“Both?”
“He and Elsi.”
Ah—I had been right. Things were starting to make sense to me now, including Dr Scott’s hostile behaviour.
“You asked what was bothering him?”
“I did. He said he got carried away by something and he’d been wrong, and he was trying to sort it out.”
“Did he say anything about danger?”
“Danger? My father?” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Oh, he was good at delegating, but he kept his private life close to him. It never does any good to trust a journalist with a personal feeling, he used to tell me. I bet you didn’t know he and Elsi were an item.”
“I suspected.” Yet it pretty much echoed my experiences with Sirkonen. “So—do you think he was in trouble?”
“In hindsight? Of course he was. But then again, he’d been in trouble for most of his presidency. It goes with the job. Someone is always trying to take a swipe at you, he used to tell me.” His voice sounded unsteady.
The serving girl returned with a tray from which she unloaded three plates with bread rolls—the outside covered with seeds—two glasses of water and a tall glass of orange-browny goop. Michael took a long swallow from it and set it down.
“You actually like that stuff?”
“It tastes a lot better than it looks.”
Thayu gave it a disgusted glare that echoed my feelings. Somehow, I preferred deep-fried worms. And manazhu.
I bit into my roll. At the next table, the girl had brought a veritable mountain of bread. It was the first time I’d seen the guards eat anything. Ezhya’s female guard was pointing to cheese protruding from her roll and asking Evi what it was.
“So . . .” I glanced at the reader on the chair. “Have you looked at it?”
Michael shook his head. “He told me explicitly not to do so.”
Smart man. Sirkonen had known about the protection then.
“But he told me a few things.” He swallowed his bite and leaned closer. “Did you know that Seymour Kershaw is still alive?”
“I do. When was your father’s last contact with him?”
“About six months ago. I read the messages. They were discussing political ideas. Then about a month or so before he was killed, my father tried to break with Kershaw. He said something about Kershaw’s claims not being true, and Kershaw was angry.”
“Did he . . . did Kershaw make any threats?”
“None that I saw.”
But the picture was clear now. I had been right. Amoro Renkati had killed Sirkonen, because he refused to cooperate.
“May I?” I reached for the bag.
He nodded. I pulled out the reader, set it on the table and gestured Thayu over. She pulled my datastick out of one of her many pockets and slid it into the reader. I turned it on.
A few nervous heartbeats later, the menu came up on the screen. I navigated the directory.
The guards on the next table were laughing, but I was sure at least some of them would have an idea what was going on. I didn’t want Ezhya Palayi to see this. Not yet.
I found the copy of the file that was also on the datastick.
It opened normally.
Phew.
When I moved to scroll down, Thayu batted my hands away.
Make a copy first.
Yes. Indeed. The key was on the datastick. It was more valuable than the reader. A few seconds later, it was again complete in the breast pocket of my shirt under my armour.
Now for the information itself. I scrolled through.
The maps, Elsi Schumacher’s report—I knew what was in there. I didn’t know that the person who had passed it to Sirkonen wasn’t Elsi, or even remotely Coldi; there’d been a leak in the Dawkins Centre computer.
A transcript of a meeting between Sirkonen and a couple of people unknown to me, representatives of a travel consortium with the aim of setting up a second Exchange node on Earth. Highlighted passages contained carefully veiled advice to Sirkonen not to involve me, because, they said, I didn’t have the authority. Hell, I didn’t, neither did they. No one decided about new Exchange nodes except the full assembly of gamra. It was a grave error of Sirkonen’s judgement. I knew he wanted to be rid of the stranglehold Athens had over off-Earth travel. He wanted it too badly—
But after a few such meetings and conversations—I scrolled through scanning the highlighted passages—Sirkonen had his doubts about the consortium. He’d kept them at a distance; he’d conversed with Kershaw directly, still keeping him at arm’s length.
Representatives from Asto had heard he was in possession of the weather data and had harassed Elsi; Sirkonen had been about to send his private jet for her when she disappeared—
Conversation at the next table stopped. Thayu’s hand rose a fraction to her upper arm. Someone else wouldn’t have paid the movement any notice, but I knew that she kept the charge gun there, under her jacket.
All guards turned their heads towards the street.
A couple of people waited in a bus shelter. A few others lined up at the drinks kiosk in the middle of the park. Steam rose from the cubicle’s counter, while the vendor, dressed in cheerful orange, moved inside. A few more people waited at the crossing, wind whipping their hair. The sun had long since vanished.
Thay’?
Thayu moved her hand higher up her arm, and spoke, not looking at me. “It might be prudent for us to move to a less exposed position.”
She had spoken in Coldi. Michael looked from her to me and back, frowning.
“She says it’s probably wise to go inside.”
Thayu urged me, “Quickly.”
I thumbed the reader into hibernation, slipped it into its bag, pushed myself up from the table, still studying the square and not seeing anything out of the ordinary.
The young waitress crossed the room. “Do you want the bill, sir?”
“No, thanks, we’re cold. We’d just like to move into the warmer part of the cafe.”
“Fine. I’ll prepare a table. That’s . . .” She glanced around at all the people standing, which included the guards. “. . . a table for eight—”
A flash of light hit the window. The glass exploded.
People screamed and dived for cover. Evi shouted a sharp command in Indrahui and pushed me onto my knees under the table. Thayu unclipped one of her charge guns and tossed it to me through the forest of table and chair legs; I missed. A veritable light show broke out over my head, the crackling of charges ringing in my ears. On my hands and knees, I fumbled for the gun, cursing. My palms had just healed from my last encounter with broken glass.
Ezhya’s two guards clambered over glass-strewn tables out the broken window and ran to the nearest bus shelter. Both held a charge gun in each hand, and fired at some place on top of the roof of the next apartment block. Glass, concrete and splinters of wood rained down.
A bus had stopped in the middle of the street, rocking as the passengers scrambled to get out.
Thayu had taken cover behind an upturned table. She was firing at the top of the buildings across the road, cursing. “There’s too many of them; they’re moving too quickly.”
I still saw nothing. I might be armed, but I felt utterly useless, and guilty, being the focus of the attack. Michael sat with his legs pulled up in the shelter of a low wall.
A few tables down, a young mother struggled with two children. Her pram had toppled, spilling vegetables and a baby bottle onto the glass-covered floor. The child strapped in the pram’s harness was screaming.
I crawled out from under the table. “Come.” I had to yell to make my voice heard.
The hysterical child glanced up at me, a man in weird clothing, and promptly stopped crying. I grabbed the baby from the fallen pram, and crawled into the darker part of the building. The kitchen staff huddled in a corner.
“Is there a back entrance to this place?”
One girl nodded.
“Here.” I passed her the child. “Take him and get out.”
/>
The girl was so startled that she said nothing, but promptly did as I asked.
I returned to the front of the cafe to meet the mother and her older child. She cried, “Thank you, thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Just go. Save yourself. Get out of here.” I virtually pushed all the staff and customers out the door. Michael was last. “Take yourself to safety. Your family has already suffered too much for it. Run home. I’ll call tonight.”
If I survived this.
Michael nodded, patted my shoulder, and left.
I stood in the room amidst fallen and shattered furniture, taking deep breaths to gather courage. I tucked the reader in the inside pocket of my armour and did up the fastening. Slowly, I reached for the charge gun which I had thrust in my belt. It felt warm in my hands. Heavy, uncomfortable. I flicked up the safety switch.
Glass crunched under my shoes as I stalked back to the front of the shop.
The shattered sunroom was empty, tables and chairs strewn over the tiled floor. The back of a chair had fallen into the glowing coals in the fireplace and was giving off coils of smoke. I kicked it to the floor and stamped out embers.
A flash lit up the roof of a shop opposite the square. That was another thing movies involving gamra weaponry often got wrong: charge guns didn’t produce beams. Their charge only became visible when it hit something. A cry rang out.
As if in slow motion, a black-clad figure fell onto a shop’s canvas awning, which collapsed under the weight. The body flopped down to the pavement and didn’t stir.
Panic crawled over me.
I didn’t think that was one of my party; the figure wasn’t wide enough to be Coldi or tall enough to be Indrahui.
Thayu? I ran to the front of the cafe. The abandoned bus stood there, billowing smoke. The shelter had been reduced to a grotesque piece of modern art of molten glass and metal.
“Thayu?”
Another shot rang out, hitting the frame of the by now glassless sunroom. I ducked, but not so quickly that I didn’t see another figure jump down from the roof of the next block. In cat-like grace, it crouched behind a ventilation tower, a gun pointed in my direction.
A few flashes struck the tower from the side, leaving the figure unharmed. Almost relaxed, the person dug in a pocket and replaced the charges in the gun.
I slid the barrel of my gun on top of the stone wall of the cafe’s porch. Sweat rolled over my stomach. On the tiny screen, I lined up the reference points.
Fired.
Missed.
Roof tiles flew up and clattered on the street below.
The figure jumped up and gave a shout. Immediately there was the sound of running feet, somewhere in the building above me, coming down the stairs.
I didn’t think twice, but clambered over the wall into the street.
A cacophony of fire broke out over my head. To my side, behind me, on the other side of the street. I ran to the bus shelter, clutching my gun. Where was everyone?
A man on a motorbike entered the square. A figure leaped from a roof and flattened him. He yanked the bike out of its owner’s hands and jumped on, then came full speed in my direction, over the grass of the park.
More fire rang out, this time from my side of the street. It hit the roof of the bus stand. Telaris leaped out of nowhere . . . into the path of the motorbike. And as I recognised the bike rider as Kedrasi, and holding a gun, the man fired at Telaris, continuing his path straight for me.
“Cory!” someone called behind me.
I turned.
A shot crackled. I ducked, and the motorbike crashed into the mangled remains of the bus stand without its rider. Panting, I glanced around to see who had saved me. A figure ran along the street, pushing fleeing pedestrians out of the way. I recognised the man. “Nicha!”
Thayu was firing at another target on the roof. Fire came back, shattering windows.
Nicha ran and ducked behind the recycling station where I sat.
We fell into a wordless hug.
“When did you get out?”
“Just in time to save your arse, it seems.”
I flung my arm over Nicha’s shoulder. There was so much to say, but no opportunity to say it.
Whining sirens echoed between the buildings. First one and then another police van screeched onto the square. A flash of light struck the windscreen of the first van. It skidded into a traffic barrier, and the second van had to swerve. It came to a stop in a cloud of burnt rubber. The doors of both vans opened and police armed with shields and guns streamed out. More flashes hit the pavement. A dark-clad figure ran over the roof of a building opposite us.
Someone else saw it, too. A flash, and the figure fell.
The police crowded against a shop wall, holding up their shields. More shots were fired from a second floor window, but a single shot from behind our bus stand put a merciless end to that. I hadn’t even seen a glimpse of the sniper, and wondered who the sharpshooter was.
Across the square, police officers gathered up someone wounded and bundled him into the van. Evi materialised out of a shop entrance, pushing another person, struggling in vain against his grip. Ezhya’s two elite body guards brought three men from inside the ruined cafe. One was Indrahui, which earned him a slap in the face from Telaris, who’d been standing outside putting recharges in his gun. They exchanged some sharp words in Indrahui which I didn’t catch, swear words no doubt.
Thayu crouched over the fallen body, searching the man’s clothes.
Then I spotted movement on the roof opposite. I yelled, “Thayu!” while raising my gun. I didn’t think twice, but fired, once, twice. Both shots went wide. But then there was another, from the roof above me, that struck the sniper in the chest.
He fell.
All went silent.
Blood roared in my ears. Whoever that was had just saved Thayu’s life. Nicha sat behind me, wide-eyed.
I unclamped my hands from the gun. “I didn’t hit him.”
“The guy would have shot her.”
His white-faced, wide-eyed expression sent a chill through me. I’d been right about him and Thayu. A surge of ugly jealousy made my face hot. I couldn’t bear to face Nicha, and raised the gun again, as if more snipers hid on balconies.
The next moment a shadow jumped down from the roof of the bus shelter. I was too late to react, but it was Ezhya Palayi, tucking the gun back into the bracket.
“I think we got them all.”
For all the excitement, the man looked like he’d been enjoying himself. Where I felt and probably looked dishevelled, he glowed with satisfaction. His hair was still tied up in the ponytail, slick and undisturbed, not a hair out of place.
He put a warm hand on my shoulder. My feeder made a rushing sound, as if someone opened a door to a room.
Well done.
I met Ezhya’s eyes. Had he just opened the link without setting it up? Perfect control.
Indeed.
From the other side, a human voice said, in Isla, “That’s one hell of a body guard you have there, Mr Wilson.”
24
THE ATTACKERS, twelve in all, three of them dead, were Renkati, or so I presumed because none of them were Coldi, and none of the survivors wanted to speak Coldi. Besides a few hissed words of Indrahui, there was no further communication between them and our party. None of the captives looked any of my guards in the eye, and I couldn’t gauge whether or not they recognised Ezhya. The police made the attackers strip off all armour and weapons which they spread into a veritable collection of non-Earthly gadgetry which they’d managed to get past the border patrols. This had been no amateur operation.
I sat, numbed and still hungry, through the questions police asked me. They had swarmed en masse into the Plaza, blocking roads and keeping curious pedestrians behind barriers.
Ezhya and his guards took their own records, and relayed some of them to me so I could inform Amarru. Evi and Telaris spoke with the police in their halting, abrupt way.
; Thayu stood next to Nicha. I didn’t miss the glances of mutual affection or Nicha’s hand on her shoulder and then wished I hadn’t seen. Jealousy was not going to help get this sorted out.
Because I was the only one who spoke fluent Isla, the police kept me busy longer than the others. Somehow, they seemed reluctant to interfere. Had anyone from Nations of Earth been in contact and ordered them to keep their heads down? Were they intimidated by the huge arsenal of weapons? Did they suspect our party included someone very important? Over my comm unit, Nixie Chan told me that the captives would probably be extradited into the control of the Exchange soon, which meant that they would face a gamra court, would be stripped of their citizenship and sent to work in a labour camp on some backwater world.
I spoke to Amarru several times, giving her the names and codes of the attackers as Ezhya’s guards uncovered them. They were all residents of Barresh, but there were no Coldi, and no Aghyrians.
Ezhya’s words about Renkati being nothing but lackeys for the Aghyrians came back to me. Throughout the last few days we’d found no evidence for that hypothesis, not even amongst their weaponry.
Ezhya came to stand next to me and said in a low voice that Delegate Akhtari had commanded gamra inspectors, backed up by Barresh city guards, to raid the Renkati complex in Barresh and bring all people found there in for questioning. They were to look specifically for the new technology, although I doubted they would find anything.
I felt sick. Of course the Aghyrian operator and his female friend had long since left, long after the builders of the machine, so all the blame would fall on Renkati. Admittedly, they deserved most of it, but they weren’t alone. Aghyrians got off without questioning. They weren’t even disturbed in their daily activities. The medico would see her patients, Marin Federza would go to his meetings, and Delegate Akhtari . . . did she have anything to do with it? Did any of them? How well were the Aghyrians organised? Did they have a leader?
I mumbled, “We might have caught these people, but this isn’t over yet.”
“No, it isn’t,” Ezhya said, in an equally low voice. “It will be quiet for a few years or so, but this issue will flare up again, and by that time, we must have changed gamra law and come out with some sort of compromise.” I’d really like you to take that position. Think about it very seriously.
Rogue Stars Page 190