Republic

by Lindsay Buroker

  “They have him? And they’re bargaining with him? Do you even know if he’s still alive?”

  The major chewed on his lip for a moment before his expression hardened. “We’re done talking. If you stay out of trouble, maybe you’ll live to help those priests figure out how to save the city. Now get up.”

  “Fine.”

  Mahliki shifted onto her side, ostensibly to climb to her feet, but she used her body to block her hands, just for a second, long enough to finish. Holding the hose, she cranked on the water and pointed it at his face. It splashed him solidly in... the neck.

  His finger twitched on the trigger. She had anticipated he might shoot reflexively and tried to dodge to the side as her water stream attacked him, but she wasn’t fast enough. The bullet burned into her arm, and a scream of agony escaped her lips of its own accord. She dropped the hose, but managed to keep her wits. He hadn’t dropped the pistol.

  Bracing herself against the bulkhead, Mahliki lifted a leg and kicked him in the stomach, thrusting with all the strength the wall could lend her. He folded in half. She kicked out again, this time targeting his hand. The pistol flew into the air, clunking onto the far side of the navigation panel. She wanted to kick the major a few more times and knock him to the deck, but her arm was screaming with pain. All she could manage was to sprint past him, ramming her shoulder into his on the way by. She doubted her blows would down a trained soldier, however gray-haired he might be, but all she needed was to reach the pistol first.

  A flashing gauge nearly distracted her. The power to the hull had gone out during the crash. That meant the running lamp was off. It also meant the energy going to the socket Father needed to power his final device was off, curse the stupid engineer.

  Mahliki reached for the pistol at the same second as the major grabbed her by the collar. He tried to yank her away before she could grab the weapon, but she snatched it off the control panel first. She spun into him, pulled back the hammer to chamber another round, and fired. If she had been in less pain, she might have taken a less abrupt action, but blood was saturating the sleeve of her shirt, and she wasn’t in any condition to play fisticuffs.

  He pitched forward again, grabbing his stomach. Later, Mahliki might muster sympathy for him, but not now. She pushed him out of the navigation chamber. When he stumbled, trying to fall to his knees, she grabbed him by the collar, and hoisted him up. He was heavy, and she had to use two hands—her bloodied arm cried out in protest—but she didn’t stop until she had manhandled him into the cabin. Unfortunately, the lock was on the inside of the hatch, but it took a wheel spinning to open it, so she found a spare piece of piping and jammed it through the wheel. That ought to keep him from getting out, at least for the moment.

  Mahliki debating between running to navigation to try and signal a message to her father and running to engineering to get the exterior power flowing again. She hadn’t seen him outside the viewport when she had been grabbing the pistol. Engineering it was. The device had to be the priority anyway. If the Explorer was destroyed but the city was saved... She would miss the craft, source of so many childhood memories, but she had to consider that a fair trade off.

  Chapter 31

  Though the lorry bumped along at a rapid clip, taking corners with enough force to tilt the passengers into each other’s laps, Sicarius stood on his feet near the back of the bed, his arms folded across his chest. He glared at the two rows of prisoners lining the benches as the vehicle drew closer to the city. Amaranthe had offered to ride in the back with him, but he was taking his assigned guard duty seriously and did not wish any distractions. Four soldiers were also stationed in the back, but they deferred to him.

  The lorry came to a stop earlier than expected, and Sicarius peeked past the back flap. He had assumed they were going to the alternate headquarters that had been set up for the president, where they could drop off the prisoners and check on Starcrest’s progress at the lake, but ramshackle tenements lined the street, the tottering brick buildings leaning against each other for support. Many had broken windows and graffiti painted on the walls. The air smelled of wood smoke, rotten food, and feces dumped outside in the alleys rather than channeled into sewers.

  “Sicarius,” Colonel Starcrest said from the street. “Sergeant Matic is coming in to relieve you. Come outside, please.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sicarius said, though he didn’t move until his replacement entered and he had briefed the man, letting him know which prisoners had attempted to escape or were whispering suspiciously to each other.

  Once outside, he noticed the street name on an old copper sign hanging from a single nail. Windy Lane.

  Amaranthe was waiting next to the lorry with the colonel.

  “We detoured to pick up the child,” Sicarius stated, then glanced at the back of the truck to indicate the prisoners and in the direction of the lake to indicate President Starcrest who must be in need of a cure by now. “You made this a priority.”

  “Was that a question?” the colonel asked Amaranthe. “It’s hard to tell with him.”

  “That’s because his questions sound like statements. I assure you, he’s puzzled.”

  “I sent a scout up on a roof,” the colonel said. “The submarine hasn’t come up yet.” A muscle ticked in Dak’s jaw.

  Amaranthe gripped Sicarius’s arm. “It won’t take long. That girl has to be terrified and wondering when her mother is coming.”

  Sicarius took no comfort from Amaranthe’s touch, not this time. He admitted that a lone child would be helpless and scared in this neighborhood, but he did not want to see this girl and explain how her mother had come to die. By his hand. He did not want to explain his feelings in front of the colonel, but he gazed into Amaranthe’s eyes, willing her to understand. She would be the best choice to go in and find the child. Not him.

  She smiled and took his hand. “Three-seventeen Dee-Four, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Sicarius said stonily.

  “Make it quick,” the colonel said. “Lady Starcrest is eager to find her husband.”

  Sicarius followed Amaranthe to the front door of the building, which was an awkward two feet above ground level. If wooden steps had once led up to it, they were gone now. He usually led the way, but Amaranthe seemed content to go first here. He kept all of his senses alert. Though he did not expect trouble, not with the military vehicle parked out front and his knife collection on display, he would not allow his reluctance to find the child to put Amaranthe in danger. She had experienced enough danger already that night, thanks to Deret Mancrest. Admittedly, the man’s associations had allowed them to find the treacherous vice president, but Sicarius would not credit Mancrest with anything other than accidental competence.

  The wooden floorboards of the front hall creaked like rocking chairs and were scattered with rat droppings, some smashed by passing feet. A pile of human feces sat near the wall, the accompanying smell making Amaranthe crinkle her nose. Sicarius could not imagine allowing his child to dwell in such a degenerate environment. An assassin of any skill ought to be able to earn enough to pay for a more suitable home, however temporary.

  Oh? And would you find it easy to find employment in Nuria? It was Amaranthe’s voice, sounding in the back of his mind. Sicarius wasn’t sure when that had started happening, but recognized it as something that came up during questions of morality. No, he would not have found it easy to find employment in Nuria, no matter how great his skills, and he would like to think he would never have been in the position to take a child with him to another nation, but what if Sespian had been born to some street doxy instead of to the princess? Sicarius did not know what he would have done.

  Amaranthe stopped before the door. “This is the address. I assume the girl will have orders not to open the door to strangers.” She sniffed and eyed the hallway. “Or anyone.”

  “You wish me to pick the lock?” Sicarius checked to see if the door was locked. It was. “Or go around to the window?”

&n
bsp; “The colonel put a man on the window. He thought the child might flee when she saw... someone who wasn’t her mother walk in.”

  Sicarius doubted that was exactly what the colonel had said, but didn’t comment. He took out his lock picks.

  “You are fairly intimidating when you’re running around shirtless.” Amaranthe smiled, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

  Sicarius did not believe himself influenced by such tactics, but he appreciated that she cared enough to try. He slid a torsion wrench and pick into the lock and attempted to manipulate the pins without making noise. Morning had come during their time in the crypt, and the girl would doubtlessly be awake by now.

  When he finished, he stepped back and inclined his head toward the door. It was not, he resolved, cowardly for him to defer to Amaranthe in his matter. Her face would be less likely to alarm a child.

  A thought came to his mind, and he caught her by the wrist before she could open the door. “Though I deem it unlikely, it may be a trap.”

  Amaranthe tilted her face toward him. “Oh?”

  “The assassin may have yet hoped to slay me and, in her dying breaths, given me the address of a flat she had booby-trapped.”

  “Why do I get the impression you would prefer that to be the case?”

  Because it was... easier to deal with a trap than a child.

  Sicarius released her wrist. “I am merely voicing possibilities.”

  “Mmhmm. You may go in first and check for trip wires, alarm systems, and booby traps if you wish.”

  Though he sensed she was teasing him, Sicarius listened at the door, then, when he heard nothing, eased it open. Sunlight filtered through a grimy, cracked window. A small bed, a chamber pot, and a backpack sitting on the floor were the room’s only furnishings. The single blanket on the bed lay in a rumpled pile spilling onto the floor. Nobody was in sight.

  Sicarius spent a thorough minute checking the entryway for traps, though he had already detected the soft inhalations of someone breathing. They were quick, fast inhalations and came from under the bed.

  For a time, Amaranthe leaned against the hallway wall, but eventually she said, “The others are waiting for us.”

  Reminded that Starcrest was in danger, Sicarius steeled himself and strode into the room. He lifted the edge of the bed with one hand. A squeal came from underneath, and a small figure darted out. Sicarius caught the girl before she had fled two feet, holding her off the ground so she couldn’t make trouble. This didn’t keep her from flailing and trying to punch, bite, and claw Sicarius. Her black ponytail whipped back and forth, and her teeth gnashed at the air. He calmly held her out toward the door.

  Amaranthe strode inside and gave the girl a dry smile. “Hello, my name is Amaranthe. I work for the president of Turgonia. What’s your name?”

  The girl thrashed and flailed. Sicarius was tempted to let her down, as he had no true reason to keep her restrained against her wishes, but if she fled, it would only be into that neighborhood, and she couldn’t find a decent life there.

  “Not ready to share, eh?” Amaranthe asked. “I don’t blame you. Having your mothers’ enemies stalk into your apartment in the morning must be alarming. You probably don’t speak Turgonian, either, do you?”

  As soon as she asked the question, Sicarius took it as a given, though it hadn’t occurred to him. He could have spoken in Nurian, but doubted anything he said would soothe the child.

  “Let’s take her outside to talk to Tikaya,” Amaranthe said.

  The girl started screaming as soon as they stepped out of the room. Trying not to feel like a kidnapper, Sicarius walked down the hall. None of the doors opened. Sicarius knew from the sounds and smells of cooking that people were home, but those who lived in this area had learned to look the other way at screams.

  Perhaps having anticipated her skills being needed, Tikaya was waiting outside the front door. She frowned at Sicarius, or maybe the way he had the girl pinned to his chest. What else was he supposed to do with her? He had no wish to be pummeled by seven-year-old fists.

  “I’ll take her.” Tikaya held out her arms.

  Sicarius was relieved to hand off the squirming burden, but at the same time felt a sense of guilt at foisting this... problem onto someone else. Odd, he had not experienced guilt often in his life. He had rarely cared what became of the families of those he was assigned to kill. It was part of the job and the job was not to be questioned. Or perhaps he had always known that in questioning it... he must question everything. Including himself. And to question himself would be to hesitate at a key moment, to invite death because of that hesitation.

  With Tikaya speaking in Nurian, the child quieted down, though nothing in her wide eyes bespoke acceptance. She started shaking her head and crying out, “No, no,” in her own tongue. This denial continued on, though at one point, tears wept down the girl’s cheeks. The first sign of acceptance.

  It seemed a strange moment for realizations, with Tikaya and Amaranthe kneeling on a grimy cobblestone street, trying to explain things to this foreign child, but one came then, nonetheless. At some point this past winter, or maybe at that very moment, he had become someone who questioned.

  • • • • •

  Sespian cut and sawed into the access panel Starcrest had opened, having no idea if he was doing any good. The hull of the sturdy craft wasn’t any easier to pierce than the flesh of that plant, and if he hadn’t had one of the black daggers, he doubted he would have attempted this, but he had to try.

  A gun fired inside the submarine, the bang unmistakable, even underwater.

  The engineer. He’d turned on them. That had to be it. Sespian didn’t stop hacking and cutting, but he glanced toward the nose of the craft where he had last seen Starcrest, pounding to get the attention of those inside, or maybe just pounding in frustration.

  He was nowhere to be seen. Maldynado had disappeared as well. No, there he was. Dragging the cable and Starcrest’s device over to the submarine to hook it up. A good thought. Sespian was too frustrated with his inability to get inside to have thought of it himself. And no one would tear him away now, not until he had figured out a way in. Mahliki needed his help.

  Sespian gave up on the switches within the panel. They weren’t working, and he had cut them into unrecognizable metal shreds anyway. He grabbed the top of the hatch and leaned in as close as his helmet would let him, squinting at the seal around it. Maybe he could break that.

  He did his best to jab the black dagger into the crease. It slipped in a fraction of an inch. He wriggled it back and forth. A normal knife would have snapped off at the tang. This one didn’t... but he didn’t have much luck on the seal, either. He switched from prying to sawing, trying to cut it off like the lid of a sardine can.

  Something bumped his calf. Thinking it one of the plants, Sespian whirled, the blade raised.

  It wasn’t a plant, but another man in a diving suit. In the dim lighting, he couldn’t identify who at first, but from the way the figure threw his arms up in exaggerated surrender, he took it for Maldynado.

  Maldynado pointed at the ground, where he had left the device, and held something up in his hand. The end of the cable. He shrugged his shoulders.

  Oh, he was trying to figure out where to plug it in. Sespian used Basilard’s hand code to respond, though he didn’t know how much Maldynado would make out in the poor lighting.

  The socket is underneath the rudder, but if the running lamp is out, I don’t think there will be power running through that point, either. Sespian grimaced. He hadn’t known all of the Mangdorian signs for those words—there probably weren’t any signs for some of them—and feared he had looked like a drunken mime relaying his thoughts.

  Maldynado stared at him for a moment, then pointed at the rudder.

  Sespian nodded. If he had managed to convey that much at least, it was a start. Another gunshot went off inside the submarine.

  His heart filling his throat, Sespian forgot Maldynado and wen
t back to his original task. He had to get in. If they were still shooting at each other, there was hope they were both still alive. Especially Mahliki.

  Sweat dripped down the side of his forehead and beaded in his eyebrows as he sawed. More than once, he tried to wipe the moisture away, knocking his hand against the faceplate. His heavy breathing, or maybe he could blame the sweat, was making the inside fog up too.

  “Stupid helmet,” he muttered illogically. Yes, he needed it to breathe, but he wanted to rip it and the gloves off so he could more effectively see and feel.

  Abruptly, the light level rose. Sespian knelt back for a moment, wondering if Maldynado had done something with the device. But it was the running lamp that was glowing, not anything on the lake floor.

  “She fixed it,” Sespian said. “That means she’s alive.”

  And if she was alive, then maybe he didn’t need to saw his way into the submarine. Maybe she had taken care of the engineer by herself.

  Bubbles drifted past his faceplate. Sespian frowned down, afraid he may have stabbed his sleeve, and his suit was letting out air. But the bubbles were dribbling up from the seal around the hatch. He had succeeded in breaking it.

  “Blasted slag heaps,” he groaned. Had he just poked a hole in the craft for no reason? One that would let in water and threaten the very woman he had wanted to save? “Brilliant, Sespian. Brilliant.”

  He jabbed the dagger into his belt and pushed away from the hatch. He needed to find Starcrest and explain what he had done. And he needed to see if Mahliki had indeed saved herself.

  Before he could head for the nose where he had last seen Starcrest, he spotted Maldynado tipped sideways in the water, his body unmoving. The device that had been an unremarkable copper box a few moments before blazed with white light so bright Sespian had to shield his eyes. Some sort of legs or prongs had descended from it, sinking it into the ground. Into the roots? He turned in a full circle, trying to decide if it had affected the stalks in the distance. With the foggy faceplate, everything out there was a blur.