Finder

by Suzanne Palmer

  “I can either fight a war or try to save people, not both. There’s no way to win anything without losing everything,” the Governor said. His face was tight, angry, anguished. “And if this keeps up, I don’t know where we’re going to find room to put anyone we do manage to save. If other habs go, we’re going to have to choose between a number of very bad options.”

  Ili stuck her head out of her office door. “Derrit!” she shouted.

  “Yes, ma’am?” he asked from his desk.

  “Has Second Medic Rena been found?”

  “She’s been in surgery, ma’am. We’re too short-handed—”

  “I am keenly aware. Still, I require her here by the time Mr. Harcourt arrives and absolutely not one second beyond. She should bring her paint kit, whatever she has.”

  “But . . . ma’am, if I may ask—”

  “No, you may not. Thank you, Derrit.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Ili slammed the door shut again.

  Ten minutes later, Derrit stuck his head in the door. “I have Second Medic Rena,” he said. “Docking control is trying to clear a path for Mr. Harcourt’s two-man. It’s crowded out there.”

  “Thank you, Derrit. Please send the medic in.”

  Derrit held the door wide. Second Medic Rena was a short, round, exhausted-looking woman. In one hand she clutched a small case. “Ma’am?” she asked, her glance darting around the room at the strange collection of people there.

  “Ah, Medic Rena. About time you showed up,” Ili said, and the woman started to shake.

  She’s scared out of her wits, Fergus realized. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We need your help. It’s going to sound crazy, but it’s important. Do you have paints that will hold up on skin?”

  “Um . . . for a while,” she said. “I’m painting on someone?”

  “Yes,” Fergus said. “Me.”

  “And me,” the Governor said. The woman blanched even further. “Also Mr. Harcourt.”

  “If I go alone . . .” Fergus said.

  “We agreed. Your plan stands a much better chance of success with more of us in it,” the Governor said. “And if your plan fails, we’ll have met Gilger’s demand, and maybe some of Cernee will be spared.”

  “I—” Fergus started.

  “I appreciate that you were willing to take this risk on your own,” the Governor said, “but this is our home. None of us are willing to sit by if we can do something.”

  “Mr. Harcourt has docked and should be here in ten minutes,” Derrit interrupted. “And your runners have returned. Um, where do you want them to bring—”

  “Here, Derrit, bring it all here,” Ili said. “And something strong to drink, as I have a feeling we’re all in need of that. And save one for yourself as well.”

  “Oh, I have already taken the liberty, ma’am,” Derrit said, and closed the door before he could see the expression on Ili’s face.

  “I hope this works,” Fergus said.

  The Governor nodded. “We’ve got nothing else, and he’s certainly not going to see it coming.”

  Harcourt walked in and gave Bale a tired pat on the shoulder. “I’m here,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

  “You two, strip for Medic Rena. Then talk,” Ili said.

  “I’m in too,” Mari said.

  “What?” Harcourt said as Fergus looked up sharply.

  “I’m not missing Gilger’s fall. I owe him.”

  Bale put a hand to his forehead. “I’m an idiot,” he said. “A big, stupid idiot. Count me in too, but if anyone tells my brother I volunteered for this, I’ll come haunt the shit out of you from the afterlife.”

  “I don’t want—” Fergus started.

  “It’s our choice,” Mari said. “We’ve been through this with you since the beginning, and you can’t keep us out now. Besides, Gilger will almost certainly kill you first, so you won’t have to be faced with actual guilt at our subsequent deaths.”

  “Oh, well, that’s fine, then,” Fergus said.

  Ili opened the door, reached out, and pulled in a startled assistant. She pried a nearly empty bottle of Saturn Screech from his hands. “You,” she said to Derrit, “go make sure our guests have a clear exit. We’ll need a six-man—”

  “They’re all out helping with the evacuations, ma’am,” Derrit squeaked.

  “Then find something that six people can fit in that flies. I need it ready in ten minutes or less, or we’re going to strap a rocket to your head and use you as a human scooter.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” Derrit backed out the door, tripping on the threshold, and caught his balance as he turned and ran.

  “A little fear is good,” Ili said, setting the bottle down on the table with a loud thump.

  “Well, I’ve got plenty extra, if anyone needs more,” Bale added, starting to take off his shirt.

  Chapter 27

  Derrit commandeered an ambulance just after it had off-loaded a dozen burnt, bleeding, and crushed people from Shadefill. Ili and a shell-shocked Second Medic helped them load up the back. “For all our sakes, good luck,” Ili said, then closed the doors firmly between them.

  The Governor climbed up to the front and took the seat beside the pilot. “To Central,” he said, “by the most expedient path you can find.”

  “Yes, sir,” the pilot said.

  The back of the ambulance had no view-portals, and Fergus was relieved not to have to see any more of the devastation. He’d grown up with the aftermath of history erasing entire peoples and places, and he didn’t want to be reminded of what was poised to happen here. I’m doing what I can to stop it, he told himself, ignoring the voice that told him it was a last futile, crazy gesture.

  The ambulance pilot turned to them as they docked at Central. “Whatever you all are up to, good luck,” he said. “I’ll keep my comm on in case you need a fast escape.”

  “I don’t think we’re likely to get one,” the Governor said, “but thank you.”

  “It’s been my honor, Lord Governor, sir.”

  “Where you from, Pilot?” the Governor asked.

  “Rattletrap, sir. Lost my parents and two brothers.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Be our revenge, sir,” the pilot said.

  “We’ll do what we can,” Harcourt said. “Can’t promise more than that.”

  “Can’t ask for more than that. Heading into the spinward three dock now. Hang on, there’s some damage. From here your people are holding the path clear to the cable platform.”

  The pilot brought the ambulance in without the least discernable bump, then helped them offload onto the dock, where four exhausted Authority officers met them to escort them through the heavily damaged station. As soon as they were clear, the ambulance lifted off again and headed back toward Medusa and the waiting wounded.

  The Governor had called ahead, and a cable car stood ready and empty, waiting for them at the main terminal. They moved their stuff over, and once the cable car was sealed, the five of them began the long journey down the line heading straight for Suncage and the center shield. The four officers watched them go, and their expressions ran the same range from hope to despair that Fergus felt warring for control of his own heart.

  He let his gaze drift over the collection of people on the bench opposite him, half expecting to see the ghost of Mother Vahn among them, grinning her old lady grin. “Trouble on the line,” he said.

  “What?” Mari asked, perking up out of her own thoughts.

  “Nothing. Just remembering. I promised someone I’d give Gilger a boot up the backside, and if this works, I think she’d have been satisfied.”

  Mari gave a sad half smile. “I miss her,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Fergus replied. “She seemed like one hell of a person.”

  He drifted out of
his seat, accustomed now to the pitch and yaw of the cable car, to stare out the front window. Suncage was a tiny glint against the massive dark backdrop of the central sunshield, outlined with the brilliant white fire of Cernee’s distant star.

  “We’ve got about fifteen minutes until we pass through Suncage,” Harcourt said. “Everyone ready for this? Fergus?”

  Fergus nodded, as much truth as lie. He took off his threadbare Firebowl shirt and shed his pants. Underneath he wore a tight pair of black shorts. Then he took out a tube of lichen goo, popped the cap, and started drawing glowing spirals and runes on his arms. When those were done, he began working his way down his torso, then his legs. The others watched, fascinated despite themselves. When he was done, he stood up and handed the tube off to Mari, who filled in his back.

  “You know this is going to make you really easy to shoot in the dark,” she said.

  “Explain what these mean again?” Bale said.

  “They’re sin marks. Luceatans permanently ink themselves with special symbols to remember each sin they’ve committed that they must atone for through righteous or glorious acts. I’ve just declared myself a sinner of every blasphemous, horrific, obscure, and disgusting sin I could think of, and on top of them all”—Fergus tapped the ornate circular glyph on his forehead—“the Bringer of Armageddon. In short, I have made myself Sahte, the Faither Devil.”

  He lifted his arms, turning them back and forth, satisfied with the glowing lines. “It’s not woad, but I think my ancestors would still approve.”

  Harcourt was looking at him strangely, and when Fergus caught his eyes, he shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s the Asiig thing. It shouldn’t matter, not after everything you’ve done for us. It’s just . . .”

  “Yeah, I understand. Wasn’t anything I had a choice in, but we do our best with the hand we’re dealt, right?” Fergus said. If only he felt that nonchalant about it. He picked up the jug of water he’d brought along and took another long swig, trying to get ahead of the thirst he knew was coming. “Remember, I go in first. If they shoot me dead, figure out your own plan B. If not, come in behind me, and be careful. With any luck, the Luceatans will let me clear a path through them right to Gilger.”

  “You know not to accidentally lick the goo, right?” Mari asked.

  “Yeah. Mother Vahn was pretty clear about how terrible it would be.”

  “Speaking of terrible, don’t forget your thing,” Bale said, pointing. There was a long tube, capped tightly, leaning against the seats. No one sat near it.

  “As if I could,” Fergus said. He picked it up and looped the carry strap over his head and down under the opposite arm, making sure the tube sat across his back where he could easily reach and grab it. It felt itchy against his bare skin, and a chill crawled up his spine.

  “We’re almost at Suncage,” the Governor said. “Time for you to go dark.”

  Fergus wrapped a blanket around himself and over his head to hide the glowing runes as Bale killed all the lights inside the car.

  Suncage was a thick, cylindrical, hollow structure the cable passed through, the inner surface lined with controls and monitors for the settlement power grid, protected from stray space debris. Their car bumped and shook, lights flickering, as it crossed each exchange between the cable and the power station, until at last they emerged out the far end. The central sunshield filled their entire field of view. It was a massive concave structure, thick struts and structural beams making it look like an enormous rectangular kite. The tiny cable station was embedded in its center.

  “We’ve got company,” Harcourt said. Fergus turned and could just make out three shapes putting spiders on the line from Suncage, jumping in behind them. His heartbeat quickened. No retreat now, not that there ever had been.

  The cable car slid into a docking terminus in the sunshield’s station, magnetic grapplers taking hold of the underside and guiding it to one of several airlocks inside. The car hit with a small bump, and then there was a grinding vibration as the two airlocks locked together. After a few tense seconds, it greenlit on their side, and the door unlocked.

  “Here we go,” Fergus said. “If this doesn’t work, it’s been a pleasure. And I almost mean that without sarcasm.”

  “We feel exactly the same about you,” Mari said.

  Fergus went through first. When the outer door had cycled closed, he reached up and carefully shorted out the light inside the lock. Shedding his blanket, he could see the green glow from his paint reflecting dully on the walls around him and nodded in satisfaction. If anyone survived this misadventure, at least they’d be able to say he had made one hell of a try.

  The inner door opened, and he stepped out of the dark, a glowing apparition. A half dozen Luceatans stood ranged in a semicircle around the lock, each with a pistol raised. As he walked out, the pistols wavered. “Sahte,” one whispered.

  “SAHTE!” Fergus bellowed.

  One Luceatan dropped his weapon and slid behind a fellow man, touching his chest above his heart with four fingers together, a sign of protection. Fergus raised his hands and let the electricity flow from his fingertips, enveloping the two men. They screamed and collapsed to the floor, no longer a threat. “Sahte,” Fergus said again, and his voice carried through the bay, echoing off walls. Another Luceatan turned and ran. Three down. Be the devil, Fergus told himself.

  He strode forward, raising his arms as if summoning rain, and coated himself in a bristling aura of energy, arcs of electricity leaping from one point on his bare skin to another, connecting knee and shin, elbow and wrist, shoulder to chest. One of the Luceatans fired, the shot going wild, and Fergus brought the man down with a blinding bolt. His steps brought him up beside another man, who sank to his knees, still trying to raise his pistol, spittle on his lips and his hands shaking.

  Fergus had read enough Luceatan myth-texts to play this part. “Sahte is walking among His ken,” he said, putting his hand on the man’s head and wreathing it in the same leaping light that surrounded him. The pistol fell from the man’s hand as he went limp. “One by one, collecting them for Hell, as He has already collected His son Borr Graf.”

  The last Luceatan dropped his weapon and ran.

  Behind him he heard the airlock door slide shut and begin its next cycle, bringing the others. Time for him to clear the way forward. Past this bay was a long, wide corridor leading to a large auditorium with a heavily tinted xglass window where visitors could look out at the inner solar system through the shield itself. Everything else should be storage rooms and mechanical facilities and small quarters, if the map the Governor had provided him remained accurate. Fergus’s best guess was that Gilger would be waiting in the auditorium.

  There were no signs of Shielders or any Shielder bodies. He hoped that meant they’d escaped Gilger’s invasion and were holed up somewhere safe until this was over.

  He pushed open both of the double doors at the end of the bay, stepping through with a confidence he didn’t feel. Movement on either side flickered in his peripheral vision, and without having to think about it, he reached out and zapped both Luceatans hiding there. A third hiding in a side doorway ahead gave himself away with a short cry of fear.

  Before he could run, Fergus reached out and caught him, wrapping one hand around the man’s shoulder and practically throwing him around to face him. “Sahte is walking now, knocking down false men who do not honor His name.”

  The man was shaking. “I renounce sin! Leave me free!”

  “Evil does not renounce you,” Fergus retorted. “Go, warn your false master that Sahte is coming!” The man got shakily to his feet and ran straight down the corridor toward the auditorium. Good guess, Fergus thought. So far, so good.

  As soon as the man disappeared through the far door, two dozen armed Luceatans poured out, the ones in front bracing to take aim. Fergus slapped a hand on the wall and sent sparks
flying down it along the plating, and all those touching the wall shouted in pain and pushed away, knocking into others.

  “Sahte is here!” Fergus shouted.

  “He’s a fake!” one shouted back. “It’s the Mars assassin, you idiots. Go!”

  Not all seemed convinced, but some started haltingly forward. Fergus let the lightning crawl across his bare chest, tracing the sin marks there, and a few more hesitated. He sent another blast of electricity down the corridor, feeling it tapering off sooner than he wanted. Deep inside, the angry bees felt quiet, small. Dammit, Fergus thought. Now is not the time to run low on juice.

  Running forward, he shouted as loudly as he could, a wordless cry of rage, startling the Luceatans. He reached out and grabbed one, slamming his head into his knee, then took hold of another by the neck and swung him into a wall. He fought his way into the midst of them, once again that skinny kid who’d started too many late-night bar fights in New Glasgow trying to prove something he couldn’t even name. The memory of how badly he’d lost most of those fights did not dim his momentum.

  One Luceatan who had already fallen grabbed onto his leg, trying to hold him as the rest still standing closed in, swinging fists at his head and chest.

  There was the sound of a shot, and a Luceatan on Fergus’s arm let go, falling to the floor. Fergus glanced over his shoulder to see Harcourt, pistol still raised, in the bay door. The Luceatans around him saw as well and scrambled for their dropped weapons, not sure which threat was the most immediate.

  “Sahte!” Fergus shouted again, flailing his fists and kicking his feet, making sure to nail the one who’d called him a fake hard in the groin. He was running on adrenaline now, almost enjoying himself as he broke through the last of the Luceatans and flung himself through the doors into the auditorium.

  It was a wider space than he’d imagined, and there were easily three dozen more Luceatans inside, all heavily sin-marked, surrounding a man in red and gold who stood, hands folded across his chest, calmly waiting in front of the podium like a lecturer awaiting tardy students.