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Call of Oblivion – Extract

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CALL OF OBLIVION

Sam Ryan

Trooper Marzic squeezed, spattering sauce over a paper-wrapped mass of fried matter. REAL FISH, the sign had said. Probably not. It might have swum at some point in its life, but not in any body of water he wanted to know about. Luckily, Marzic threw up most of what he ate anyway.

He walked away from the food stall through the bustle of a Vostokan night market. Ratty paper lanterns wavered overhead, illuminating the streets in a soft red glow. Marzic enjoyed regular strolls through this maze of sprawling rockcrete and corrugated steel. It stood as a temple to the vices that formed the heart of Varangantua’s underworld. Alcohol, chems, back-alley gambling and basement blood sports – everything you needed to survive beneath the shadow of the double-headed eagle.

Marzic saw his broad-shouldered friend leaning against the thin metal of an empty stall. His eyes, sallow but diligent, were set into a block-like face, marred by a smattering of fragmentation scars. When he spotted Marzic, he scowled. The trooper smiled in return and settled himself by the man’s side.

‘Why aren’t you at your post?’ Reiner growled.

‘Got hungry.’ Marzic sucked his fingers. ‘Besides, he’s not going to come that way. Not unless he’s trying to get shanked by a roach.’

Reiner slapped the bottom of Marzic’s hand, launching his food into the air and spattering him with sauce. ‘Focus. We’ve got one chance at this.’

‘Arsehole.’ Marzic wiped himself off. ‘That was real fish.’

‘It was the arse end of a sump-rat, and it was going to cramp you up. We might have to chase this bastard, so I can’t have you vomiting into a dumpster while he’s running away.’

‘Doubt it. I know topaz, and if he’s as hooked as we think he is, then his body has gone to shit. He’s probably not much of a runner at this point.’

‘And what are we? The picture of health?’ Reiner turned away from Marzic, discreetly pressing a finger to his ear as though he were rubbing the side of his head. ‘Leona, anything to report?’

‘No.’ A woman’s voice emanated through their comm-beads. ‘Not yet. I’m starting to think our intel might be spotty.’

‘Don’t be dense,’ Marzic snapped back. ‘This is where he buys his rocks, no question.’

Reiner shook his head. ‘Why would anyone who lives in a grade-four come to this slum to buy chems?’

‘Because he doesn’t want to be recognised. If he runs into anyone he knows down here, then they’re here for the same reason as him.’

‘Thank the Emperor we have a topaz dealer on our team.’

‘Hey, at least I don’t spend all day in the sewers.’

‘Quiet, both of you.’ Reiner’s eyes narrowed, intently scanning the crowd. ‘Got him. Brown stormcoat, wide-brimmed hat.’ He pushed off the stall and merged with the stream of foot traffic.

Marzic followed him, squeezing through the press of bodies in a struggle to keep up. He hadn’t even seen their mark before Reiner had taken off. It was no surprise, considering the man’s military record. Fifteen years in Spectra had made a predator out of him. Why he’d ended up among the regulars was the subject of rumours, none of which painted him as an altruist.

Following their quarry into the food market, they plunged into a lantern-lit haze of smoke and steam.

Reiner activated his comm-bead again. ‘Leona, we’ve lost visibility. Where is he going?’

‘You aren’t going to like this, but there’s two people fitting that description. One is heading north, the other is going west towards Vizmar Street. Both of those are viable routes.’

‘I’ll hit Vizmar,’ Marzic volunteered. ‘I’m, uh, familiar…’

‘Of course you are.’

‘Kill the chatter!’ Reiner snapped.

Marzic snorted and turned onto Vizmar. The fog of the food market receded, and the smell of spiced meat was quickly overpowered by that of incense and perfumes. He caught sight of their mark, waylaid by a woman with glittering subdermals and desperate eyes. She coiled herself around his arm, only to be violently shoved away. The hat tumbled from his head to reveal the short-cropped hair of a paramilitary officer. Betrayed by a distinctly triangular face and pencil-thin moustache, there was no doubt to his identity.

‘I’ve got him,’ Marzic transmitted. ‘We can nab him now or wait until he scores.’

‘We still don’t know which dealer he uses,’ Reiner returned. ‘I’m not risking losing him. Leona, ditch the rooftops and get the hauler. We’ll bring him to you.’

Marzic reached into his pocket, wrapping his fingers around the handle of a snap-knife. Concealing it in his palm, he picked up the pace. If he lost his mark now, the job would be over before it even began.

The man took a glance over his shoulder, nearly catching Marzic’s gaze. As soon as he turned back around, Marzic increased his stride again. He pressed the release on his knife, extending his fingers to cover the blade as it snapped into place. Walking up beside his mark, he looped his knife arm around the man’s shoulder as though he were an old friend.

‘Hello, Turov.’ Marzic smiled, the edge of his blade pushed against the side of the guard captain’s neck.

To Turov’s credit, he didn’t appear to be afraid. His yellow eyes darted around the street, no doubt looking to see if his aggressor was alone. ‘What do you want?’ He sniffed.

‘A favour for a favour. You’ve been naughty, stealing from your boss to feed that nasty topaz habit. Not really becoming of a man of your station, is it?’

‘You don’t know me.’

‘I know you better than your boss does. I think we ought to keep it that way, for your sake.’

Turov scowled. ‘And what’s that going to cost?’

‘Why don’t we talk about it over a little drive?’

‘Let’s try this instead.’

The blow was as hard as it was fast. An elbow, right into the space beneath Marzic’s sternum. He fell backwards, gasping for breath. Rolling onto his side, he could see the back of Turov’s coat fluttering in the air. It seemed he was a runner after all.

‘North!’ Marzic coughed over comms. ‘He’s fleeing north!’

‘Received,’ Reiner replied.

Marzic nearly tripped over a sleeping vagrant as he followed Turov into an alleyway, catching himself before he went face down into a pile of refuse. He didn’t have a chance at catching this bastard – maybe in his prime but not on his deathbed. They needed a new plan.

‘Leona!’ Marzic huffed, his radiation-addled body struggling to meet his demands. ‘We’re flushing him out of the market. He’s going to come out onto the roadway on the north side!’

‘I’ll be there.’

By the time Marzic emerged from between the buildings, Turov was already halfway across the street. He was cutting west when Reiner came bowling out of the crowd, forcing him into another alley. Worn out from the chase, the guard captain was looking over his shoulder as he ran, oblivious to the roadway he was dashing into.

‘Wait!’ Marzic shouted after him. ‘Stop!’ He did, but not of his own accord. Screeching on its tyres, a light hauler ploughed into his side.

The hauler sat still for a moment before the driver-side window receded into the door. A tattooed woman with a half-shaven head leaned out, trying to get a better look at her victim. He was splayed out on the rockcrete, groaning in pain but very much alive.

The woman turned to Marzic and smiled. ‘Got him.’

‘Nice work, Leona.’ Reiner looped his arms under Turov’s and signalled for Marzic to grab his feet. Leona crawled into the back of the hauler and slid open its side door as they heaved their prisoner into the vehicle.

‘Sorry about this, friend.’ Marzic patted Turov on the shoulder as he climbed in beside him. ‘Now, how about that chat?’

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