Inquisitor by Mitchell Hogan Page B

mini-grenades.
    Angel turned her head away. There was an incandescent flash. A wave of pressure slapped her against the wall. She slumped to the floor, managing to retain hold of her gun, and looked to where Xavier was. A thin haze of caustic-smelling smoke filled the room.
    Despite the effectiveness of his modified armor suit, it was no match for four mini-grenades. The suit itself had protected most of his body from damage; it was the exposed portions of him that bore the brunt of the explosions. Angel averted her eyes, sickened at the sight of the blistered, bloody skin of the head and hands. Patches of bone showed through small holes in the now hairless skull resting on the floor. Xavier’s head bulged outward like a balloon filled with water, as the pressure waves had shattered the skull into fragments. Gore spattered the door and walls.
    She sat back on her haunches, and her hand-cannon clattered to the floor.
    “Fucking hells,” she murmured.
    The display wall remained blank. Angel looked around her apartment as the ventilation dispersed the smoke. A number of people had gathered outside, some pointing to the hairless charred skull, others staring at her. A wailing siren sounded in the hallway.
    She picked up her photo and stuffed her clothes into her suitcase. On the way out the door, she glanced at the now immobile service automaton. She didn’t think she would be coming back here.
     

Chapter 4
    Something flickered against the thin skin of Angel’s closed eyelids. Light. On. Off. On. Off.
    Groaning, she turned over and buried her face in the pillow. It smelled. A faint musty stale odor she found distinctly unpleasant. She imagined the bugs and mites and their feces, along with strangers’ hair and dead skin covering the pillow. A cheap hotel like this wouldn’t sanitize the linen as often as they should.
    She threw the pillow to the floor and buried her face in her arms. The light still flickered. Sighing, she levered herself to a sitting position and rubbed sleep from her eyes.
    It had taken her little time to find a cheap place to stay and devour a hot meal after leaving her apartment. Sleep hadn’t come easily. She’d decided notifying the local authorities about what happened with Xavier, and submitting her report, would have to wait until later.
    Angel rubbed her stiff neck, squeezing as hard as she could. She tilted her head left and right to loosen the muscles.
    What was wrong with the light? She hadn’t requested a wake-up call, so that wasn’t it.
    She shuffled over to the control panel, clad only in a long white shirt. Early morning light flooded through the window looking out onto the windows of another cheap hotel. She yawned. All environmental systems on the panel were green. She tapped the lights on then off again, then waited. The light stayed off.
    Her implants told her it was just after 5:00 a.m. local time, and she knew she wouldn’t get back to sleep. A high-priority message flashed red, time-stamped six hours ago: a request for her to return to her office, with no delay. Perhaps there had been a breakthrough in the case. One urgent message, but nothing else for six hours… Strange.
    Angel stripped off her shirt and headed for the shower. She turned the water on as hard as she could, and the temperature as high as it would go. Not hot enough for her liking, but hotels had inbuilt safety measures she couldn’t bypass.
    Hard, hot needles of water prickled her skin and hair. Dialing the water to soap, she scrubbed her hair and skin, slowly regaining full consciousness under the pressure and heat, sleep washing away with the jasmine-scented body wash.
    Abruptly, the flow of water stopped.
    Angel stood, dripping and soapy, for a few moments then muttered an obscenity.
    Her implants verified all systems in the room were in working order. Taking care not to slip on the tiles, she tiptoed out of the bathroom, bare feet gaining speed on the carpet until she reached the control panel. All