Free Dark Space: Avilon by Jasper T. Scott Page A

grew silent at that. Bretton watched the endless night of the city flicker by them in a blur of colorful light and starkly-drawn shadows. Air traffic raced ahead of them in orderly, auto-piloted lines, red tail lights shining crimson in the gloom of the under city.
    Farah turned off the autopilot and peeled away from the main artery of traffic to get to Dag’s place. Dag managed to avoid trouble with the law by living on the surface . Down there, organized crime was the law.
    Bretton set his pistol from stun to kill and withdrew a utility belt and holster from the dash compartment. He buckled the belt and holstered the weapon on his hip, looking up just in time to see them plunge down through a thick wall of filthy gray fog. The lights of the city disappeared, becoming dim, amorphous balls of light. Farah turned on a sensor overlay so they could still see their surroundings. Outlines of buildings and structures raced by, projected on the forward viewport in shades of blue and green.
    They reached the surface and flew along a crumbling street, hovering just a few feet above the ground. At this level, the buildings were mostly dark. A few neon signs or holographic displays flickered through the gloom, and some shady-looking pedestrians walked the streets. The city was always alive, even down here, but these weren’t the kind of people you’d like to say hello to.
    “You didn’t tell Dag you were coming, did you?” Farah asked.
    “No, when would I have had a chance to do that?”
    “He doesn’t like drop-ins.”
    “He’s going to have to. He owes me.”
    Farah snorted. “If you say so.” After a few more minutes of flying, she said, “We’re almost there. You want me to park on the street and wait, or should I go in with you?”
    “Can’t risk getting our ride jacked. You’d better stay. Keep her running.”
    “Sure thing. Want me to get us something to eat while I wait?”
    “That’s a good idea.”
    “All right.” She pulled to a stop along a particularly dark section of the street and turned to him with her hand held out expectantly. “Twenty bytes .”
    Bretton eyed her palm. “What? You don’t have twenty bytes?”
    Farah shook her head. “I’m broke.”
    “ We’re broke,” he amended.
    “You want to eat or not?”
    “Put it on credit,” he growled, opening the passenger’s side door and climbing out into the murky gray soup. Farah called something after him, but he shut the door before he heard what it was. Outside, the air was damp and cold, rich with fetid smells. Bretton took a quick look around, eyes scanning the shifting gray clouds of moisture. Neon signs from bars, nightclubs, and casinos set the fog aglow in all the colors of the rainbow, peeling away the gloom with halos of blurry light. He checked in a full 360 degrees, his hand ready on the butt of his sidearm.
    The street was deserted.
    So far so good.
    He opened the rear passenger’s side door and immediately heard Farah again.
    “We don’t have any credit left, Bret!”
    “Then we’ll eat later!”
    “Maybe we should go looking for Tara Halls instead of chasing after the way things used to be.”
    “I’m not trying to relive the glory days of the Imperium, Farah. I’m trying to fix what’s wrong with Avilon before it’s too late and Omnius decides to stop being coy about how he disposes of us Nulls.”
    Farah arched an eyebrow at him. “We don’t have any proof that he’s disposing of Nulls.”
    Bretton’s mouth curved into a smirk. “Not yet. I have to get going. Wait here and keep your eyes open, okay?”
    “Be careful.”
    Bretton nodded. “I will. If you see any trouble, send the signal. I’ll keep my head down until you give the all clear .”
    “All right.”
    Bretton drew a small grav gun from his utility belt. Aiming it at the unconscious Imperial, he picked the man up and hovered him out into the street. Bretton made his way to a rusty red door. A flickering green sign above it read, Implant-it.