—and Merrin hit him from the side. Locked out the gun in exactly the same way Carl had taken it from its original owner. Carl grunted and let the other thirteen’s attack carry the two of them around in a stumbling dance. Kept the gaping muzzle of the sharkpunch angled hard away as best he could. He tried for a tanindo throw, but Merrin knew the move. They lurched again, feet on the edge of the opening in the shed floor where the slipway ran in.
“Been looking for you,” Carl gritted.
Merrin’s fingers dug into his wrist. Carl heaved and let the sharkpunch go, through the hole in the floor. It hit the slope below and clattered heavily away downward. Better than leaving it lying around for Ren to pick up and use. He tried another technique to get loose, worked his feet back from the hole and hitched an elbow strike at Merrin’s belly. The other thirteen smothered the blow, hooked out Carl’s ankle with a heel, and brought both of them down. He got in an elbow of his own, blunt force into the side of Carl’s face. Vision flew apart. Merrin got on top. Grinned down at the black man like a wolf.
“I did not cross the void to be killed like a cudlip,” he hissed. “To die like meat on the slab. You have not understood who I am.”
He drove a forearm up into Carl’s throat, bore down and began to crush his larynx. Carl, vision still starry, took the only option left: levered with one leg, rolled, and tipped them both over the edge.
It wasn’t a long drop, the height of the haulage cradle when it slotted into place at the top of the ramp, three meters at most. But the impact broke their holds on each other and they rolled down the slope apart. Twenty meters farther down, the solid steel bulk of the locked-up cradle waited to greet them. Impact was going to hurt.
Carl got himself feetfirst in the tumble and tried to jam a foot into the crank-cable channel. The sole of his boot skidded off the nanofiber, braked him, but not a lot. Merrin came plowing past at his shoulder, grabbed at him, and tugged him loose again. He kicked out, missed, slithered after the other thirteen. The cradle loomed, smooth curve of the sub’s hull held in its massive forked iron grasp. Merrin hit, shrugged it off at mesh speed, braced himself upright against one of the forks. He turned to face Carl with a snarling grin. Carl panicked, jammed his foot hard into the cable space again, tried to sit as his knee bent. He must have hit a bracket or a support brace. His fall locked to a halt a couple of meters off impact with the cradle. The momentum flipped him almost upright, hurled him down to meet Merrin like a bad skater fighting to stay upright. The other thirteen gaped: Carl was coming in impossibly high. Carl snapped out a fist, some reflex he didn’t know he owned, and drove into the side of Merrin’s neck with all the force of his arrival.
It nearly broke his wrist.
He felt the abused joint creak with the impact, but it was lost in the surge of savage joy as Merrin choked and sagged. He pivoted off the punch and cannoned into the side of the sub. Merrin made some kind of blocking move, but it was weak. Carl beat it down, seized the other thirteen’s head in both hands, and smashed it sideways as hard as he could against the edge of the cradle fork. Merrin made a strangled, raging noise and lashed out. Carl shrugged off the blow, smashed the thirteen’s head into the metal again—and again—and again—
Felt the fight go finally out of the other man. Didn’t stop.
Didn’t stop until blood made a sudden blotched spray across the gray hull of the sub, and sprinkled warm on his face again.
CHAPTER 39
Sevgi came down the gantry stairs through a flood of CSI lighting and experts setting up their gear. RimSec had cordoned off the whole of starboard loading, shepherded everyone out for questioning, and then locked the place down. There were uniforms along the upper walkways at every entry point, and a sharkish black patrol boat prowled the ocean alongside the open bay. Smaller inflatables fringed the water’s edge at the bottom of the slipway like orange seaweed, wagging back and forth with the slop of the waves against the slope. There was a sense of hollowness under the vaulted roof, of something emptied out and done.
Sevgi fished her COLIN identification from a pocket and showed it to a supervising officer at the Daskeen Azul docking shed. Surprised herself with the faint stab of nostalgia for the days of her palm-wired NYPD holobadge. Being a cop, back in the day. The officer looked back at her blankly.
“Yeah, what do you want?”
“I’m looking for Carl Marsalis. I was told he’s still down here.”
“Marsalis?” The woman stayed mystified for a moment, then the light dawned. “Oh, you’re talking about the twist? The guy that did all this damage?”
Sevgi was too churned to up to call the Rim cop on her terminology. She nodded. The officer pointed down the slope.
“He’s sitting down there on that empty cradle, one across from this slip. Was going to have him forcibly removed for questioning, but then some Special Cases badge calls down and says to leave him be, the guy can sit there all night if he wants.” She made a weary gesture. “Who am I to argue with Special Cases, right?”
Sevgi murmured something sympathetic and headed on down the stairs beside the Daskeen Azul slipway. When she got level with the empty cradle on the other slip, she had to pick her way awkwardly across the sloping surface, once or twice teetering and dropping to a crouch to stop herself from falling. She reached the cradle and hung on to one of the forks with relief.
“Hey there,” she said awkwardly.
Marsalis glanced down, apparently surprised to see her. It was the first time she’d seen him so unaware of his surroundings, and it jolted her more than the surprise had shaken him. She wondered, briefly, if he was in shock. His clothes were covered with drying blood in big uneven patches, and there were smeared specks and streaks still on his face where he’d washed but apparently hadn’t scrubbed hard enough.
“You okay?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Few bruises. Nothing serious. When did you get here?”
“Awhile ago. Been upstairs, shouting at Daskeen Azul’s management.” Sevgi hauled herself up onto the cradle, propped herself against the fork next to him, and slid her legs out in front of her. “So. Turns out you called it right after all.”
“Yeah. Thirteen paranoia.”
“Don’t gloat, Marsalis. It’s not attractive.”
“Well, I’m not looking to get laid.”
She shot him a sideways glance. “No, I guess you’ve probably had enough of that for one night.”
He shrugged again, didn’t look at her.
“Daskeen Azul are denying any knowledge,” she said. “As far as they’re concerned, Merrin, Ren, and Osborne were all casual employees, automatically renewed contracts every month unless there’s a problem, and there never was. They’re lying through their teeth, but I don’t know if RimSec are going to be able to prove that.”
“Osborne?”
“The guy who jumped you with the machete. Scott Osborne, Jesusland fence-hopper. RimSec Forensics reckon he was one of the Ward BioSupply employees who ran when Merrin showed up there. DNA match with genetic trace leavings from here and Ward’s place.”
He nodded. “And Ren?”
“That’s a tougher one. There was no genetic trace for her at Ward’s place, so looks like she or someone else went over there and cleaned up after they left. But we’re working off witness description composites and yeah, looks like she was there, too.”
“What about gene trace here. Have they run that?”
“Not yet.” She looked at him again, curiously. “You don’t seem very happy about any of this.”
“I’m not.”
She frowned. “Marsalis, it’s over. You get to go home now. You know, back to London and your smug European social comfort zone.”
He raised an eyebrow, stared out at the water. “Lucky me.”