Reva stood against the wall, far to the left of the smuggler. One long step to the side carried her behind Lish's line of sight. She would not see the assassin with a casual glance, not unless she looked back, over her shoulder.
Reva waited, heart racing. It was nothing to walk up on a target, nothing when she was stalking someone between the Lines. This was different, so very different. Personal and immediate, like everything done in Mainline. Too personal.
She took a while to regain her center, to breathe through parted lips until detachment returned, precariously achieved as it was. She was careful not to stare at Lish, though it was hard to keep her eyes off of her friend. Too much staring, and they look at you sometimes. That's not a problem between the Lines....
She wished herself there, hidden at the crossroads of many present moments, away from the dilemma of this Now. She'd sorted through the Lines as soon as she'd awakened, and again here in the hallway, trying to decipher the fragments of Now, to pick out which thread of consequence offered the best resolution to her problems. But most everywhere off Mainline, Lish lay dead or dying at Reva's hand; in a minority of Nows, the smuggler continued to live, unscathed regardless of Reva's intent In Mainline, the reality that stretched directly ahead of her, her keyed-up emotional state interfered with her ability to sense upcoming events. The next moments and the near future were a blur of fractured images, with no coherent eventline to be discerned.
Time-blind, she abandoned her efforts to sense the future, and moved directly through Realtime to do what she had to do.
She took three long, gliding steps closer to Lish, until she was standing nearly behind the preoccupied Holdout. She paused there, planning her next move, then chided herself.
You're taking too long, she thought. What are you waiting for? Quick, be quick about it.
Still she stood. What was she going to do afterward? A burst of frustration caused her to halt, fists clenched.
Fine planning. Fine. Do the hit, and after that—what? Ask 'Jammers to give you a ride to the starport while Lish lies in here, dead?
She must have made a sound at that moment, an inhalation, perhaps, or maybe the target simply sensed her presence in the room. Lish raised her head from the comp screen, and the assassin reflexively covered her tracks as far as she was able. She retraced her movements, taking two long steps backward and closer to the door, so her threatening pose behind Lish was not so easily detected. The smuggler suddenly turned, and glimpsed her friend a stride or two inside the entranceway.
She started, then relaxed as she recognized her visitor. "Reva! Sorry, I didn't hear you come in."
The tall woman walked forward, toward the float-couch beside the desk. Her pulse was racing, but her movements appeared normal enough, someone who had only that moment walked into the room and now accepted the invitation to sit. She lounged, a little stiffly, and struggled to concentrate on what Lish had to say about Edesz.
Vask had watched Reva's slow stalking movements toward Lish, seen her hesitation, her recovery on the verge of detection. Her actions left Kastlin worried about her motives and concerned for Lish's safety. He tried to puzzle out her strange behavior, but little about it seemed logical.
Did I misread what I saw? he wondered. What is she up to?
They were questions with no answers to be gleaned from an unphased state. That required ears, but there was no place to hide while he shifted down to the physical and blindspotted. He had to content himself with continued observation in his ghostly form.
The women's actions told him very little, indeed. A talk, a glass of wine, and Reva was gone. Straightforwardly, this time, with no last-minute attack or threatening motions toward Lish.
Had it all been the whim of a moment? Stymied, the Mutate ghosted back to his room, resolved to watch the assassin closer than ever before.
LXX
More Skiffjammers were put to work on the Kestren. With qualified techs on hand, the refitting drew rapidly to a close. Lish came out to the ship for a final inspection.
Devin's excitement was tangible; she had come to sign the vessel over to him, the better to avoid IntSec scrutiny of the freighter and its travels. For the spacer, gaining a ship of his own to command was the culmination of a dream. Their final contract gave him outright ownership, and an equal share of profits with
Lish. It was one further concession, the price of his cooperation on the upcoming Tion run, an apology for his involvement with the Delos Varte.
Their brief tour concluded in the command unit. Lish leaned on the navigator's chair, captivated by the array of ready lights on the flight deck instruments. All systems up and running, exactly within the week she had demanded.
"Like it?" Devin asked proudly.
"You did a nice job." She smiled over at him. "Everything looks really good."
His next question caught her off guard. "This is my ship, now," he said, "so I have the right to ask. Will you share merios with me?'' He eagerly watched her response from beside the captain's chair.
It was something she had never considered. The pleasant expression froze on her face while conflicting emotions reeled through her.
Merios. A ceremony of the Shiran Traders she had long forgotten, for she had never lived on a newly initiated ship, and had only heard of the ritual from her parents and clanmates. Yet every Shirani knew what merids entailed. The acquisition of a vessel was never an ordinary purchase, but the start of what was likely to be a lifelong bond. The captain and his or her extended family would be born, grow up, and die on that ship, so a Shiran spacecraft was hearth, home, enterprise, and sometimes final resting place to the Traders who lived on her. It was not simply renamed when it was acquired: it was initiated, a rite of passage for the vessel, and for the crew who would inhabit her. Merios blessed the ship in the eyes of the ancient gods and created the special bond needed for her successful travels.
The Kestren would not truly be Devin's until he renamed her; he could not rename her until merids had been completed on board. A small tradition Lish had put far in the back of her mind, and one that came crashing in on her now, with all its implications.
She made herself keep the smile on her face. She was his clan-mate, and the only available Shirani here, at this time. She was bound by duty and honor to say yes. She studied Devin's earnest expression. At least it seemed like a choice for him, not an obligation simply because she was handy. He had always liked her.
And after this he's going to like me a lot more, she considered.
It's not at all a marriage, not like other peoples understand it, but it is a sacred and enduring bond.
She really had no honorable alternative. She pulled herself erect, and bowed before the ship's Captain. "I would be honored to share merios with you, Dom Shiran Teskal Devin. I thank you for your invitation."
The words came out in a normal speaking voice, at odds with her inner turmoil.
I thought I left all that behind me, she thought. No longer Shirani. But after this, more Shirani than ever. And the ties it binds ... oh, Devin, I hope you're never sorry you asked me to do this.
Reva prowled the villa like a caged animal. Lish's extended absence at the ship left her thoroughly on edge.
Vask watched her restlessness from the security of a blindspot. She had been back on Selmun III for a week, and still he could not make sense of her contradictory actions.
First she would watch Lish dispassionately, sometimes stalking her in the halls as she had that first time she attracted his suspicious attention. Then she would stop and retreat, or make small talk with the smuggler, or discuss ordinary business. In the privacy of her room she played with her vibroknife, practicing fast-draw flourishes that looked ready to gut any bystander, but never touching the weapon elsewhere in the residence. Not once had she stepped into the unphased state he had glimpsed when she last gave him the slip. Kastlin was beginning to wonder if that mode of travel was really a part of how this assassin worked.
No matter. She
didn't seem ready to carry through with the murderous intent her stance sometimes suggested, and the constant drain on his psionic abilities forced Vask to reduce his near-constant surveillance to a more moderate level.
Now, on the eve of the Kestren's departure for Tion, Reva seemed more wound up than ever. Lish was gone, spending the night aboard the ship, and had asked not to be disturbed. Vask finally left his blindspot observation mode and tried to draw Reva out in conversation. It was a short, abortive exchange.
"I hear the 'Jammers have got the Islanders on the run," he remarked. "They nearly chased Daribi down this morning, but he got away in the marina."
"Umph."
He eased past the awkward silence with another subject. "How many more days until the swap with Edesz? Eleven or twelve, is it?"
"Hra."
"You're coming along, aren't you?"
"If I'm here."
Kastlin considered that. Reva had promised to escort Lish to the undersea meeting in very public Rinoco Park, where credits would be exchanged for nanotech. He'd been invited, too, as well as an escort of 'Jammers. Safety in numbers. There would doubtless be a sizable escort with the terrorist leader, and it was better to make a show of force than to look like they could be easily overwhelmed. Vask half expected the Gambru League to try to confiscate the nanotech and keep the credits, too. The 'Jammers would be along to prevent that from happening.
And then there was the raid by Security that he had to orchestrate. This was the perfect occasion for IntSec to net both Lish and the terrorists. Vask was overdue for a debriefing with Commander Obray, a conversation he faced reluctantly, and one he had to get over with pretty soon. He'd been out of touch for too long, too wrapped up in the Holdout's affairs to emerge from his cover and report in. Maybe he was in trouble for that already. Getting too close to a case could get him pulled from it.
He mulled that over while he regarded Reva. If she came to the terrorist meeting, any Security net would sweep her up, too, and that could ruin his own plans.
"Have you changed your mind?" he asked. "About coming to the meet?"
"Might be gone."
"Oh. I thought—"
"Leave me alone, Vask."
Kastlin took the rebuff in silence, and grudgingly left the room. Things are too fluid with her, he thought. I can't count on her sticking around Lish, but I better not lose track of her either. There's no way around it. Time to talk to Obray, so the smuggler's affairs are out of my hands. At least he'll know about the meeting with the League, and he can handle that however he wants.
He left the villa, compelled to face the unpleasantries of reporting in.
LXXI
Vask wanted to meet quickly with Commander Obray and get it over with. As he had many times before, he would slip quietly into his superior's office, report on the spot, and leave again the same way. That wouldn't put his local cover at risk by openly approaching Security, and his debriefing would soon be over and done with.
Of course, a quiet approach for a Mutate meant something different than for Normals. Kastlin sideslipped into the offices used by Security and faded through Obray's door as a matter of course, simply to check and see if the Commander was available or engrossed in anything else at the moment.
Obray was lost in thought, eyes closed as was his habit when meditating on a problem. Kastlin sat on a float-chair by the desk, and shifted back down into the physical. He would be noticed soon enough. Meanwhile he, too, dropped into a semitrance that permitted him to recover some of his expended psionic energy.
The Commander faced a little away from Kastlin's chair. When the external com speaker on his desk came to life, he sat suddenly upright and answered his vidscreen, and so did not notice his unannounced visitor.
It was Captain Brace, from within the Net. "Guess what? The Governor-General can't get to any of the padded deposits in his account. They're screened out from his terminals. With his access code, he sees only regular banking. Nothing unusual.''
"How can that be?" Obray asked.
"I'd guess someone is simply using his account to hide money in. Laundering it through established accounts with big balances and a lot of transactions. Sorry we didn't catch this before. We were so busy putting the rest of the info together. ..."
"Understood. But trace those laundered funds. Let's find out where the money trail leads."
"Sir." The decker left the channel.
Vask coughed discreetly to alert his superior to his presence.
The Commander nearly jumped out of his seat. "Juro's balls. Kastlin, what the hell are you doing in here?"
"Came to report, sir."
Obray collected himself. "You could use the door, you know."
Kastlin gestured to his street clothes, a clear reference to not risking his incognito. He had, after all, reported this way before.
The officer frowned at the backstreet garb on his best psionicist. "Maybe you've been in those clothes too long, period. I was starting to think you were going native on me."
"Hardly. I'm on to some interesting things, though. Couldn't get away any sooner to check in, but here I am now."
"So let's hear it." Obray pressed a record tab on his console, and their conversation became part of a permanent briefing record entered into Security files.
"I think we've got the goods on Lish, like you wanted. Here's how you can put her out of operation."
Vask went on to outline the Holdout's planned deal with the terrorists: nanotech in exchange for the borgbeast payment; when and where the meet would be. Yet as he divulged the information, Kastlin felt strangely traitorous. No, he hadn't gone native, deserting the Bugs for the company of his subjects of investigation. But he was close to it, in some ways. If Lish had put her skills to ethical trade she'd have made a fortune by now and been a respected member of the civic community. Her spirited perseverance in the face of defeat had won his admiration, and her friendship since the kria hunt on Des'lin was sincere and unreserved. He felt like a traitor even as his debriefing went by the book.
The briefing on Reva was less forthright, blatantly edited, in fact, so that Vask could retain his freedom of operation. "She's an assassin, but I'm still investigating," he said. "She has some powerful gangland connections, and I want to track them down."
"You think it's worth the risk of leaving her free on the streets?"
"I'm pretty sure of it, yes. Her connections are offworld." Kastlin quirked a smile. "She thinks of me as almost a friend— or maybe as a friendly dog. I want to develop this contact, get more into her confidence. I think we can land something big with this one if you let me work the case for a while."
Obray agreed. It was a standard kind of request from a psionicist who could pick his own assignments, and had the street experience to judge what was worth going after. "Good work, by the way, tying Lish in to the terrorists," he added. "She'd more slippery than Karuu proved to be, and the Gambru League—well, they're a headache in their own right. I'll put a commendation in your file, Kastlin."
Debriefing at a close, the Mutate stood. "Thank you, sir." He did his best to appear grateful but barely managed to disguise his unease.
It was simpler when the bad guys were really bad. This felt like setting up a friend. And Reva would be next.
Vask was glad to shift out of the physical, and leave the Security offices behind.
LXXII
The Islanders were on the run.
Their dockside hangouts were firebombed or shot to pieces, their waterfront enterprises closed by Security crackdowns or Skiffjammer raids. A paltry tenth remained of the hundred-strong force that had once anchored Karuu's waterfront action.
Daribi led a ragged retreat to Indero Island, his ancestral home and a haven for his fellows. The reed island lay north of Amasl's lee harbor, close by rocky tidepools Indero held harvest-claim to. The Islanders limped to the refuge aboard windfloats and paddle-boards, a few on float-skis in a motley twilight migration.
Daribi took his fe
llows below the surface of the thick-woven island, into the damp sublayers where chambers were burrowed, for sleeping, living, storage purposes. They had their wounds tended to, ate, and fell asleep. Tomorrow would be soon enough to worry about the future of the derevin.
A guard was posted, and the Islander chief joined his fellows in exhausted slumber.
The night passed uneventfully. Guards noticed nothing untoward until a hollow-sounding pop echoed off the surface of the water in the early morning light. A streamer of orange smoke began to pour from a canister wedged deep into a layer of reeds. A guard shouted the alarm, but before Daribi could be roused, the enemy derevin was upon them.
Riding float-skis and skimming just above the surface of the swell, Skiffjammers homed in on the smoke that marked their attack zone. While they were moderate-sized specks approaching from shore, high-explosive warheads arrowed into the thick weave of the Indero Island mat and discharged, blowing large segments of the reed-pack to shreds and catching the surrounding edges on fire. As they drew closer they launched canisters of fluorogel. The projectiles landed on the raft-like surface that remained, tearing through reed curtains and matting; where they burst, everything the incendiary touched ignited and burned with napalm-like fury.
The smell of chemical smoke and explosives hung thick in the air. Skiffjammers maneuvered on float-skis, circling the burning, sinking debris like sharks, picking off survivors and bronze-skinned Islanders with laser fire. When the strike teams were certain there were no survivors left above or below the waters, they left the ruins of the island. Grinds would be converging on the scene by a roundabout route, hoping to avoid the derevin, which was better armed than they were.
Levay ordered the pullout from her command skiff. She regretted the civilian deaths, but Daribi should have known that in a streetwar, any place he took refuge was fair game for an attack. At least she'd have good news for Domna Shiran. She could return to the waterfront, and all would be business as usual.
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