by R. M. Olson
She turned to the boyeviki. Jez noticed with satisfaction that all of them were limping. From the way the woman was holding her wrist, Jez might have actually broken it.
“I’m so very sorry,” Masha said, her voice going from hard to apologetic. “Please. Come with me. I’ll get someone to bring a first aid kit, get your injuries treated.” She turned to the bouncers. “These people did nothing wrong. Let them go at once, please.”
Once their cuffs were off, she led them into the medic room, apologizing profusely.
Jez glanced at Ivan as they left. He was looking straight ahead, but there was a muscle working in the corner of his jaw and the blood from where he’d been cut had pooled in his shirt and now dripped in a steady, monotonous pattern onto the stone floor.
She narrowed her eyes.
With any luck the man they had playing medic would manage to inflict a little more pain as he was bandaging the plaguers up.
The door closed behind Masha, and Ivan’s shoulders slumped in relief. The bouncers unlocked their handcuffs quickly, and Radic crossed over to him in two steps. “Ivan. Are you alright?”
Ivan let out a long breath and managed a shaky smile. “I’m fine, I think. At least, no permanent damage. Remind me never to get in the middle of a fight between you and Jez.”
Radic chuckled reluctantly, then Tae pushed past him. His face was grimmer than Jez had seen it in a long time.
“Ivan,” he said tersely. “Come with me. We need to get that bandaged.” He turned over his shoulder. “Jez, make sure they get out.”
“On it, tech-head,” she said. “Worry about Ivan. We’ve got the rest.”
He nodded, and took Ivan’s arm in a gesture that was almost painfully tender. Ivan didn’t protest, just let Tae steer him upstairs towards a free room.
“Hey, genius,” Jez whispered into the com. “Need you on the tech. Tech-head’s busy.”
“Is Ivan alright?” Lev asked, voice tense.
Jez glanced to where he and Tae were disappearing down a hallway and managed a grin. “Figure he probably is now.”
“I’ll pull up the monitor screens.” There was a moment’s pause, then he said quietly, “Thank you, Jez. I—didn’t have a backup plan for that possibility.”
“Sure you did,” she said. “Had me, didn’t you?”
“I—suppose I did.” There was something like a smile in his voice.
She let out a long breath and glanced at Radic. “Guess I’d better get into the gambling hall. They’re going to miss me in a few minutes here. You’d probably better make yourself scarce.” She paused a moment. “Thanks, by the way.”
He gave her that lopsided grin. “Wouldn’t have missed it, kid. If I’m going to risk my life doing something absolutely ridiculous, you’re the person I’d do it with.”
She gave him a wink, then took a deep breath and turned back towards the gambling hall, trying to ignore the ice in her stomach.
Probably better hurry up with getting the plaguers drunk, because she was pretty sure they’d all be leaving earlier than scheduled.
But the sight of Ivan, standing against the wall, defenceless, body stiff, beads of blood forming and trickling from the cut on his throat like jewels in a necklace, made her swallow hard against the taste of vomit in the back of her throat, and she wasn’t completely sure she could trust herself with tokens until her hands stopped shaking.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“HOW DID WE let this happen, Masha?” Ysbel’s stood slightly from her seat at the conference table. Her voice was steady, but she was certain Masha could hear the anger under it. “I thought you’d considered every possibility.”
“Unfortunately, Ysbel, as you are well aware, it is not possible to plan for every possibility.”
Masha’s tone was sharper than usual. Ysbel narrowed her eyes.
The woman was clearly shaken.
They were all shaken, honestly. She’s seen the look on Tae’s face, when he’d slipped out of the medic’s for a few minutes to check through what his monitors had picked up. Ivan wasn’t hurt badly, but that wasn’t the point.
The point was, they were very lucky he was alive at all.
Masha took a deep breath and looked around at the rest of them, gathered around the table in the conference room. “At any rate, it wasn’t a complete disaster. Jez was quick enough on her feet to keep anything from going too badly sideways, and we got some information from the boyeviki in the gambling hall, I believe. Nothing substantive, but enough to know that Tae’s guess was correct—Zhenya was the one who sent them, likely without Grigory’s knowledge. This lends credence to the idea that Zhenya may not have told Grigory about the whereabouts of the street children. I believe that is at least a point in our favour, however slim.”
Lev shifted slightly in his seat. “Unless they saw through our rescue attempt,” he said quietly. “Jez and Radic were good, and their actions almost certainly kept Ivan alive.” He gave a small shrug. “It was our best option. But we can’t know whether the boyeviki saw through it.”
Ysbel drew in a long breath.
She hadn’t been down there. She’d been with the children, reading them a story to keep them quiet, and she hadn’t known what had happened until it was over.
And if she was being honest, that was the thing that had shaken her the most. She hadn’t even known there was a threat.
Like that evening so many years ago, back on her small farm. When she’d tucked her children in bed and kissed her wife, and then stepped outside to bring in the last of the harvesting tools.
And her next view of her home had been the flames leaping from the door and licking up the roof, Tanya’s terrified face at the window, the children’s screams.
She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to compose herself.
“You’ve been watching the account, Lev?” Masha was asking.
“Yes.” Lev’s voice was grim. “Nothing’s changed. Grigory’s pledge is still in place. But until he can cash in the security on his pleasure houses and actually deposit the funds, which will likely be a few days at best, we’re vulnerable. And as you said, Zhenya may not be telling Grigory everything at the moment. They could be keeping their secret until the time it would hurt us the most.”
“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it at present,” said Masha finally. Her lips were pressed tight, her expression grave. “We’ll carry on. Galina and I are working on emergency protocols for all the actors now, although hopefully we won’t need it again.” She sighed. “In the mean time, this house needs to look busy. Word will get around if it’s dead. So we’d best get to work keeping it looking busy. Galina will be working with Lev to set up shifts of people coming in and out, and we’ll need to keep the place lit and noisy enough that it doesn’t arouse suspicion. So.” She glanced around at them once more. “I suggest we get to work.”
Slowly, the others rose from their seats.
Ysbel caught Tanya’s eye, and Tanya gave a quick nod of understanding. Once the others had left, she turned to Ysbel.
“What is it?”
Ysbel shook her head, face still grim. “We can’t afford another mistake like this. It was only luck that those two idiots got Ivan out before he was killed, and who knows who it will be next time?” She sighed. “Why wasn’t Ivan armed? I thought we’d armed all the servers.”
“He was,” said Tanya, in a low voice. “The whole time, he had a heat pistol in his boot. He could have shot them dead, at any time.”
Ysbel turned to stare at her wife. “Why didn’t he?”
Tanya gave a brief, humourless smile. “He knew if these people suspected anything, Tae’s friends would die. I’ve known Ivan for a very long time, you remember. Believe me when I say, he would have let himself be killed.”
Ysbel closed her eyes, feeling suddenly cold.
That was the problem with this whole thing. They couldn’t afford anything to go wrong. Not a single thing. They were balancing on the edge of a knife, and o
ne slip in either direction, and people they cared about would die.
For a moment, she pictured the merciless expression on Vitali’s face.
Lev had been right. The backup plan was necessary, whether Jez believed it or not. Because they couldn’t afford to slip.
She pushed herself to her feet. “Can you take the children for the rest of the day, please? We’re setting off another explosive in the pleasure district tomorrow night to keep the pressure up on Grigory. I’d like to make sure everything is ready.”
Tanya looked up at her, frowning slightly. “You need to do that tonight? Olya told me you’d promised to finish reading the story to her, and Misko will cry if I tell him you aren’t going to put him to bed. It should only take an hour, if that, and you can work on it the rest of the evening.”
Ysbel shook her head tersely. “No. I don’t want to take any more chances.”
That wasn’t the real reason. The real reason was, she wasn’t sure if she could bear sitting in their snug room, the children cuddled in her lap, holoscreen in front of them with the story in letters big enough that Olya could read along, and not see, every time she closed her eyes, her last evening with them in their little cottage on their small farm.
Tanya was watching her quietly. “I’ll tell them, then,” she said. “They’ll be upset, I’m afraid.”
“They’ll be fine, I’m sure,” said Ysbel, trying to keep the harshness from her tone. “They’re more used to you anyways.” She paused, then leaned down and kissed Tanya’s forehead. “I’m sorry, my Tanya. But this is important.”
“Of course,” said Tanya quietly.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“JEZ. YOU’RE SURE you’re ready for this?” Ysbel’s expression was unaccountably grim.
Jez gave her an easy grin. “Born ready.”
Ysbel snorted, and gestured with her head. “Well then, get going. We don’t have all night.”
Jez smirked at her, and sauntered out towards the hangar bay.
Alright, maybe she wasn’t totally sure she could go back to the pleasure district without absolutely losing her crap. Maybe there was something inside her stomach that was clenched so tight it was almost painful, and maybe every damn time she closed her eyes she could see the lines of blood trickling down Ivan’s neck and his bare chest and pooling in his ripped tunic and dripping onto the floor, the sick, haunted, horrified look on Tae’s face. Maybe all of those things were true.
But honestly, right now all she wanted was to move, do something, fly her skybike fast enough that the wind whipping across her face and tearing through her hair and dragging at her clothing was enough to make her forget what had happened two days ago.
It wasn’t being in danger. She’d been in danger plenty of times before, hell, every member of the crew had been almost killed more times than she could count, and yes, she always hated it when someone she cared about might be killed, but—well but there was something different about this. Maybe it was the fact that Ivan had been standing there, hands cuffed together, not fighting, not even moving. Trapped.
And the woman with the knife had liked it. Jez had seen the look in her eyes as she and Radic had burst through the door, the echo of the expression before it turned to one of shock and outrage.
She’d been hurting him, and she’d enjoyed it, because she’d enjoyed seeing him helpless. That was what was making the nausea twist uneasily in Jez’s stomach.
She’d almost let herself forget, all this time, that she was on a pleasure planet. That this same damn city where she and Radic slipped into speakeasies and laughed and joked with the alley-porters and the dockworkers and the gangsters around the bar held a pleasure district, and the pleasure district was the engine that fed the rest of this damn place.
“Are you alright?” asked Ysbel quietly, mounting her bike.
Jez smirked at her. “I’m good. Don’t plan on driving slow for you, though.”
Ysbel was still watching her, expression far too perceptive. “I know you don’t like this. I’d bring Galina again, but—”
Jez turned, swallowing hard against the sick in her throat. “Ysbel. I know. They need Galya here. I’ll be fine, OK? Grew up in a damn smuggler crew. I’ll be fine.”
Ysbel studied her a moment longer, then nodded and pulled her own helmet on over her shaved head. “I’ll meet you at the coordinates Lev sent to your com, in case we get separated.”
Jez swung up on her bike and shot one last grin at Ysbel over her shoulder. Then she hit the controls and shot forward, leaning until she was almost parallel to the bike, the wind dragging tears from her eyes.
By the time she arrived at the coordinates, her fingers were numb and stinging from the cold, and tears pulled out by the wind streaked backwards across her face and wet her hair. She drew in a long, shaky breath and shook her head, actually looking around her for the first time.
She’d stopped at the mouth of a narrow, filthy alley, which was probably where Ysbel wanted her to wait.
Speaking of Ysbel—she dismounted and pulled up her com, then rolled her eyes.
Ten standard minutes at least. Maybe fifteen, at the speed she was flying.
For a moment, she was tempted to swing back up on her bike, come back when Ysbel was a little closer. But, considering this was a stealth mission, probably better not to advertise their presence by flying down the alleyways fast enough to curl the paint off the walls.
She sighed heavily and leaned up against the wall, pulling off her helmet and wiping the tear-streaks from her face with the back of her sleeve.
It was dark in this corner of the city. The sputtering artificial street lamps barely illuminated the small circle of air around them and served only to cut her night vision, making everything seem even darker than it was. The alley where she was standing was cool, and the sharp scent of decaying flesh wafted in on the air stirred by her passing.
She glanced behind her quickly.
Hopefully a dead rat, but honestly, in a place like this she couldn’t be certain.
The noises of the street were muted and furtive, like whoever was walking here wanted to be sure they weren’t heard. Jez leaned against the filthy wall and tapped the heel of her boot against the slimy pre-fab blocks.
Ysbel could damn well learn how to fly a little faster, honestly.
She glanced down at her com, and suppressed a groan.
Nine more standard minutes at least.
She swore under her breath and looked around again.
Footsteps hurried down the street outside, their quick patter a testament to a fervent desire to pass by as quickly as possible. Jez straightened and moved cautiously to the edge of the alley, peering outside at the darkened streets.
Damn the street lights. With them glowing sickly in the periphery of her vision, it was almost impossible to make out the shapes in the streets outside.
She put a hand to the reassuring smoothness of the heat pistol in its holster on her belt, and drew in a slow breath.
No one here would be able to see any better than she could, so it wasn’t like she was at a disadvantage. But she bloody well felt like she was at a disadvantage, naked and exposed in the dim light, unable to see to protect herself.
Not even sure what she thought she’d need protection against.
A small movement made her glance down, and she jerked back and swore, heart pounding.
The thing she’d mistaken for a heap of garbage on the street had stirred, and now she could make out the huddled shape of a person—probably a child, from the size of the ragged bundle of blankets covering it.
She stared, feeling vomit rising in her throat, then, reluctantly, she forced herself to crouched down beside the bundle of filthy rags.
Honestly, what she wanted to do was run as far and fast as she could in the other direction.
“Don’t—don’t hurt me.” The child’s voice was dull and rasping, as if it hadn’t been used in some time. “Please.”
Jez’s hands were sh
aking. The smell from the blankets was even worse than the smell from the alley behind her, that thick, clinging scent of rotting flesh.
“Hey, I’m not planning on hurting you, kid,” she whispered. “You OK?”
The child stared at her, as if unable to comprehend her words.
It was hard to see in the dim light, but he looked young. Maybe Olya’s age, or maybe a year or two older. His eyes were too big for his face, cheekbones jutting out of sunken cheeks.
Tae’s street kid friends had looked something like this the first time she’d met them. But they’d had a sharp wariness about them that spoke of a desperate struggle for survival.
This child’s eyes were dull and hopeless.
His words to her hadn’t been the plea of a child begging for his life.
It was the exhausted entreaty of someone who only wanted to avoid more pain.
Jez swallowed hard and fumbled in her jacket pocket, pulling out a slightly-battered rations pack. “You want this?” she asked, holding it out.
The boy just looked at it, uninterested, as if he hadn’t understood her words. She ripped the packaging open, and held it out again.
Surely the kid knew what a rations pack was.
“Go on,” she whispered. “Take it. It’s to eat.”
Finally, he reached out a hand and took it from her. As he moved, the blanket shifted, and Jez thought she might be sick.
There was a gaping wound on the boy’s leg, open and rotting. Flies crawled through it, and the stench made her gag.
Damn. Damn, damn, damn. There was nothing on her bike that would help, nothing in the tiny emergency kit to deal with something like this.
The boy still held the rations pack, as if unsure what to do with it. He looked up at her with those dull eyes, void of curiosity or life or hope. “I’m going to die,” he said. “They put me out here because I was going to die. You can’t use me for anything else.”
Jez almost did throw up at that, almost emptied her entire dinner on the filthy street. “I don’t want to use you for anything,” she said, and the words came out harsher than she’d meant for them to. The child quailed back instinctively, and Jez closed her eyes and drew in a long, steadying breath. “I’m sorry,” she said, more quietly this time. “Look, I don’t want to use you for anything. I don’t do that, OK? But—if there’s something I can do to help you—”