Stormblood, стр. 12
So they’d upgraded the intelligence level of the Rubix, too. The previous Rubix could barely hold up its end of a conversation.
‘Why the hell are you a giant rabbit?’ I asked.
‘This is the form I prefer,’ the AI replied with swift finesse, whiskers twitching. ‘Now, is there anything you require?’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ I said.
‘Surely there is something I could do?’ the Rubix persisted, anxious to please. I reassured it that I was fine. The rabbit gave a sad sigh and vanished back into smoke. A couple of minutes later I discovered that I had a security upgrade by way of an autocannon that folded out of the walls on verbal command. Wasn’t too sure what to think about that.
‘I’d suggest you help me finish that wine, but it’s been a long day.’ I stretched my arms and felt the stormtech roll from one shoulder joint to the other.
Kowalski shot me a questioning glance. ‘Kindosh will manacle us together if you try anything related to the case without telling me first.’
‘I’d like to see her try.’ Kowalski didn’t smile. I sobered up. ‘I don’t intend to make trouble,’ I told her.
She hesitated, then the pressure seemed to puddle out of her. ‘I’ll come for you tomorrow. I don’t have to tell you how important this is, Vakov. Think on it?’ Darkening skies framed her as she lingered in the doorway. ‘Everyone in the Common is alive because of you Reapers. My sister and all her kids are still here because you put yourself in the line of fire. Nothing changes that.’
My helmet obscured my semi-smile as I waved her goodbye. I was starting to like her, and I honestly did feel a little bad as I slipped out the window and dropped four storeys into the dingy alleyway, the stormtech thrumming at the unexpected rush of danger.
Kindosh might feed me my own guts for this. But my little brother was involved with drug syndicates and Reaper deaths, and he clearly wouldn’t talk to Harmony.
Only one way to find out what was going on. Ask the man himself.
Kindosh had made the mistake of telling me which floor Artyom was on. There was only one alehouse on it, so it was an easy find. Like most levels of Compass, Limefields wore its own aesthetic. I couldn’t place it until I plugged a few queries into a search engine and discovered Limefields was meant to replicate a 1920s city square on Earth. Low, broad buildings in red, brown and white rose up around the boulevards, showered with golden light from nearby streetlamps. Wooden planks bounced under my feet as I strode along a lengthy boardwalk packed with vaudeville street performers, drinking clubs and gambling parlours. Curlicue twists of stairs curled up to antique libraries, burlesque theatres and domed pavilions, where crowds in era-specific dress flocked to parties.
I walked along until I found Artyom’s alehouse: an exclusive venue called The Wild Hare with a distinct cinnamon smell. Columns of carved mahogany supported the high, ornate ceiling. Low conversation drifted like smoke between the leather armchairs, marble-top tables and Tiffany lamps. Faint music spilled from an antique gramophone. Over a hundred bespoke brews stood behind the rhodonite counter, connecting to a complication of bronze pipework. But it was the impressionist paintings of the Shenoi that stood out.
Since all we knew about the Shenoi was their biotech, usually found buried deep underground or in asteroid rocks, we had no way of solving the mystery of the aliens’ origins. What they’d been, what they’d looked like. Didn’t stop people from guessing, though. The artworks ranged from towering, tentacled monstrosities to quiet hooded figures to ethereal beings of pure energy and everything in between.
Their entire species was extinct: what did it matter what they looked like?
And then I saw my little brother. His mouth pursed as he sopped up ale spills on the counter. I took a moment to watch him from the shadows. He seemed so distant and familiar at the same time, like a distorted reflection of myself: the same mixed features, glossy black hair, dark eyes and angular jaw as me.
I almost backed off and left him undisturbed. Like he wanted. I don’t break my promises lightly, and I’d already broken the one that mattered the most to him. He’d come to Compass for a fresh start, after all. But my brother was in trouble, and this needed doing. Connecting my palmerlog to the alehouse’s menu, I ordered a bathtub gin and tonic, garnished with mint and rosemary. I ducked into a discreet alcove seat guarded by a mural of a stork in midflight. I tugged my helmet off, placing it on the table beside me, and waited until my brother brought the gin over in a chilled copa glass.
He froze the moment he saw me.
‘Hey, Artyom,’ I said in Russian, my voice carefully level. ‘How’re you holding up?’
He set the glass down with a bang on the table. ‘What are you doing here?’ was all he would say.
At twenty-four he was three years younger than me, a little shorter and leaner, but in the right light we could have been twins. I saw the way he unconsciously hunched and turned away from me. Uncomfortable in my presence. Angry. An unexpected tightness built up in my chest.
‘We need to talk.’ I hoped no one in the vicinity had inbuilt translators. The last time we’d spoken he’d refused to use Japanese anymore, and I wanted to respect at least one of his wishes. I gestured to the seat opposite me.
I’d expected him to refuse, but he slid into the booth, hands folded on the table. ‘We’ve got nothing to discuss.’ He was talking to