuss it at evaluation, Tim.” No way this kid would get more field training.

  “Thank you, Mr. Esten!” The line goes dead, and Drake shoves his palm-port back in his pocket.

  “Sub Timothy?” Reagen asks, eyebrows pinched. “The redhead?”

  “That’s the one.” He rolls his neck, trying to push back the pain in his head.

  “Isn’t he a bit . . .”

  “Yeah, and he’s not improving. I need to have a long talk with whoever invited him along today.”

  “Hmm.” Her focus returns to the pile in front of her.

  Curious, he moves to join her as she sifts through a pile of plastic parts. “What do you have?”

  She pauses in the middle of pushing charred chunks around and lifts a piece out of the mess. “Bomb parts.”

  �
�Well, yeah. We already know there was a bomb.”

  “No.” She digs in the pile and lifts out another piece, the same shape as the first. “Multiple bomb parts. This is where they were built.”

  “Makes sense if Troy was putting suicide bombs on his dealers.”

  “Yeah.” Shoulders tense, she sets the piece aside to pushes through more of the debris. “But where are the datbands?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The dealer. His was connected to a datband.” She stands and walks to another pile and uses her toe to nudge through it. “I saw it flash before the bomb went off. Remote trigger.”

  Drake stares at the unrecognizable pile of debris. “Could they have blown up with everything else?”

  She rubs black soot from her fingers. “Yeah. Or he ran out. They’re expensive, and Troy’s funds are limited.”

  Her head drops for a moment, and she rubs her eyes. Concerned, he touches her shoulder with light fingers. “Hey, you sure you’re okay? Did the explosion knock your head wound open again?”

  She glances up at him, her lips a pink twist inside her mask. “Don’t you mean ‘Did my throwing you onto the stairs knock your head open again?’”

  “I choose to blame the explosion.”

  “I choose to blame the person who threw me.”

  “So do I.” He lifts his eyebrows, just in case she doesn’t catch his meaning. “Still think you should have seen a doctor.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “So you say.” Drake shrugs and lifts a large half globe of glass off the floor, shockingly intact among the other shattered pieces. He holds it out. “Part of the crystallizer.”

  “I’d bet credits that’s plaszine.” She points a slender finger toward the tipped-over barrel. “The others probably hold vegetable powder for bulking up the Ash.”

  As she paces around the scene, her shoes make sticky noises as the drying blood clings to the bottom of her sneakers. “I don’t see the parts needed for a camera-disabling device.”

  He stares at her in confusion. “The what?”

  “Like the one on top of Pink Skirt that took out the cameras around Tony’s Delicatessen.” Restless, she paces the room again. “And what about Lemon Chiffon?”