Silent Order: Axiom Hand Page 6

  But the Machinists hadn’t used drugs on March when they had converted him into an Iron Hand. No, he had been awake and screaming for the entire…

  He pushed aside the thought.

  “What next?” said Dredger.

  “We backtrack Mr. Reimer’s activities,” said March.

  He did a perfunctory search of the bedroom and the attached bathroom, but aside from a variety of mold and a toilet that had never been cleaned, he found nothing useful. March walked back to the living room and sat down, powering on Reimer’s computer. The screen came to life, and the first thing that March saw was a remarkably flexible naked woman performing a yoga pose. Reimer’s desktop image, no doubt. Icons for various video games littered the desktop, and March opened Reimer’s message application.

  Something chimed next to Reimer’s computer.

  “That’s a phone,” said Dredger.

  “Yeah,” said March, pushing aside some empty food wrappers. There was indeed a phone plugged into the computer. A charging icon appeared on the phone’s display. “He’s been gone long enough that the capacitors went flat. The phone started charging when I powered up the computer.” He slid the phone to the edge of the desk. “Go through that and see if you can find anything useful.”

  Dredger grunted, sat down, and picked up the phone. “Let’s see…looks like he didn’t bother to encrypt this properly.” He tapped at the phone for a bit. “He’s using ninety-three percent of the internal storage. Video files. Ha! Three guesses as to what kind of videos.”

  “I wouldn’t take that bet,” said March, scrolling through the messages. He paused long enough to plug a blocky black device into the computer. It chirped a few times, and then blue lights began flashing on its side. The device would capture the contents of Reimer’s computer, and March could take them back for analysis. Tolox had other operatives who could go over the information closely and look for anything useful.

  “Idiot,” muttered Dredger, shaking his head. “Left his banking app open. Suppose it would be helpful if he suddenly received large sums from mysterious sources.”

  “That’s how this sort of thing usually works,” said March, scrolling through the messages. Unfortunately, that did not appear to be the case this time. Reimer had received statements from the Central Bank of Rustaril in his messages, and the statements looked utterly unremarkable. His only source of income was the money he received every month from the Renarchist government due to his status as a Citizen, along with his monthly allowance of Sugar, and Reimer spent most of his money on food, drink, and video games.

  March frowned, looking at the more recent messages.

  A new expense had come into Reimer’s life.

  “Deveraux’s Video Parlor,” said March.

  “Yeah,” said Dredger. “I see that on his banking app. Looks like our boy made some new friends before he turned into a cybernetic spider.”

  “What is a video parlor?” said March. Based on the Companions and Reimer’s desktop images, March suspected it would probably be something banned as grossly offensive to public morals on Calaskar.

  “Video games,” said Dredger.

  “Eh?” said March.

  “It’s kind of like a bar or a club,” said Dredger. “People get together, get drunk and eat junk food, and place wagers on video games.”

  “Really,” said March. He’d never heard of that, and the idea held little appeal to him. The thought of holding a controller and mashing buttons for hours on end was not the sort of thing he enjoyed, and he wouldn’t enjoy watching someone else do it.

  “Yeah,” said Dredger. He warmed to the topic. “Every world has its own sport, right? They’re mad for soccer on Calaskar and a bunch of other worlds. Football and basketball some other places. Hell, even the Kezredites have gladiatorial games. But can you see the average Rustari Citizen running up and down a soccer field?”

  “No,” said March.

  Dredger bobbed his head. “The national sport here is video games. The big one is Renarchist Hero. First-person shooter, and you run around mazes and industrial sites or whatever shooting regressives and counter-revolutionaries. The top players make big money in endorsements and get special privileges from the government.” He leaned forward. “You know, I used to be globally ranked at Renarchist Hero. You have to be in the top five thousand players to do that.”

  “Really,” said March again. “What were you ranked?”

  Dredger laughed. “#4,997. Not a lot of endorsement money at that level, let me tell you.”

  “Deveraux’s Video Parlor,” said March. “It’s like a…sports bar, yeah? People go there and place bets on the gaming tournaments?”

  “And get drunk in the process,” said Dredger, looking back at Reimer’s phone. “Looks like our friend really got into organized gaming about…six months ago, seems like. Started going to Deveraux’s every week and placing bets.”

  “I don’t know anything about organized video gaming tournaments,” said March. “But I do know that wherever there is gambling on organized sports, there is organized crime.”

  “Oh, yeah. You’re catching on to the way things work here,” said Dredger. “All the gaming leagues are crooked as a bent screw. So long as the Securitate commissars get their cut, they look the other way. Maurice Deveraux is one of the big fish. He owns the club and fixes some of the Renarchist Hero tournaments. He’s also got his fingers in a dozen other illegal pies – smuggling and drugs and occasional kidnapping and human trafficking, that kind of thing.”

  “Kidnapping,” said March. “One of the Machinists’ favorite tactics is to gain control of organized crime groups or hire them as local mercenaries.” He pointed at the computer screen. The messages app showed that Reimer had subscribed to the newsletter of Deveraux’s Video Parlor, which offered coupons and special deals. “So, Philip Reimer turns into a new kind of Machinist drone, but before that, he frequents a club owned by an organized crime syndicate.”

  “Hell of a coincidence, isn’t it?” said Dredger.

  “Yeah,” said March. “In this business, coincidences aren’t a good thing. How far is it to Devereaux’s Video Parlor from here? I want to have a look around.”

  “About twelve, fifteen miles,” said Dredger. “It’s over right on the edge of the industrial districts. Trouble is, you and me, we’re both obviously outworlders. We’ll stick out there. Organized video game tournaments are the kind of things that the Rusties enjoy, but it doesn’t draw many outworlders.”

  “Does Tolox Vending have any machines in the area?” said March.

  “Tolox Vending has machines everywhere,” said Dredger. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I ought to know. When I’m not doing this kind of thing for the boss, I spend all day driving around in circles fixing the damned things.”

  “Then you’re in the neighborhood for a repair job,” said March, “and you stopped in for a drink.”

  Dredger grunted. “Yeah, that should work. Even the Citizens who have jobs tend to take three or four hours for lunch breaks. It’s why nothing ever gets done around here if you don’t pay bribes.”

  “Take his phone.” March removed the scanning device from Reimer’s computer and tucked it into his pocket. “Maybe Tolox has someone who can get more off it, but…”

  He paused as he started to rise. A glint of metal beneath the desk had caught his eye. It was an empty Sugar canister, which seemed out of place. To judge from the heaps of Sugar canisters in the bedroom, Reimer had preferred to use Sugar while in bed. March hadn’t seen any empty canisters in the living room. Maybe Reimer had brought this one out here to use it as a waste bin. Though to judge from the garbage strewn on every flat service, Reimer didn’t seem the sort to put his trash in the proper receptacle.

  “What is it?” said Dredger.

  March reached with his left hand and picked up the canister. “All of Reimer’s other Sugar containers are in the bedroom. Why’s this one out here?”

  Dredger shrugged. “He fe
lt like taking a hit of Sugar while playing video games?”

  “Maybe.” March examined the canister, and something odd caught his attention. All the other Sugar containers he had seen in Reimer’s apartment had a grayish-white residue inside. This one didn’t.

  The residue was a harsh orange color. Almost like a traffic cone.

  “Isn’t dry Sugar residue usually white?” said March.

  “Or kind of grayish,” said Dredger. “Depends on how long it’s been left to dry.”

  “Does it ever turn orange?” said March, tilting the canister towards Dredger.

  Dredger’s blunt features screwed up with confusion. “No, it doesn’t. What the hell is that stuff?” He started to reach for the orange residue.

  “Don’t,” said March.

  Dredger blinked, and then grimaced and withdrew his hand. “Yeah. Rookie mistake. Running your fingers through an unknown substance is a great way to get killed.”

  March nodded and got to his feet, still holding the empty canister. “Let’s take this as well. Maybe Tolox has someone who can look at it.”

  “She does,” said Dredger. “Do you think this has something to do with Reimer going berserk?”

  March shrugged. “It might. Or maybe he ate too much of something with orange food coloring and vomited into the canister.” He frowned. “Are there are ever problems with the Sugar? Or with people tampering with it or undercutting the price?”

  “Never. At least not that I’ve ever heard of,” said Dredger. “It’s one of the few things the government manages to do efficiently. Makes sense, I suppose, if you think of the Sugar as a drug and the government as a drug cartel. Anyone tried to mess with the Sugar, the government would come down on them like a ton of bricks. And why undercut it or tamper with it? The Republic gives it to the Citizens for free. Can’t undercut free.”

  “Suppose not,” said March. “Let’s pay a visit to Deveraux’s Video Parlor. I want to have a look around.”

  “A drink couldn’t hurt,” said Dredger.

  March checked through the door’s peephole to make sure the corridor was empty, and then slipped through the door, Dredger behind him. March locked the door behind them, and they stripped off their masks and gloves. Dredger led the way back down the stairs to the lobby. No one interrupted them, and in short order, they climbed into the van and drove away.

  ###

  As promised, Deveraux’s Video Parlor was a long way from the apartment tower.

  It sat on the edge of Rykov City’s industrial district, and Dredger drove through miles of industrial blocks. Some of the massive factories still operated, the automated equipment turning out goods for the native Rustari population, but most of the buildings looked abandoned and decaying. March wondered how many criminals had set up shop in the abandoned factories. They would make a superb base for clandestine activities. Hell, if this mission went bad, March suspected he could evade detection for weeks in the maze of crumbling factories.

  Deveraux’s Video Parlor sat in a parking lot next to an abandoned factory so large it looked as if a capital starship had landed on the planet’s surface. The Video Parlor was in a much better condition that the crumbling concrete and metal labyrinth of the factory. It was a long, sleek black building that rose five stories tall, and it put March in mind of a combined hotel, restaurant, casino, and convention center.

  The parking lot was large to make room for the electric carts of the Citizens as they left their cars and rode to the building. March already saw a steady stream of electric carts heading through the gleaming glass doors, along with more Administrators than he would have expected. Evidently, even the Administrators could set aside their disdain for the common Citizens long enough to gamble on tournaments of Renarchist Hero.

  “Both of us are going to stand out here,” said March with a scowl.

  “Little bit,” said Dredger. “But a few outworlders turn up from time to time. We buy some drinks, place a few bets on the games, and stay out of trouble, we’ll be fine. You should be able to get a good look at Deveraux and his boys. This time of night, he likes to put in an appearance, maybe shake a few hands and hand out a few drink coupons. That way no one can accuse him of being regressive in his attitudes towards common Citizens.”

  March nodded and got out of the van, checking his weapons and his tools beneath his coat. They joined the crowd heading for the door. Both the Final Consciousness and the Silent Order had trained him to remain inconspicuous while doing missions, which given his height and size was sometimes difficult. But here he felt especially obvious. Most of the crowd drove those electric carts with metal Sugar cylinders affixed to the side, and the men driving those carts easily weighed two and a half times as much as March. The Administrators went on foot, and while the Citizens tended towards morbid obesity, the Administrators were emaciated and gaunt. Even without the use of his cybernetic left arm, March doubted that a single one of them could have threatened him physically.

  Both he and Dredger quite clearly did not fit in.

  Yet no one noticed. At first, March blamed that on the Sugar-induced apathy, but then he realized that both the Citizens and the Administrators were excited. The Citizens had dyed their hair and even their scraggly beards bright blue or vivid green. While the Administrators all had the same solemn gray uniform, they wore bracelets of either green or blue on their left wrists. March realized that the gaming tournament must have been divided into blue and green teams, and so the Video Parlor’s patrons had shown up with the colors of their team.

  March expected to find bouncers at the door, but there were none. This wasn’t a spaceport bar, and the Citizens likely were too lethargic to cause much trouble. Beyond the doors, the Video Parlor was cavernous, with ample space between the tables to allow electric carts to maneuver. The far wall was a massive window with an uninspiring view of the abandoned industrial complex, a broad dais for live bands or presenters stretched beneath it. Raised balconies rose on either side of the room, with lift elevators for electric carts, though mostly Administrators sat up there. Huge screens hung from the balconies and the walls, showing advertisements for Renarchist Hero and sponsored products. Booths lined the walls beneath the balconies, and it looked like outworlders and Citizens who still preferred their own feet to the electric carts seated themselves there.

  “There,” said March, and he and Dredger claimed a booth that had a good view of the dais and the main dining room. As soon as they sat down, a Companion android hurried over. The android looked like an impossibly voluptuous woman in a red bikini, and she wore four-inch spiked heels and carried a tray. Dredger ordered a beer, March coffee, and the Companion glided away.

  “Why Companion waitresses?” said March.

  Dredger shrugged. “Why not? Devereaux can’t find enough Citizens to work here. And Companions are unlikely to report you to the Securitate for regressive behavior.”

  The screens started displaying pre-tournament interviews with the players, who began sharing their deep thoughts about what playing Renarchist Hero meant to them. Sometimes there were montages of the players sitting at their computers, controllers in hand, as their families looked on proudly. March found the entire thing surreal. He had nothing in his experience with which to compare it. Fortunately, Dredger took up the slack, happily pointing out the various players and their expected standing in the tournament.

  The Companion returned with their drinks, and March took a sip of his coffee, thinking over what he had seen. Rustaril seemed like a world speeding rapidly towards its terminal decline. If the Administrators were as pro-Machinist as Tolox and Dredger said, and if the Citizens were apathetic and lethargic from the Sugar, then Rustaril might collapse before the Machinists could get around to conquering it. Yet Rustaril didn’t seem the kind of place where the Machinists would recruit covert agents to use against their enemies.

  No, they preferred to recruit from places like Calixtus. March knew that well. He had lived it.

  Yet the fact
s contradicted what was before his eyes. Philip Reimer had become a Machinist drone and gone on a murder spree. Had the Machinists found a way to covertly transform people without their knowledge, just as the Wraith devices let them use undetectable mind control? That was a disturbing thought. Because if they had, Rustaril would make a ripe recruiting ground. There were billions of Citizens like Reimer here.

  The doors opened, and a large group of men entered.

  “Ah, here we go,” said Dredger. “Here comes Deveraux. Guy in the center, wearing the black suit.”

  March took a sip of his coffee, using the motion to scrutinize the group of men. It was obvious that Maurice Deveraux had been an Administrator before he turned to organized crime. He had the same gaunt, emaciated appearance, and he wore a suit cut like the uniform of an Administrator, though his was stark black. With him came a crowd of men with the look of former Administrators, and a half-dozen men who appeared to be off-world bodyguards. They crossed to the dais and seated themselves at the tables there. It put March in mind of an ancient king sitting on his throne and surveying his court. He watched as Deveraux settled in to oversee his kingdom.

  “Those men around him,” said March. “His lieutenants?”

  “Yeah,” said Dredger. “The types who look like former Administrators. Deveraux’s got a lot of friends in the government. So long as he jumps when the Securitate needs him to take care of a problem off the books, Deveraux can do more or less as he likes. The other guys, the outworlders? His bodyguards. Off-world muscle.” Dredger grinned. “Hard to find reliable help here on Rustaril.”

  March nodded. “Let’s watch the tournament for a while. I want to see if anything unusual happens.” He suspected he would need to take a quiet look around the premises later. In a place like this, the real business took place behind closed doors, while the food and drink and the gaming tournament were just cover, if a profitable cover.

  “Fair enough,” said Dredger. “If those receipts are any indication, our boy came here often and placed a lot of bets. Seemed to be the only place he went in public.”