There was little in the way of large shopping centres on the planet of Nokior; commerce was for the most part split into thousands of little pieces, many of them simply serving one particular street.

It was one of those little open-air markets that he entered after a few minutes of navigating the flow of humanity. Hired guards flanked the gate on either side. They gave him a bit of a look, but only due to him standing out slightly, and said nothing as he passed.

The market was like any other of its size and surroundings. At a glance he picked up four distinct cultures on display at the sales booths, marked by good luck symbols, decorative beads, voluminous ethnic robes, shouted languages and all those other markers.

It felt at times like just about every culture in the galaxy was represented on Nokior to some degree. But all of them, no matter how conditioned towards civility, learned to be loud and aggressive at the markets. Competition was fierce, after all, and without advertisements success was generally simply a matter of getting noticed before the competition was.

It was a Nihunian woman who got his attention first. She had the huge body and powerful voice of all of her people, and so had a certain advantage over everyone else here. He walked underneath the canopy and the waterfall of precipitation that came off of it, and for a moment he just let himself appreciate it.

He stroked his soaking head.

“Trouble?” she asked with a friendly smile and a more relaxed tone, now that she had him.

“Just clumsy, that’s all,” he replied with a smile of his own. “Lost my damn hat. But thanks for asking.”

Nihunians were known for being pleasant, but rather expected reciprocation.

Her selection included hats, gloves, ponchos, socks, utensils and canned food, all basic and affordable.

“I’ll have a hat,” he said. “A grey one.”

“You sure you don’t want colour?” the towering, musclebound woman asked. “Something to get noticed in? I just got these light blue ones.”

“I don’t like being noticed. Just the grey, please.”

He paid and got his hat. It was a neat fit. And now he could start wondering what that had all been about. Suspects were sadly plentiful.

Fredrak walked on, leaving the market behind, and finding himself a less crowded street to pass along. He did have a schedule for tonight.

Those hadn’t been simple, thuggish gangsters, he reflected, analysing the preceding events carefully. The man with the knife, at the very least, had been trained by professionals. But Nokior’s shadows ran deep and wove a complex pattern. There was no shortage of such people that could be hired if one had the contacts and money. The simple gangs couldn’t be ruled out purely because of them.

But given the events that were in motion, given the meeting he had due in two hours, there was almost certainly a larger hand at play here. And the probable fact that the threads had been followed all the way to him... it certainly bode poorly.

What he knew was that he had to have been followed; his choice of tavern had been a whim. So he knew that his apartment was compromised, and so was his cover name. And he knew that attacks like this didn’t just stop until either someone died, there ceased to be a point in carrying them out, or the target simply survived too long to be worth the resources.

Conventional wisdom held that he should simply go to ground; get another name and another dingy little apartment in another part of the city. But not tonight. And not until the Black Tiger matter was seen through.

He reached the canal; a brief break in the sea of towers, filled by small boats. He walked to the nearest pedestrian bridge across, only to find an altercation in progress.

A police car hovered next to the bridge, its ramp extended. Two constables in their distinctive red armour were handling a furious man while a more inconspicuously-dressed detective stood by and watched impassively.

The arrestee shouted threats and insults as the constables fought to get him onto the ramp. One of the red-armoured men lost patience and punched him in the kidney. The man crumpled up in agony, and they more-or-less threw him into the car.

“Find me in twenty years,” the detective said casually as the constables climbed on board. “I’ll have the kettle on.”

The car closed and took to the air. The detective strolled across to Fredrak’s side of the canal, and gave him a nod in passing.

The scant traffic resumed and he went along with it, until he stopped at the top of the arch.

The boat-dwellers were in no way exempt from the local love of lights, and the canal that stretched out below him and seemingly on into infinity was the kind of display he’d grown up only experiencing on holidays.

Also, from up here he could actually take in the cityscape on both sides. The rows and rows of dark buildings, designed in that sturdy and darkly stylish fashion. The lantern and glowing signs and strands of lights. And the rain. Always the rain.

What a world. What a fascinating, bleak, beautiful, awful and vibrant and unique world.

And that was all the pointless ruminating he could allow himself. The clock was moving mercilessly. He finished walking across, into a section of the city differentiated only by having slightly wider streets, and a few more walkways between the upper storeys.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

When marked for death, one ought to stay away from customary locations. But he just had to hope that this particular operation against him didn’t have the scope for multiple teams.

Florist shops were popular on Nokior; yet another effort against the gloom. And there was nothing at all noticeable about the Corner Garden. Nothing that any of the neighbourhood folks would give a second thought to while picking up a bouquet on the way home from work.

Just as it should be.

The official closing hour was forty minutes away when he stepped inside to a welcoming chime. He waited a moment while the large fan on the right blew off some of the rainwater, and used those seconds to take the place in.

Plants of all sorts were spread about a space that couldn’t fit them all comfortably. A few late customers were milling about, each seemingly by themselves. He caught glimpses of three behind all the foliage and heard an additional two, all spread pretty evenly around the shop.

If this was an ambush, it was a decent one.

Fredrak brought out his little pistol and discreetly transferred it to the front pocket of his coat. Then he clutched it as he walked on.

He kept on full alert with every step, ready for the sounds of quick movement, making use of every reflective surface he saw to keep an eye on the customers. But he made it around a pillar covered with crawling vines unmolested, and reached the counter.

“Good evening, Sir,” the short, round-faced woman behind it said with professional courtesy, as she would to a stranger.

Then she tapped a finger three times on the counter, while looking him in the eyes. That was the signal; it was safe to speak.

As far as she knew.

“Good evening, Madam,” he said back, and patted the counter twice in response.

As far as he knew, no one was listening in.

“I wasn’t expecting you tonight,” Ella said.

There was a rustle a bit of a distance away, and Fredrak glanced towards it before leaning in a bit.

“I was attacked an hour ago,” he said softly. “Targeted. Three, at least. Professionals.”

“Did you kill any?” she asked levelly.

“No. Have you heard anything?”

The woman unwrapped one of those soft little candies she was so fond of, and popped it into her mouth. She enjoyed small delays during serious discussions, he’d found.

“I’ve heard the Tower Gang is still mad at you,” she replied after a bit of chewing. “As is Red Rukik. Are you sure it wasn’t just some of their people?”

“They were a touch professional for street brutes.”

“Clearly not professional enough, though,” she told him with a teasing smile.

One of the footsteps on his radar started moving his way, and Fredrak turned his gaze to a reflective flowerpot on a shelf behind Ella. It showed him a man in a very typical coat and matching hat, coming over with a bouquet of ulinias.

Their talk ended for the moment and Fredrak kept himself outwardly relaxed, keeping life-or-death tension just underneath the surface.

“Good evening,” said a nasal voice through a popped collar.

“Good evening,” Ella replied, and Fredrak took a couple of steps back to give the man access.

“I just thought I’d surprise the wife a bit,” the man went on, and placed the flowers on the counter.

“Good choice, Sir,” Ella said. “I am sure she will be delighted.”

The man paid, took his flowers, and walked towards the door. Fredrak waited until he heard the chime before turning back to the woman.

“For a moment there I thought you were about to start shooting my customers,” she told him, still enjoying herself.

“How is your son doing?” he asked with a sigh.

“I sure hope that’s not a threat,” she replied.

“It’s not a threat, it’s a reminder,” he told her. “Whatever he’s doing right now he probably wouldn’t be doing it if not for me.”

Her smile turned stiff. She was weary of the existence of that seemingly eternal debt.

“My boy is fine,” Ella said. “And I have heard nothing about Tower or Red Rukik outsourcing to a professional crew. Whatever just hit you probably leads off-world.”

She held his gaze meaningfully.

“And you know what that adds up to, don’t you?”

“I do, Ella. I do.”

“I suppose you haven’t minded your tracks enough,” she said. “Time to go to ground, I think.”

“I will.”

Putting out a bit of false information never hurt. There was no trusting anyone in this business.

“Thanks, Ella. Be seeing you.”

He exited, every bit as cautiously as he’d entered, then quickly made himself vanish into the nearest stream of people.

The Black Tiger operation was compromised. He couldn’t consider it a hard fact yet, but it was by far the likeliest option. It wasn’t impossible that the timing of this hit was a coincidence, but probability was against it.

This was bad. It meant that the hunt for him would indeed continue relentlessly. And he was, in the end, just an intermediary. It seemed likely that other players, in other locales, would be making their own moves to intercept Black Tiger.

And it all meant that he had to attend tonight’s meeting. Even though it was probably the likeliest spot for the next attack.

Operating in the shadows required strong nerves, but he still wanted to live as much as anyone. He stopped and allowed himself a sigh. Then he walked left, to the nearest public comm setup.

Fredrak paid for a voice message, then entered a number and unhooked one of the receivers.

“Hey, it’s Jan,” he said in a relaxed tone of voice. “Look, I had a little incident at work. I got into it with three contractors. Don’t even know their names, but it got ugly. And I don’t think I’ve heard the last from them. I’m going to try to clear it up, but you might not hear from me for a while.”

He hesitated a moment.

“I am on my way to that meeting I told you about. I’m not sure it’ll go well. That delivery we were hoping for might not happen. But if I reach you after the meeting I’ll hopefully have something more solid. Let’s just hope for the best. See you.”

He ended the call. Somewhere someone he’d never met would receive the message and discreetly pass it on to the Agency. If he died tonight, hopefully someone would at least be able to pick up where he’d left off.

And that was it. There was nothing at all delaying him.

Fredrak looked up, at the modest traffic going by overhead. It was awfully tempting to call a cab and pay for a ride. A part of his mind tried to justify it, arranging things so that there would be no risk of exposing himself or others. But there were so many ways to track someone’s movements, if one had the will and resources. And the simple fact was that he had stamina to spare, and just wanted a high-altitude pass over the city. It might be his last, after all.

“No,” he said softly to himself. “It’s not about you. Risk nothing.”

So he simply walked, and forewent any appreciation of his surroundings in favour of alertness.