Hurt World One and the Zombie Rats (18 page)

Kaptu glanced at the empty bottle of Jack
Daniels on her desk. ‘That didn’t last long. But I can get more.
Maybe even enough to keep up.’ He noticed one of the surveillance
screens was trained on Mischa, who was idly watching Natalie’s
performance, interspersed with occasional head turning in the
direction Kaptu had gone. ‘You know he’s a cop. Thanks to him I’m
aware of the death squad coming this way. Obviously we need to
talk.’

Hannah stared at him in a hard, calculating
manner. ‘You like to live dangerously, don’t you?’

‘I am from Asylum City. I’m used to a little
danger. Perhaps, that’s why I’m less afraid of your boss than you
seem to be.’

‘Who are you talking about?’

‘The Meltman.’

Hana’s eyes betrayed her with another flash
of surprise. ‘Maybe I should just kill you now.’

‘That won’t get you anywhere. And if this bar
is all you’ve got, you really do need to keep moving. A front for a
crazed gangster who has not been above ground in a decade, do you
honestly expect to retire old?’

Hannah shrugged. ‘The money gets made at this
end. He needs me.’

‘Are you talking about the Heroin 3? I assume
so, considering all the dealers you have stopping in for a chat.
They’re as dangerous a bunch as Meltman. And they won’t all stay
happy forever. Especially not as I’ve taken it upon myself to close
your business down.’

Hannah’s mood darkened. ‘Is that so?’

‘Heroin 3 is produced through an interaction
of Heroin 2 and cobra venom, and the labs have so far failed to
produce a synthetic equivalent. Which means somewhere in the bowels
of Asylum City there are vast snake pits in which the cobras are
being farmed. My predecessor was thrown into one of these pits, to
face an end beyond imagination. That’s a score to be settled.’

‘You say it’s an end beyond imagination but
it may become an end you get to experience.’

‘Such risks won’t stop me. I’m going to
destroy Meltman’s subterranean lair and everyone in it.’ Kaptu sat
down on an orange plastic chair with weight absorption technology
that made him feel perfectly light. ‘But I like you. I’ve been
spending my days looking over the bar, getting a feel for the
place, deciding whether or not to make my proposal.’

‘What proposal?’

Kaptu gestured to the empty whisky bottle. ‘A
bar with a steady supply of old whisky will always prosper. I am
offering that. And the detective outside will provide
protection.’

Hannah extracted a green Cuban cigar from her
fluorescent yellow desk and lit it up. She sucked at it and exhaled
its greenish and heavily scented smoke. ‘And cuts?’

‘It’s your bar, you’ll take fifty
percent.’

‘It’s bound to be less than what I’m now
accustomed to with my other enterprises.’

‘Probably. But it might be a nice change not
being bound to a vicious killer.’

‘To a corrupt policeman instead?’

Kaptu smirked. ‘By Asylum City standards, I’m
quite decent.’

Hannah took another drag on her cigar. ‘What
about the daily running of the bar? Having gangsters as frequent
visitors is one thing, but police officers is another matter
altogether.’

‘It’s a long distance relationship I have in
mind.’

‘Are you sure? You seem to be getting pretty
close with Natalie.’

‘I’m going to get busy in Asylum City and I
doubt she’ll want to come back.’

‘You’re right about that.’

‘Which means you’ll be making the trip on
your own.’

Hannah coughed on her smoke. ‘What?’

Kaptu placed on the desktop a small glass
vial. ‘This is how we bring down an empire.’

‘Poison?’

‘Poisons have antidotes. But this is
unstoppable. It’s a scent marker. And I have the world’s best
signature dog to track it.’

‘Metlman’s scent?’

‘That’s the problem. Hiding away in his
subterranean world, we’ve never been able to get a sample. So,
we’ll bring the sample to him.’

Hannah picked up the glass vial curiously.
‘Whose scent is it then?’

‘Another criminal. Of no real consequence.
But my signature dog is locked onto her and thanks to an ugly
incident in South America we do have her scent bottled. I’ve been
told it’s been enhanced a hundred times stronger than normal. Which
means, if you can get it on Meltman’s skin, all we’ll need to know
is the starting location. Then we’ll go in there and take him.
He’ll have nowhere to hide.’

‘Getting it on him won’t be easy. Have you
thought about that?’

Kaptu shrugged. ‘I’ve never met him socially.
I was hoping you might have an idea.’

‘Delivering your head in a box would be one
way to get an audience. Would you count that as meeting socially?’
Hannah broke into one of her very rare disarming smiles. ‘Don’t
worry, I have other ideas in mind as well.’

‘As soon as the scent-concentrate is applied
to her skin, you must contact me. I’ll stop whatever I’m doing and
rush there. The codename is Blast.’

‘Very well. I don’t see much alternative.
That policeman is from the Alpine Special Forces. They like to have
something to do and I’d rather it be drug dealers than me.’

‘You’re right, they do like keeping
themselves occupied. Which means it would be a good idea to call
off that hit team while you still can.’

‘While I still can? Unfortunately my
influence over the Meltman’s decisions is not as great as you seem
to think. And that’s why it won’t be me going to Asylum City.’
Hannah smirked. ‘But there is someone who could do what you need.
And she will agree to it if you ask her.’

Kaptu frowned. ‘Who?’

‘Natalie. You see, you’re not the only one
with a thing for her. At least your particular brand of feelings
could be described as natural.’

‘This sounds ominous.’

‘As ominous as it gets. Natalie is the
Meltman’s niece. He is completely besotted with her. He banished
her from Asylum City before he succumbed to his yearnings. The
Spanish Club is the perfect place for her exile because it is
easily explained to her mother.’

‘Meltman’s sister?’

‘That’s right. She dwells down in his
subterranean world, a general in his empire. Shally Nirajo.’ Hannah
slid the glass vial back across the desk. ‘It will be on your head
if you send her there. It could go very wrong. Putting her in the
Meltman’s way on the pretext of unrequited love.’ She pulled a
face. ‘It could go very wrong.’

16 Calls to the fray

The Space Weaver 180F was an awe-inspiring
sight upon its launch pad. The proton fusion rockets alone reached
the height of a five storey building. The white 8-tech polymer
fuselage contained windows of black glass through which a
contorting galaxy would soon be viewed. Despite it being a Saturday
evening, the preparations at its base were hectic as humans and
machines continued the enormous task of loading the Space Weaver
with a small city’s worth of supplies.

Mas was watching from the main observation
deck of what was the Belgium headquarters of the European Space
Agency. She was wearing a resplendent black evening dress and was
sipping gold champagne. The cosmetics was uncomfortably heavy upon
her skin. She stole a glance at her reflection in the observation
deck’s expansive windows. Her glittering evening dress and
impractical high heels epitomised the lengths she had been willing
to go to reach this point. When she realised she might soon be on
that rocket, hurtling through space her heart beat started to
quicken excitedly.

‘There you are,’ said Pierre Prian, stepping
out onto the observation deck through a sliding door, loud party
music coming with him until the door quickly closed again.
Well-groomed and wearing a suit of resplendent black silk, he
looked dashing, and very much at home in this unbearably formal
setting. He stopped beside her and sighed. ‘Such a shame. We go to
such lengths to look our best only for you to go and hide. It is
especially a shame for me because I felt quite nice having such a
fetching companion to show off. The best astronauts in the world
are just as easily impressed by these things as anyone else.’

‘I felt like being alone awhile,’ Mas
replied.

Pierre nodded and glanced out of the Space
Weaver. ‘Obviously someone contemplating getting on board that ship
has an affinity for solitariness. Or is that something you are
still asking yourself?’

‘Have you been able to get me on board?’

Pierre nodded. ‘I didn’t even need to call in
a favour. There are only so many murderers and rapists of a calibre
that courts can banish them to deep space. Having a volunteer at
your level of testing is too good to pass up on. Those are the
words of the European Space Commissioner herself. She will sign off
the boarding pass and waiver the usual psychological assessment -
because in this mission it is not particularly relevant. Those too
are her words.’

‘Thank you.’

Pierre frowned. ‘I would call in a favour for
you. I want you to know that. The Arsia Mons colony has a ten year
waiting list but I can get you on next month’s flight.’

Mas shook her head. ‘Mars won’t do it.’

Pierre gazed at the Space Weaver 180f and
sighed. ‘In that oversized piece of metal you are doomed never to
see Earth again. And there’s a real possibility no one on Earth
will ever know what happened to you. The chances of the Woerden T80
colony establishing itself are one in a million.’

‘Not bad odds considering there’s a hundred
billion planets out there. And it’s true it will take at least a
century before it is known if the colony has been successful. But
don’t you understand what is the prize? If humans can successfully
start up a self-sufficient colony on another life sustaining
planet, it will mean that humans as a species will never die. It
will be the ultimate achievement in human history.’

Pierre looked down at the flight preparation
on the steel launch site so far below the penthouse floor of the
forty level tower. ‘You can see they believe in it. Clinging to
existence with their well-ordered little routines. A colony of ants
with big dreams.’ Pierre sensed he was starting to rant and took in
a breath to slow his voice. ‘The cocktail party it seems is
similarly impressed with the idea. The Commissioner let it be known
to all of your wish to join the voyage and there was a burst of
applause around the room. I think you have just become the guest of
honour.’

Mas stared at him. ‘Well, I’m kind of busy.
There are things I need to do, people I should say goodbye to.’

‘I’m sure there are. But these are important
people to your ambition. And they’re polite enough not to openly
wonder who you really are. Share a few drinks with them. Among them
are some truly great astronauts. They haven’t ventured as far as
you are intending but it would be arrogant to think they’ve got
nothing to offer.’

Mas ran her fingers down her dress
self-consciously. ‘Alright then.’

Pierre took her arm and led her down a long
glass-floored race, back into the crowded sumptuously decorated
gala room. The revellers turned to Mas as one and broke into
spontaneous applause. Sparkling in the dazzling light of the
chandeliers were the champagne flutes saluting her, the jewelry
adorning the clapping hands and the perfectly denticed teeth of the
beaming smiles. She battled to keep herself upright and strong in
the face of it, but it was akin to standing up to a tornado.

‘Please forgive us if we have embarrassed
you,’ said a silver haired man with a kindly smile, pushing up to
take her hand with his voice loud for all to hear. ‘It is just that
we are so very glad to hear from our good friend Pierre the
terrific news.’

Mas realised it was the European Space
Commissioner, Geth Barzius. She had seen her enough in the media to
be certain of it. The first commander of the Jupiter 1 Space
Station. Not nearly as far as Mas was intending to go, but she
found herself warming to him sure enough.

‘I’m looking forward to it,’ she
murmured.

Barzius turned to address the crowd. ‘Here we
were fretting that all we had to entrust with the boldest voyage in
human history was a band of cut-throats and scumbags when
miraculously a free volunteer puts herself forward from amongst us.
Her testing was off the charts and yet the simple options were not
for her. A small blimp in deep space is destined to become her new
world and the reverberations this will have on ours will be beyond
imagination.’

The applause came again, louder even than
before. Mas nodded back with the best smile she could muster. All
the while she felt the distinctive vibration of her wrist
scrambler. It was yet another message from Jalanti.
Ship has left port. Come at once.

*

Like so many computer hackers, Rojas Hose did
not keep normal hours. And Renaissance did not want him to. She was
happy for him to sleep away his days and to keep such a low profile
that even after two weeks most of his colleagues on the Tower
Hotel’s twentieth floor were not even aware of his existence. She
believed that geniuses needed to be appreciated and not controlled
and so she pretty much allowed Rojas to run unchecked. Even if it
meant answering her door at three in the morning.

‘Who the hell is that?’ came a grumble from
the other side of the bed.

‘Go back to sleep, Devita,’ Renaissance said.
She put on her bathrobe and slippers and glanced one more time at
Rojas in the bedside monitor screen. He had long hair and was
wearing a Peace Keeper survival jacket with the sleeves cut off. He
was looking down at the ground like he always did when he was
concentrating. Renaissance went to the door and he immediately
looked up. Renaissance had never before realised his eyes were
blue.

‘Were you sleeping?’ Rojas said
awkwardly.