Mainline

by Deborah Christian

  Reva glimpsed a familiar red and black form. Yavobo's head and arm popped into view just long enough to fire, and to flash a feral grin her way. Then the alien leapt from sight, splashing into the water behind the skiff.

  Her mind screamed at the impossibility of it, even as Lish stumbled toward her. The smuggler's chest was charred, her clothing blackened around the fist-sized hole where beam had cauterized lungs and heart. There was no trace of blood, only the stench of burned meat as token of death.

  There was no friend left in the damaged shell that toppled into her arms. Reva caught at the falling corpse, was brought to her knees by the sudden weight. Lish's face was frozen in shocked surprise, eyes unseeing, mouth open. Not a sound, not a cry had she uttered. Reva stared at her burden in horror. She had come all this way, an impossible journey across countless Nows, for this.

  For it all to come to this.

  She heard the wail, a tortured cry from what must be a human throat. It was not until she struggled for a lungful of air that she realized that awful, gut-wrenching sound came from her. The tears came then, and she curled over the body in her arms, blind to her surroundings, mad with grief and rage. She pulled away from Vask's touch, until he managed to pry her gently from the body of her friend.

  Then Reva cried like she had never cried before, huddled into arms that could only hold her as she keened her loss.

  * * *

  The rigged pods filled the water with marker fluid, a liquid smoke screen of inky black holding billions of particulates in suspense. Each minute flake echoed and distorted sensor pulses until no readings in this water were valid.

  It was a short-lived sensor-proof veil, until dispersion should render it harmless. It would last long enough for Yavobo's purpose.

  The bounty hunter tugged his breather on underwater, purging dark liquid from the face mask, and forged ahead through night-black ocean. Skiffjammers could not see him or anything else in the occluded waters. One blundered into him by chance; Yavobo had his speargun at the ready, and the bolt, fired point-blank, transfixed the 'Jammer and left him doubled over in mortal agony. The alien swam on.

  Soon a manhunt would be under way around the warehouse docks, but by then, he would be long gone. His sea-sled wajted submerged near the marina fence, his escape route out the harbor locks was clear, and MazeRats waited beyond to pick him up in the waters of the open bay.

  He swam through the edge, of the artificial gloom and into deeper waters, heading for where his sled was secured, savoring the image of his enemy, the look on her face as he dispatched the Holdout. It had been enough to smile defiance at the assassin, to let her know she was no threat to a desert-born warrior.

  Enough of Skiffjammers, he thought, and of foolish smugglers. Now it is time to hunt the worthy prey, the Oath-sworn enemy.

  The soul-stealer called Reva.

  CXVIII

  A bloodied grieko tumbled from a sunset-reddened sky. The colors matched the angry hue of Adahn Harric's virtual eyes.

  "What do you mean, you can't reach anyone?" His voice grated as he spoke the unbelievable. Janus' simself retreated a half-step on the veranda of the crime boss' cyberretreat.

  "Simply that," Harric's lieutenant said. "We can't raise Gerick, or any MazeRat on Selmun III."

  "You've tried our shippers?"

  "They're unavailable."

  The Emperor's pleasure gardens shimmered, then dissolved. The men faced each other in a cold and formless void, the wind of cyberspace whistling unheeded about them. Janus cringed; it was a place he associated with Harric's killing rages. A place he did not want to visit, even in sim-form.

  "Fuck that," Adahn growled. "Make someone available, any way you must. But find out what's going on. Now."

  Janus bowed himself out of cyberspace and into his office chair, where a sheen of nervous sweat had broken out on his physical body. He had seen the Tribune of the Red Hand in a stormy mood before. It was risky to be too near, or too unhelpful.

  He closed his eyes to collect himself before doing his master's bidding.

  Kastlin imagined he knew what it was like to be a wanted criminal—to know the authorities were closing in, readying themselves to pounce, and himself helpless before their grasp. For now he sat square in the sights of an imminent Security raid, anxious to leave the area, unable to do so, and painfully aware of each passing minute.

  Minutes spent ordering Skiffjammers. Moving Lish's body to a private room. Getting Reva out of the warehouse bay, away from staring eyes.

  Long minutes waiting for Devin to arrive. Longer yet turning a polite eye aside from the spacer's grief, and now, fending off his need for action.

  The big man sat behind the desk so lately Lish's. "Who did this?" he asked emptily. His voice was hollow, as soulless as his eyes.

  Vask repeated the name Devin had not yet registered. "Yavobo."

  The spacer studied his hands, resting atop the desk. His mouth pursed and the silence grew deeper.

  Kastlin fought the urge to order his companions out of here. They wouldn't leave on his say-so alone. Reva kept her own council, stone-still on the float-couch beside him.

  Devin pulled himself up decisively. "I'm calling the Grinds," he declared.

  "They won't do anything," Vask told him flatly. "You know Lish must be wanted after Rinoco. It's only a matter of time 'til Security sweeps this place clean."

  A matter of two hours, he thought fretfully, if this Obray has the same plans as his counterpart....

  Devin was oblivious to his concern. "We were partners of a sort, Lish and I," he said softly. "More closely bonded than you know."

  "Then IntSec will rake you over, too, when they take this business apart."

  A muscle clenched in the big man's jaw. His fingers began to key controls on the desk console. "Then let's start by doing what has to be done."

  "What's that?"

  "Securing assets," he answered tersely. "I was the closest thing she had to a partner, and her only kin in this place. I'm not letting them take everything she worked for."

  Vask glanced toward Reva for her reaction. She sat, eyes reddened, staring through the wall, seemingly oblivious to their byplay.

  The com unit disgorged a plastic chit, then many more: markers for cash withdrawn from the Holdout's online accounts. Apparently she had shared more with the spacer than her friends had realized.

  Devin swept the markers up and pocketed them. He looked to Reva, blind to his gaze, and then to Vask. "We Shirani take care of our own," he said grimly. "I want who's responsible for this."

  " 'Jammers are searching the area."

  "That's not what I mean. I want Yavobo."

  This was no time to plan a vengeance hunt. Vask frowned, prepared to dissuade the spacer, when a familiar voice preempted him.

  "You don't want Yavobo," said Reva. "He's not responsible."

  The men stared at her. It was the first she had spoken since Lish had died. Her words were measured and bare of emotion. Devin took them at face value.

  "That bastard killed my—" He stumbled to a halt, realizing the Shirani term for a partner in merios would have no meaning for his listeners. "She was like family," he began again. "The Aztrakhani killed her. He'll pay."

  Reva turned her eyes from their distant focus, and leveled her searing gaze on the spacer. "Adahn Harric killed Lish. He put the contract out on her. He wanted her dead. That's your enemy.

  not the bounty hunter." Her lips thinned. "He was just the muscle. It could have been me."

  Devin's eyes flicked over the assassin's body, a quick head to toe. "I know."

  Vask looked from one to the other in stark surprise. The weight of the confession and acknowledgment hung between them, a shared secret that excluded the Fixer. "When did this happen?" he wanted to demand. They spoke on, ignorant of his restraint.

  "Lish held roi'tas and senje'tas with you. She told me after Rinoco. Honor-debt, and life-debt."

  Reva raised and dropped one shoulder, uncaring,
and Devin's face grew hard. "I forgive your ignorance," he said harshly. "Those are great obligations, not taken on lightly by any Sa'adani. Lish's kin owe you duty and honor." He spoke curtly. "I stand good for my kinswoman's debt to you."

  Reva frowned, the first ripple of emotion Vask had seen on her face since she had retreated into stony composure. "You don't owe me a thing." Her tone was bitter. "I didn't succeed in protecting her life when it counted, did I."

  Devin's voice softened. "There were other times, other aid, not to be forgotten. Lish would want those debts honored."

  The woman exhaled, a barely concealed snort, and turned her head sharply away. Devin eyed her hesitantly.

  Vask was riveted by their exchange, yet the sense of time flowing swiftly past was relentless. He came to his feet. "Let's talk about this somewhere else," he prompted. "It's dangerous to stay here."

  The spacer's jaw set. "I want to use the Skiffjammers, against Harric. Yavobo, too." He looked at Reva. "We should plan how to deal with them."

  Reva flinched at the alien's name. "Don't be stupid about the bounty hunter. And Vask is right; let's get out of here. When IntSec guts this place they'll lock you up and everyone else they find here. Just for good measure."

  Devin frowned down at the com console.

  "A local derevin won't help you against Harric," she continued. "To get him, you have to strike where he lives. Offworld."

  Her words drew the spacer like a magnet. "You know where he is?" he asked grimly.

  Vask watched silent understanding pass from one to the other. The assassin finally spoke, eyes narrowed in calculation.

  "I don't know where he is," she said coldly. "But I know how to find him."

  CXIX

  Nomad and Zippo ransacked the house systems at Verchiko's as soon as MazeRats were cleared from the premises. Gerick's records were not as deviously obscured as Karuu's had been, and after interrogation the MazeRat had no will to hide much of anything.

  Finally the source of the cargo conspiracy was laid bare. Selmun authorities were set to work shutting down the local Harric network, and Obray marshaled his agents for immediate transfer to Bekavra.

  Jorris led that afternoon's sweep through Lairdome 5, a raid made urgent by a fisherman's garbled report of an attack there. The place looked like someone would return at any moment, but the Holdout's computer systems were wiped and her Net records deleted.

  After pressure and bribes, street rats confessed that Skiffjammers had left the premises a few hours before, taking some goods with them. Of Shiran Lish and her usual companions, they had no word, nor could they be persuaded to share one.

  CXX

  Reva addressed a blank com screen. "You feel like interrupting your vacation?"

  "You have work for me?" "If you want it. It's involved. Risky, too." "You said the magic words. Let me call you back on a secure channel.'' The com link went dead. A moment later Reva took FlashMan's incoming call.

  "So, babe—what would make you happy today?" the netrunner asked.

  "Two things, one small, one big." "The small one is—?"

  "Trace a call code. It connects with a man named Adahn Harric, a crime boss, so I'd bet there's ICE on the line. It relays to another subsector, I don't know where. I need a thorough trace, down to the address where the code originates, if you can get it."

  "Riding relays is tedious. I charge extra for tedium.

  "Charge extra for the ICE, too."

  "I will. When do you need this?"

  "An hour ago."

  "Time is money. Rush jobs cost more, haven't you heard?"

  "You charge for everything, Flash."

  "Why, so I do. What's the big thing I can bill you for?"

  Reva took a breath and then plunged on. "When we know where Harric is, we're going after him. I want to take him down."

  "Can't help with your line of work."

  "You don't have to. Adahn runs a little empire, and what he doesn't manage with street muscle he handles through the Net. That's where I need you."

  "Let me guess. Start with the basics, like security breakdown on his residence, travel plans, general eavesdropping, then move on to infiltrate his operations net...."

  "Information is all we need. No file wiping, no reprogramming."

  "Aww." The pout was drawled. "I'm disappointed. This sounds too easy.''

  "It's not. His systems are tight, and he has deckers as well as ICE guarding against infiltration. You can count on it."

  "Hm. Then I'm not so sad. I'll have to be on-site for that, wherever he is.''

  "So will I."

  "Oh, joy. Travel expenses." Flash's grin could be heard in his voice. "What do you want all this info for?"

  "In the right hands, it will make life very difficult for him."

  A mirthful cackle poured through the com speaker. "That's it? You're going to make life difficult for him?"

  "He had Lish killed."

  The words hung in the air, stilling the decker's wisecracks. "I didn't know.''

  Reva let that pass. "I'll put your security briefing to good use, don't worry about that."

  "Ah, Reva,'' the netrunner sighed, "'you are as constant as the

  sun and moons.'' His tone changed abruptly, all business once again. "Time, as they say, is wasting. What's that code?"

  She told him the number. "I'm on it." he said. "Later."

  Reva let white noise fill her ears for a time before thumbing the com link off. As constant as the sun and moons. Right.

  Not anymore.

  If she acted as she always had, she would be after Yavobo this very minute. But now she was stopping herself. Vask and Devin thought her plan to go after Adahn wise and well reasoned. In reality, she harbored a guilty secret, the true reason for that decision.

  She feared Yavobo.

  Never before had an opponent scared her, she who was supremely confident of her own skills. Who had been uncaring of death, for the feeling that people were ghosts of real counterparts elsewhere had, in some way, extended to herself. Who was to say that she would really die, when she could shift Lines? Who cared if she lived? No one.

  Until Lish, and Vask, and even, yes, Devin. Now a few people mattered to her, and she mattered to them. Somewhere along the way she had lost her indifference, the shield that kept her invulnerable, and cold-blooded as one must be to kill, uncaringly, for a living. The last of that Reva had died in Lairdome 5 right along with Lish. The woman who remained was uncertain about life, about direction. About her ability to kill.

  Yavobo scared the hell out of this Reva. He was better than her. He'd demonstrated that already, several times over. Her grief and anger demanded a confrontation with the Aztrakhani. Her sense of self-preservation screamed at her to stay away.

  Adahn was the only target that was left, the one ultimately responsible for Lish's murder. And so Reva put this self-appointed task on her agenda, to focus her attention and her rage, and to keep her mind off Yavobo. To take her far away from a murderous alien who didn't know when to quit.

  The thought of flight bothered her pride, but the thought of battle with the alien knotted her stomach. Better to concentrate on other things, like getting off R'debh and dealing with Harric.

  Before the bounty hunter could find her again.

  CXXI

  Yavobo slinked from shadow to shadow with a desert hunter's cautious tread. Avelar's Kriezor Shipyard offered sufficient concealment for his nighttime prowl, if he used it wisely. He skirted pools of activity and flitted between silent workshops, seeking just the right vantage point for his reconnaissance of the Fortune. It would not do to betray his presence to the scattered security guards or the stray yard worker.

  Yavobo was surprised to find a welter of activity around the holed freighter. Reva had come here with friends that afternoon, but surely she could not still be aboard. Needing to locate his enemy, and hoping to understand what the bustle portended, he risked spying out the offices around the work area.

  He pee
red in window after window, until he spotted the assassin and the others, drinking osk in a refit supervisor's office.

  For a moment Yavobo froze, weighing this opportunity to challenge his enemy here and now. But the traffic in and out of the office was too heavy; the trio reviewed ship plans, talked with workmen, argued with the refit super....

  This was hardly the privacy he needed for a Blood Oath duel. A later time, then. He retreated to the arm of an unused crane, where he could watch both office and drydock.

  Massive worklights flooded the docking cradle with artificial daylight, showing the Fortune a-crawl with human technicians and labor mechos. The drive units were released from their interface and lifted clear of the drydock gantries. He grunted as he recognized what was happening.

  Instead of repairing damage to the ship, Shiran was replacing the crippled units entirely. The warrior's eye was drawn by a hoisting derrick swiveling about. Its lifting arms held two new drive units, of the same modular design as those just removed.

  He frowned as the import of that sank in. The Fortune would be lift-ready by morning. With the resources of an entire shipyard at hand, round-the-clock labor, and a frighteningly exorbitant bill, a ship of this modest size could be rehabbed and spaceworthy in no time at all. It was, after all, the great selling point of Sa'adani modular design. Ease of repair.

  Yavobo's lip curled. If the soul-stealer sought to evade him in this way, she would be disappointed. He looked toward the office many meters below, glimpsed her well-lit figure pausing in front of a window. He studied her form with unblinking eyes until she moved back out of sight.

  No matter. Whether she left the shipyard on foot or left in the freighter, he would be prepared to follow.

  CXXII

  Kastlin studied the woman he was supposed to bring in, sooner or later. She poured another cup of osk from the dispenser by the window, stretched catlike to ease her tension, and returned to the table, blowing on the steaming drink to cool it. Small lines around her eyes seemed deeper, a crease between her brow sign that fatigue and tension were taking their tolls. She sat, the charcoal gray bodysuit that she'd worn all day blending into the drab tones of the refit super's office furniture.