Embustero- Pale Boundaries

by Scott Cleveland

  The hyperlink carrier cut off, and McKeon moved to the doorway overlooking the ops center where he could see the entrance to the secure conference room. The length of time the Onjin remained inside after the end of the transmission could provide clues to the subject, given certain contexts.

  The post-conference meeting lasted a good forty-five minutes, and McKeon felt a new rush of anxiety when it ended.

  Sergio and Tamara Cirilo emerged first. The Deputy Administrator seemed to have aged ten years in the last two hours. Whatever shock had precipitated his appearance had also overcome the anger he’d harbored against his daughter over the last few weeks. They walked side-by-side, arms linked and hands clasped. Tamara appeared unhappy, but not distraught, concern for her father evident. Hal Tennison emerged a few steps behind them. He looked not just angry, McKeon decided, but pissed off.

  Father and daughter embraced for a moment, and then Sergio got himself together and made his way to the center of the command post’s lower operations floor.

  “Attention, please!” he called, voice husky with restrained emotion. “Everyone stop what you’re doing; I have an announcement.” He waited while conversations paused and heads turned toward him.

  McKeon went to the rail overlooking the ops floor where he had a better view. Tamara Cirilo had turned her attention to Tennison, speaking earnestly, voice so low it couldn’t be heard over the sigh of ventilation in the now-silent room. Tennison replied with a curt shake of his head.

  “Let me first assure everyone that we are in no danger,” Sergio began. The declaration sparked a number of startled expressions. “Due to some developments that I’m not at liberty to address here, we have been ordered to move non-essential personnel to Alpha continent. I will consult with various staff members regarding how to accomplish this, but in the meantime I’d like you to continue your duties as usual.

  “I know you all have questions; they will be answered in good time. Please do not discuss this outside of the command post—it is sensitive information, and there is no reason to alarm your families. That is all I have at this time. Thank you.”

  A dull bedlam broke out; voices rose and people began to mill about as they digested the news. McKeon made his way down the stairs toward Tamara Cirilo and Hal Tennison, but the Chief Administrator strode away before he got there, leaving Tamara scowling after him.

  Objective thought under pressure was not Hal Tennison’s strong suit, and he was wise enough to know it. Emotion carried him through most crises more often than not. He’d developed a tendency over the years to compensate by planning ahead so that when the crisis arrived his emotions had a guide and mechanism through which to vent.

  His goal in Dayuki’s case had been a careful, methodically constructed illusion to remove her from the Family’s view and satisfy any lingering doubts his mother held about his mettle. All plans were subject to chaos, however, and Hal found himself cursing Den Tun, Sorenson, and the chain of events that seemed intent on taking Dayuki’s life despite his best efforts. He still possessed the presence of mind to clamp down on his anger, to keep it at a simmer deep in his gut before it could boil over into the sort of ill-conceived, mindless action or unconscious nuance of expression and posture that must have fueled his mother’s mistrust.

  Fortunately his earlier preparations provided a possible avenue of escape. The first thing, he knew with absolute certainty, was to get Dayuki to his shuttle where he could consider what to do next.

  The Minzoku girl rose from her accustomed place at the hypernet terminal, startled by his unexpected arrival. His expression and body language alerted her to his mood; she did not approach to greet him or question his presence, but simply waited. Hal considered explaining and discarded the idea immediately. It would take too much precious time. Besides, unease on the Minzoku girl’s part might lend more credibility to his actions.

  “We’re going out,” he informed her tersely.

  “Yes, Hal-san.” Dayuki started for the closet.

  “Immediately,” Hal amended. “As you are.”

  She registered surprise at that; she wore only a light kimono and slippers, clothing unsuitable for the weather outside, but masked the reaction behind practiced inscrutability as quickly as it appeared. She delivered a cool “Of course, Hal-san,” as if he’d suggested pork for dinner instead of beef.

  Hal took her firmly by the arm and set off down the corridor at a pace that forced Dayuki to mince along beside him in tiny half steps, teetering at the edge of her balance in the restrictive kimono.

  The cold bit at Hal’s hands when they emerged onto the concrete path outside the VIP quarters. He shoved his free hand into his pocket but did not stop to pull on gloves. Dayuki had to endure the frigid temperature in little more than a nightgown; his discomfort was nothing compared to hers.

  Thankfully there was no wind. The sky overhead was a deep, clear blue illuminated by low-angle winter rays just strong enough to melt the scraped remains of last night’s snowfall from the path, leaving the brick and concrete wet and steaming except where shadow sheltered the frosty coating.

  Hal made for the sally port as fast as he dared. Dayuki managed to gather a fistful of her kimono in her free hand, raising the hem even with her knees and allowing her to reach something akin to a trot next to him. Moisture from the path soaked her slippers and goose bumps rose on her bare shins and calves like hundreds of tiny insect bites. She began to shiver before they were halfway there. Her teeth were chattering when they stopped before the heavy steel door.

  Hal punched in the access code, felt a rush of relief when the indicator went green and the bolts retracted. With any luck the countdown wouldn’t begin in earnest until the alarm went off in the command post. He pulled the sleeve of his coat over his hand, using the makeshift mitten to grasp the metal handle without the moisture on his skin freezing to it.

  “We’re going for the shuttle,” he told Dayuki. “You have to stay on your feet for as long as you can.”

  “Y-yes, H-H-Hal-san,” the girl quivered.

  Hal jerked the handle down and tugged the door open. The unblemished snow on the other side had accumulated a good thirty centimeters of depth. Dayuki moaned when her wet feet and bare calves sank into the white froth.

  Every instinct in Hal Tennison’s being screamed at him to run, to get Dayuki to shelter before she collapsed, but he held them to a brisk stride instead. His only hope of getting her to the shuttle alive was to make the Onjin doubt his intent.

  “Sir, we have a momentary interlock alarm at the west sally port.”

  “Is it secure now?” McKeon asked as he rose stiffly from his desk.

  “It appears so. I’m having it checked.”

  “Who went out?” The doors only opened from the inside, so there was no question as to the direction of travel.

  “Have it on video in a second.” The overhead screens were partially visible from McKeon’s office door and he only needed to take a few steps to get a clear view as the video feed from the surveillance camera brought one to life. The perspective swiveled back and forth, zooming in and out of focus for a few seconds as the operator oriented the device on the dark figures silhouetted against the snow.

  Halsor Tennison stomped through calf-deep snow pulling Dayuki along with him by her arm. The Minzoku girl wore nothing but a kimono and struggled to maintain her balance and footing.

  “Did Tennison notify you he was leaving the Fort?” McKeon asked the watch officer.

  “No, sir,” the woman replied.

  “Patch the feed to my office,” McKeon directed, “and have the Cirilos see me ASAP.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  A cold lump formed in McKeon’s throat, fear and hope tangled together in a Gordian knot that would not loosen into one or the other until events unfolded. The pair was headed straight at Tennison’s shuttle, but the Minzoku girl certainly wasn’t dressed for such an outing and was clearly exhibiting distress from the cold. The Chief Administrator’s
pace was purposeful and unhurried.

  Tamara and Sergio Cirilo arrived a few minutes later. McKeon indicated the scene depicted outside before either had a chance to question his summons. Tamera stared at the screen dumbly for a moment.

  “Is he crazy?” she exclaimed. “What does he think he’s doing?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?” McKeon replied. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Get someone on the wall,” Sergio ordered. “Shoot that Minzoku bitch before she ruins everything!”

  McKeon looked to Tamara. The Onjin woman nodded once, unhappily. “Security, I need a sniper team on the west wall.”

  Sensation began to drain from Dayuki’s feet in earnest when they left the Fort. Her lifeblood withdrew from her extremities, pooling about her internal organs and brain to protect them. The muscles in her legs and buttocks cramped, refusing to acknowledge the instructions issued by her brain with any urgency. She slipped with each step, unable to feel the ground beneath her numb appendages.

  Mucus ran from her nose and froze on her lip in a great wad of snot. Before long she was gasping for breath through a wide-open mouth. The dry air pulled moisture from her throat and lungs greedily. The sun’s reflection from the snow brought tears to her eyes and after a few minutes they clamped shut involuntarily, blinding her on top of everything else.

  Every so often she managed to force them apart for a few seconds and finally spied the blurry outline of Hal-san’s shuttle ahead, a walk of no more than another minute or two. She couldn’t have made it so far without his grip to support her. She leaned on that support more with every meter and went down hard when the cold finally sapped the strength from his hand.

  Hal didn’t feel Dayuki slip from his grasp. The first indication that he’d lost her was the sudden absence of resistance. He turned back to find her lying facedown, immobile, in the snow. She’d made it three times farther than he thought he could have in the same circumstances.

  He scanned the Fort’s rampart as he trudged the half-dozen steps back to where she lay. He saw movement along the top of the wall, a figure running toward one of the sharpshooter positions built into the parapet with no attempt at stealth.

  Reluctantly, he closed his wooden fingers around the butt of his needle-beamer.

  “Sniper in position. Sights are hot.”

  “Stand by,” McKeon ordered. Tennison walked back to the Minzoku girl’s still form and drew his sidearm from inside his coat. “He’s going to do it.”

  “About time the young fool showed some sense,” Sergio announced.

  “Daddy, shut up,” Tamara said without turning her head.

  Tennison walked past Dayuki’s body several meters, as if he intended to leave her to the elements. Tamara Cirilo’s face drained of color as the possibility of witnessing another human’s long, slow death occurred to her. Tennison appeared to struggle as well—unable to bring himself to pull the trigger but equally unwilling to let her suffer.

  He stopped, hung his head for a moment, and turned back again.

  “Sights are cold,” the sniper reported at almost the same instant Tennison’s back came between Dayuki’s body and the surveillance camera.

  Tennison took careful, deliberate aim and fired. An explosion of steam erupted from the ground throwing gobs of steaming mud mixed with substances McKeon chose not to dwell on into the air. Tamara turned away holding one hand to her mouth, the other to her stomach. Even Sergio looked a bit ill.

  McKeon turned off the monitor. “That’s that.” He added a quick cough to cover the disappointed tremor in his voice.

  “Yes, well, on to other business,” Sergio said, reclaiming his pompous air. He reached for his daughter’s elbow but she avoided his hand with a quick side step. A shake of her head warned him not to try again.

  “Sights are hot. Target is moving.”

  “What did he say?” Sergio demanded.

  McKeon spun and reactivated the monitor. Tennison galloped through the snow awkwardly, encumbered by Lieutenant Dayuki’s body hanging limply over one shoulder. Her cranium was whole and undamaged; a divot of freezing mud ringed by congealing slush had been exposed a half-meter from where the Minzoku girl’s head lay moments before.

  “He’s getting away!” Sergio exclaimed. “McKeon, do something!”

  McKeon looked again to the daughter. Tennison and the Minzoku girl were almost to the shuttle. Tamara was torn between her matriarch’s orders and her lover’s wrath. Sergio, on the other hand, had no such conflicts.

  “Shoot her!” the old man screamed into McKeon’s com. “Do it now!”

  McKeon pushed him away with his shoulder, sending Sergio crashing against the wall, and stabbed the push-to-talk button. “Belay that! Stand down.”

  “Yes, sir. Breaking contact.”

  Tennison vanished around the shuttle’s hull with his burden. Sergio climbed to his feet, red-faced and shaking with outrage. “HOW DARE YOU!” the Deputy Administrator thundered. “How dare you lay a hand on me! I’ll have your head, McKeon!”

  “The bullet would have gone clean through her,” McKeon replied, “put a hole in Tennison’s back big enough to walk through!”

  “That’s not your concern! I gave a direct order which you had no authority to countermand!”

  “My authority comes from the top,” McKeon growled, emphasizing the point with a stiff finger to Sergio’s chest. “I’m here to protect the life and limb of Family members—even if that means protecting you from each other! I won’t allow you to take that sort of action without a direct order from the Old Lady herself!” He despised Family politics; more often than not it was employees like himself who found themselves crushed between equally obtuse opposing forces.

  Sergio’s mask cracked suddenly—pitifully. “You don’t understand,” he whined. He began to rock in place, wringing his hands so hard his knuckles popped. “We’re responsible.” He looked to his daughter plaintively. “You heard what she said—we’re responsible!”

  “I know, Daddy. Everything will be fine. I’ll see to it.” Of McKeon she asked: “Can we get him home quietly?” Her father’s world was crumbling around him. The least she could do was spare him the indignity of going over the edge in public.

  “Of course,” McKeon nodded. Inside he was giddy with swirling emotion; adrenaline released during the events of the last few minutes had not yet peaked in his bloodstream. He needed some activity to burn it off so he could think clearly.

  “One of us should stay,” she suggested tentatively, more question than order.

  “It’ll take Hal a while to preflight,” McKeon said. “There’s time to talk to him.”

  Hal dumped Dayuki on the floor unceremoniously and collapsed next to her. The environment inside the shuttle was a sauna compared to the weather outside. After a few minutes his fingers began to tingle and sting as warmth awakened the nerve endings. He had a good idea of what was to come and struggled out of his coat and shoes before it struck. He left Dayuki where she lie and crawled into his bunk, gritting his teeth against the fire that enveloped his hands and feet.

  The com called for attention several times over the next hour. Hal ignored it, could not have walked across the cabin to answer it had he wanted to. Dayuki hadn’t stirred by the time the pain began to recede. He hobbled back to her as soon as he recovered enough to stand.

  The Minzoku girl’s body was cold to the touch, but Hal detected a faint, rasping breath when he held his ear close to her mouth. His heart leapt at the sound. Alive! Hypothermic, frostbitten and unconscious, but alive! He carried her to the bunk and turned to the shuttle’s medical library. Dayuki appeared to have come through the experience relatively unscathed compared to the ghastly images on file. Whitish patches of surface damage appeared on the tips of her nose, ears, fingers and toes, but Hal couldn’t find any sign of deep tissue freezing.

  Soon after he had her cleaned up and covered she regained some amount of consciousness—enough to feel the pain in her warmin
g limbs. Hal injected her with a mild painkiller and she settled into a fitful sleep.

  And now what? Hal turned his attention to less immediate concerns. Nearly three hours had passed since he’d taken Dayuki and fled the Fort. If not for the armed figure he spotted moving along the top of the Fort’s wall he might have believed they’d escaped undetected. So far the Fort hadn’t taken any action, but that did not mean they wouldn’t if he tried to take off. He stood little chance of evading the anti-aircraft guns hidden in the surrounding countryside.

  Even if he did, he’d find himself a vagabond wanted by the Commonwealth, his own Family and any number of old enemies eager to act upon decades-old vendettas. He might take refuge with the authorities or a rival Family, offer his intimate knowledge of Sarmak operations in exchange for his life, but Halsor Tennison was no traitor despite his other failings.

  He gambled that the Old Lady wasn’t yet aware of what had transpired. Of those aware of his mother’s edict, only Sergio Cirilo would fry his ass without hesitation. Hal counted on Tamara’s affection and McKeon’s friendship to give him an out.

  The com called for attention as if on cue. Make it good. He opened the channel but said nothing. Background noise—a shuffle, a cough—reached him from the other end. The caller no doubt detected the same sort of sounds from his side.

  Tamara’s voice reached out after a moment. “Hal? Are you there?”

  “I’m here,” Hal sighed, hoping to convey resignation.

  Another voice in the background, whispering. “McKeon’s with me. He wants to know if you’re all right.”

  “What the hell do you think, Tammy?” This time the emotion was real.

  “Physically,” McKeon specified. “Do you need medical attention?”