He had slipped away from the transients dormitory after the evening meal, finding himself a concealing gap between a couple of single-storey outbuildings tacked on to the end of a long warehouse. Jackson Gael was crouched down behind some barrels on the other side of the path. Behind him was the high blank wall of a mill, slatted wooden planks rearing up like a cliff face.
There wouldnt be many people wandering around this part of the port at night, and those that did would probably be colonists waiting for a boat upriver. There was another transients dormitory two hundred metres to the north. Quinn had decided that colonists would make the best targets.
The sheriffs would pay more attention to a city resident being mugged than some new arrival who nobody cared about. Colonists were human cattle to the LDC; and if the dopey bastards hadnt worked that out for themselves, then more fool them. But Jackson had been right about one thing, the colonists were better off than him. Ivets were the lowest of the low.
They had discovered that yesterday evening. When they finally arrived at the dormitory they were immediately detailed to unload the lorries they had just loaded at the spaceport. After they finished stacking Group Sevens gear in a harbourside warehouse a group of them had wandered off into town. They didnt have any money, but that didnt matter, they deserved a break. That was when they found the grey Ivet jump suit with its scarlet letters acted like a flashing beacon: Shit on me. They hadnt got more than a few hundred metres out of the port before they turned tail and hurried back to the dormitory. Theyd been spat on, shouted at, jeered by children, had stones flung at them, and finally someone had let a xenoc animal charge at them. That had frightened Quinn the most, though he didnt show it to the others. The creature was like a cat scaled up to dog size; it had jet-black scales and a wedge-shaped head, with a lot of sharp needle teeth in its gaping mouth. The mud didnt slow it down appreciably as it ran at them, and several Ivets had skidded onto their knees as the group panicked and ran away.
Worst of all were the sounds the thing made, like a drawn-out whine; but there were words in the cry, strangely twisted by the xenoc gullet, human words. City scum, and Kid fuckers, and others that were distorted beyond recognition, yet all carrying the same message. The thing hated them, echoing its master who had laughed as its huge jaws snapped at their running legs.
Back in the dormitory, Quinn had sat down and started to think for the first time since the police stunned him back on Earth. He had to get off this planet which even Gods Brother would reject. To do that he needed information. He needed to know how the local set-up worked, how to get himself an edge. All the other Ivets would dream about leaving, some must have made attempts to escape in the past. The biggest mistake he could make would be rushing it. And dressed in his signpost jump suit, he wouldnt even be able to scout around.
He had caught Jackson Gaels eye, and flicked his head at the velvet walls of night encircling the dormitory. The two of them slipped out unnoticed, and didnt return till dawn.
Now he waited crouched against the warehouse wall, stripped down to his shorts, nerves burning with excitement at the prospect of repeating last nights spree. Rain was drumming on the rooftops and splashing into the puddles and mud of the path, kicking up a loud din. More water was gurgling down the drainage gully at the side of the warehouse. His skin and hair were soaked. At least the drops were warm.
The man in the canary-yellow cagoule was almost level with the little gap between the outhouses before Quinn heard him. He was squelching through the mud, muttering and humming under his breath. Quinn peered out round the corner. His left eye had been boosted by a nanonic cluster, giving him infrared vision. It was his first implant, and hed used it for exactly the same purpose back at the arcology: to give him an edge in the dark. One thing Banneth had taught him was never fight until youve already won.
The retinal implant showed him a ghostly red figure weaving unsteadily from side to side. Rain showed as a gritty pale pink mist, the buildings were claret-coloured crags.
Quinn waited until the man had passed the gap before he moved. He slid out onto the path, the length of wood gripped tightly in his hand. And still the man was unaware of him, rain and blackness providing perfect cover. He took three paces, raised the improvised club, then slammed it down at the base of the mans neck. The cagoules fabric tore under the impact. Quinn felt the blow reverberate all the way back up to his elbows, jarring his joints. Gods Brother! He didnt want the man dead, not yet.
His victim gave a single grunt of pain, and collapsed forwards into the mud.
Jackson! Quinn called. Gods Brother, where are you? I cant shift him by myself. Get a move on.
Quinn? Christ, I cant see a bloody thing.
He looked round, seeing Jackson emerge from behind the barrels. His skin shone a strong burgundy in the infrared spectrum, arteries and veins near the surface showing up as brighter scarlet lines.
Over here. Walk forward three steps, then turn left. He guided Jackson up to the body, enjoying the sense of power. Jackson would follow his leadership, and the others would fall into line.
Together they dragged their victim into the outhouseQuinn guessed it had been some kind of office, abandoned years ago now. Four bare wooden slat walls and a roof that leaked. Tapers of slime ran down the walls, fungal growths blooming from the cracks. There was a strong citric scent in the air. Overhead the clouds were drifting away inland. Beriana, the second moon, came out, shining a wan lemon light onto the city, and a few meagre beams filtered through the skylight. They were enough for Jackson to see by.
Both of them went over to the pile of clothes they had left heaped on a broken composite cargo-pod. Quinn watched Jackson towelling himself dry. The lad had a strong body, broad shoulders.
Forget it, Quinn, Jackson said in a neutral voice, but one that carried in the silence following the rain. I dont turn on to that. Strictly het, OK? It came out like a challenge.
Hey, dont lose cool, Quinn said. I got my eye on someone, and it aint you. He wasnt entirely sure he could whip the lanky lad from a straight start. Besides he needed Jackson. For now.
He started to pull on the clothes which belonged to one of last nights victims, a green short-sleeved shirt and baggy blue shorts, waterproof boots which were only fractionally too large. Three pairs of socks stopped them from rubbing blisters. He was strongly tempted to take those boots upriver, he didnt like to think what would happen to his feet in the lightweight Ivet-issue shoes.
Right, lets see what weve got, he said. They stripped the cagoule from the unconscious man. He groaned weakly. His shorts were soiled, and a ribbon of piss ran out of the cagoule.
Definitely a new colonist, Quinn decided, as he wrinkled his nose up at the smell. The clothes were new, the boots were new, he was clean shaven; and he had the slightly overweight appearance of an arcology dweller. Locals were nearly always lean, and most sported longish hair and thick beards.
His belt carried a fission-blade knife, a miniature thermal inducer, and a personal MF flek-player block.