Seeing the danger had passed, Keith pulled out a mechanical disc the size of a tennis ball and gave it a firm squeeze.
A split second later, a ripple of pale blue light washed over his body, and the appearance of "Connie" instantly dissolved, returning him to his original form.
"Boss, thanks for fixing my scrambler and for covering for me."
Byrne rolled his eyes and snapped irritably, "Thanks for nothing. If I'd known you were going to go and assassinate the Governor, I wouldn't have helped you for all the credits in the world."
Keith rubbed his nose and explained, "Sorry. I was driven into a corner by the pursuit and had to try my luck here. I..."
Before Keith could finish, Byrne cut him off. "Fine, save the explanations. How long do you plan on staying here?"
"Just tonight," Keith said. "I'll leave once it's pitch black."
Byrne's complaining was mostly bluster; he wasn't truly angry. Hearing Keith's plan, he nodded, then shifted his gaze. "Fine. Those wounds of yours—are you going to be okay?"
It was a stroke of luck that when Byrne had hidden Keith earlier, he'd had him change into his old man's grease-stained coveralls. Otherwise, the heavy scent of blood on him would have been hard to hide from that diligent squad leader.
Keith waved a hand dismissively. "Flesh wounds. They won't kill me."
Despite his casual words, the moment he finished speaking, his vision blurred. He staggered, nearly collapsing.
Byrne sighed and turned to fish a medical kit from under the counter. "Look, stop acting tough. I must have owed you in a past life. Let me treat those wounds before someone else comes snooping. If you get dragged out of here, I won't be able to wash my hands of this even if I jumped into the Warp."
Keith didn't argue. He stripped off his blood-soaked shirt and pulled up a chair. He had several gashes across his torso, but the most terrifying one carved diagonally from his left shoulder to his right ribs. The flesh was turned outward, and the edges were tinged with a faint, sickly purplish-black.
The moment Byrne touched a sterilized cotton ball to the wound, Keith let out a muffled groan. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead, and the red light of his mechanical eye flickered unsteadily.
"Grin and bear it. I don't have any anesthetic."
Byrne spoke as he applied the treatment to distract him. "This wound is unusual. It doesn't look like it was caused by a normal blade."
"A melta-cutter carried by the Governor's personal guard," Keith grunted. "At full power, it can slice through solid plasteel. If my reflexes hadn't been fast enough, the wound wouldn't look this 'pretty'."
Byrne's hands froze for a moment. He looked up in surprise. "A melta-cutter? Those are rare T'au Empire imports. The Governor's guard is certainly extravagant."
He used a heated wire to cauterize the necrotic edges of the wound, then wrapped it in layers of gauze soaked in antibacterial agents. His movements were swift and precise, drawing a look of admiration from Keith.
"Who would've thought, Boss? Your medical skills are almost up there with a chirurgeon."
Byrne smiled and replied casually, "It's nothing. And stop calling me Boss; just call me Byrne. You can't fix machinery without getting hurt now and then. This little bit of skill is nothing compared to a professional medic."
Keith seemed to have been holding it in for a long time before he finally spoke. "Actually, I've been meaning to ask... aren't you curious why I tried to kill the Governor?"
Byrne, busy with the bandaging, answered offhandedly, "What's there to be curious about? Given the Governor's track record over the years, the line of people wanting him dead would stretch from one end of Blackstone City to the other. There just aren't many with the guts to actually try it."
With that, he pulled the final length of bandage tight and tied a firm knot, making Keith wince in pain.
After treating Keith's injuries, Byrne decided to head out for food. There was nothing left at home but half a jar of pickled cucumbers, and with an extra mouth to feed, shopping was a necessity.
By now, evening was approaching, and the sky remained a gloomy gray. Even through his cotton mask, the coal dust and industrial exhaust in the air made Byrne's throat sting. The streets of the Lower District were filthy and narrow, lined mostly with low, dilapidated shacks covered in grease and graffiti. Every so often, he saw stray dogs scavenging in piles of refuse.
Byrne bought some bread and then ducked into a general store. He pointed to the shelves behind the counter. "Give me two cans of grox meat and four bottles of black ale. The good stuff."
Alcohol isn't great for the injured, but Byrne knew that for a man in Keith's position, alcohol was a better alternative than painkillers.
The shopkeeper, Hark, was a portly man in his fifties missing half a front tooth. Hearing the order, Hark squinted and teased, "Well, look at you! Usually, you only come in for the cheapest pickles. Why the sudden generosity?"
"I have a guest," Byrne said. "Can't be too stingy."
Hark set the items on the counter. "For an old customer, I'll round it down. 1.6 million."
A week ago, Byrne would never have spent that many credits on food. But times had changed; with two massive windfalls in his pocket, this amount of currency was negligible to him.
Byrne paid promptly and was about to leave when Hark called out. He paused and looked back. "What is it, Uncle Hark? Did I short you on the credits?"
Hark shook his head. "It's not the money. I heard the Governor was attacked. They say the assassin is hiding right here in the Lower District. The patrols are everywhere—don't get careless."
Heh, that man is currently sitting in my house.
Byrne laughed inwardly but put on a worried face, nodding repeatedly. "Thanks for the warning. I'll keep my eyes open."
Leaving the shop, Byrne didn't return immediately. He circled through several extra blocks to ensure he wasn't being followed before heading home.
By the time he reached the repair shop, the sky was dark. He pushed the door open to see Keith leaning against the counter, staring down at a pocket watch. More specifically, he was looking at a photo of a young woman tucked inside the cover.
Startled by the noise at the door, Keith snapped his head up. Seeing it was Byrne, he relaxed. "A bit later than expected. Run into a patrol?"
"No, I just took the long way to make sure I wasn't being tailed."
Byrne tossed the bag onto the counter, pulling out the grox meat and ale. "Eat up. It's the best you'll get in the Lower District."
"You bought booze? Excellent. Exactly what I need right now."
Keith didn't stand on ceremony. He bit the cap off a bottle, clinked it against Byrne's, and took a massive swig. Then, he started on the bread and meat.
Byrne sat down, took a bite of bread, and glanced at the pocket watch in Keith's hand. "Your lover?"
"No. My sister. She died ten years ago."
"Sorry. Didn't mean to bring up bad memories."
Perhaps Keith just needed someone to talk to. He took another heavy swig of ale and asked, "Byrne, have you heard of Blackrot?"