The Bosch: A Novella (Polity Universe) by Neal Asher

Author:Neal Asher [Asher, Neal]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, SciFi
Amazon: B087RN3F5Q
Goodreads: 53419196
Published: 2020-04-26T23:00:00+00:00

The streets stink of fear. People rush about their business and head home as quickly afterwards. Four days have passed since the events in the factory, but the Bosch, though finding scent trails, have followed them to dead ends. The other two Batians, the Krodorman and the albino woman, have disappeared. Two days have now passed since Yoon made her demand through the city media, but the police, no matter how many doors kicked in or suspects beaten, have found no sign of her attackers. Yesterday, a protest at the mayor’s offices, driven by terror of roaming Bosch, turned into a riot. None of this has been directly helpful. The city officials and the police are inept but, as he opined when he suggested she make her demand, it has put pressure on others. Sieving through reports and paying where necessary, he has at last found a name.

Petod walks into the bar, sees the man drinking alone, a soft screen stuck on the table before him. He walks over, noting three rough boardapts – huge men with piggish heads and tusks – observing him. Fender likes to drink alone, but Fender always stays protected. Standing at the table, he notes how it grows darker in here, and that others have arrived. One of the boardapts sees, with confusion, a tall cloaked figure stooped over the bar next to him. The barman serves a drink, eyes wide and staring beyond the figure, his subconscious forcing his rational mind to ignore what is in front of him.

‘What do you want?’ Fender looks up.

Petod pulls out a chair and sits. He would never have been so brave before. The boardapts shift hands to bulges in their clothing, grunt preparation for violence.

‘I need to know the location of the people Yoon is seeking,’ he says.

‘Oh really?’

‘I am prepared to pay one hundred thousand a head for the Batians and two-hundred-and-fifty thousand each for the other two.’

Fender puts his elbows on the table, makes a cage of his fingers and rests his chin on them. He sits there for a long time observing Petod.

‘You’re from the mayor’s office?’ he enquires, but the question seems insincere.

‘No.’

‘Private contractor?’

‘Yes.’

‘I see,’ says Fender. ‘Leave now and you get to stay alive.’

‘You’re saying you don’t know where they are? My information says otherwise.’

‘Your information is wrong. And now you have tried my patience to the limit.’

He sits back and snaps his fingers. One of the boardapts begins to move away from the bar towards their table, but the large figure beside him turns, stoops and comes up again. The movements are difficult to track, but the effect is easy to see. The big heavy man, jerks up, leaves the floor and hurtles across the room with arms windmilling. He crashes into the street window of the bar, shattering many of the numerous small panes but fails to break their composite frame, and crashes down onto a table, collapsing it.

Another of the heavies begins shrieking and squealing, staggering across the room seemingly surrounded by shifting shadow containing hints of fur, claws and teeth.

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