Night Without Stars (Chronicle of the Fallers Book 2)

by Peter F. Hamilton

  ‘I’ll tell Colonel Kukaida to grant you full inquiry status.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  *

  ‘Happy?’ Chaing asked as he made his way back down the stairs.

  ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ Jenifa grunted back over her shoulder. She wasn’t making any effort to slow down, as if emphasizing how her body was at its peak, while his . . .

  ‘You practically shut down this investigation.’ Which had surprised him. Yaki was Section Seven. Why had she even listened to a corporal who’d clearly had a run-in with her boss?

  ‘No, actually, sir, we have free run of the city in the middle of a martial-law clampdown. I’d call that a perfect result.’

  Chaing glowered at her back as she turned round the corner of the stairwell. He paused at the turning, trying to get his breathing back under control. That way she wouldn’t be able to see him struggling, revealing how weak he was. He wanted to look reasonably okay by the time he reached the ground floor. It’s going to be a busy day out of the office tracking down Corilla’s sources. And I need a result . . .

  ‘So?’ Corilla asked when he finally got back to the waiting room.

  ‘We’re ready to start,’ Chaing told her.

  She gave him a slightly confused look. ‘Start?’

  ‘Do your contacts know where a batch of weapons are being stored? Do they know who’s involved? Their location?’

  ‘I thought . . . Aren’t there going to be observation teams?’

  ‘The nests have already begun to move against us. We don’t have crudding time for this,’ Jenifa said. ‘Do you know anything or not?’

  ‘The Gates,’ Corilla said, as if the information had been extracted with a sharp instrument.

  Chaing opened the waiting room door. ‘What’s there?’

  ‘Ammunition,’ Corilla said. ‘Stolen two days ago from a regiment armoury.’

  ‘Now we’re getting somewhere,’ Jenifa said as they walked out across the reception area.

  ‘TerVask is in charge of the crew that pulled it off,’ Corilla explained. ‘He’s been throwing his weight around for over a week now. He’d only ever do that if he had Roxwolf’s backing.’

  Chaing smiled in pure delight. ‘Oh, thank you, Giu. I shall be very happy to resume discussions with terVask.’

  His humour was only slightly dimmed when the entrance guards insisted on another blood test as they left the PSR office.

  ‘Take us round to the garage,’ Chaing told the Cubar’s driver.

  ‘What for?’ Jenifa asked, immediately suspicious.

  ‘We’re both in uniform, corporal. It’s martial law, and we’re going into the Gates. Do you think that’s going to rouse any suspicions, let alone tip off any gang member keeping lookout?’

  She nodded stiffly. ‘Of course.’

  ‘We’ll requisition an unmarked car, then go back to my flat and change into our civilian clothes.’ He waited for a tell-reaction at the mention of the flat, but didn’t see one.

  *

  An hour later, an unremarkable eight-year-old Torova saloon car pulled up in Follel Road at the edge of the Gates district.

  ‘Wait here,’ Chaing told the driver.

  He and Jenifa followed Corilla into the jumble of ancient sinuous lanes. Here, at least, life seemed to be carrying on almost normally. They were constantly dodging cyclists, who rang their bells arrogantly as they freewheeled down the cobbles. Adults scuttled along between the slanting walls, not making eye contact with anyone. Groups of kids in raggedy clothes rushed about playing their unfathomable games.

  Corilla led them down MistleGate, and stopped outside a battered old green door halfway along.

  Jenifa frowned. ‘I know this place,’ she muttered.

  ‘You certainly do,’ Corilla said.

  There was the sound of thick metal bolts being drawn back. The door opened. Terannia stared out, her ebony hair dishevelled as if she’d just got out of bed. ‘Get inside,’ she hissed. ‘Quickly. Even you, girlie.’

  The club was just about what Chaing expected, its ancient uneven walls coated in paint that must have been a century old. A small stage for musicians. Bar against the back wall, with plenty of casks and bottles of unlicensed hooch. Curtains over doorways. Not as many tables and chairs as there might have been.

  Terannia walked over to a man a few years older than her, with short silver hair curling over his scalp and a neatly trimmed beard. Chaing was pretty sure he was a musician; he looked the type. He was introduced as Matthieu. ‘My business partner, and the club’s musical director.’

  Chaing was glad to see his instinct was still good. ‘So what have you got for me?’

  ‘I overheard something at one of the tables last night,’ Matthieu said.

  ‘Oh, please,’ Jenifa sneered.

  Matthieu gave Chaing a look that was almost pitying. ‘Overheard at a table,’ Chaing said firmly. ‘I understand. What did you overhear?’

  ‘It was one of terVask’s people. That piece of crud has delusions that’s he’s the next big gang leader, but we all know he works directly for Roxwolf. His people pulled off an impressive heist, some ammunition from one of the regiment armouries. There’s quite a lot of armaments stored in various depositories around the city; they don’t keep everything at their headquarters.’

  ‘And do you know where this stash of ammunition is being kept?’

  ‘Minskies, over in TollGate.’

  ‘It’s a gang pub,’ Terannia said.

  ‘Actually, that’s true,’ Jenifa said. ‘I heard about it on my last assignment.’

  ‘They’re going to move it this afternoon,’ Matthieu said.

  ‘When?’

  ‘All I know is: this afternoon.’

  ‘They’ll want to do it in daylight,’ Jenifa said, suddenly decisive. ‘It’s difficult enough with martial law; a curfew will make it practically impossible.’

  ‘We need to get it under observation fast,’ Chaing said. ‘There’s a sheriff station half a klick away,’ Jenifa said. ‘It’ll have a secure line to the PSR office.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘No,’ Chaing repeated. ‘PSR communications are compromised. We know that. Roxwolf had a lot of phone lines going into his hideaway under Cameron’s. And it’s not like we need to keep this from Eliters.’ He grinned at Matthieu.

  ‘So how do we observe Minskies?’ Jenifa demanded. ‘You and me?’

  ‘How many people are watching it right now?’ Chaing asked levelly.

  Terannia shrugged. ‘A couple of relatives of mine are close by.’

  ‘You’re going to use Eliters?’ Jenifa asked in astonishment.

  ‘Yes,’ Chaing said. ‘Obviously terVask’s people don’t know they’re being observed, or they would have done something about those relatives. Why risk bringing in new people?’

  ‘What’s the matter, girlie, don’t you trust us?’ Terannia goaded.

  Chaing held up a warning finger at the club owner. ‘Don’t, please.’

  ‘We can tell you if we see them moving the ammunition,’ Corilla said, ‘but what good will that do?’

  ‘You keep a good watch across Opole. I know that.’ He gave her a level stare. ‘Your friends must have observed my driving to Xander Manor that night. So they can certainly keep an eye out for any vehicle in daytime. Eliters walking about, Eliters riding a tram, Eliters looking out of a window. This is a whole city of casual observers. And they can update you on its location with your links. Right?’

  ‘We could try that,’ Corilla said thoughtfully.

  *

  Jenifa was seriously impressed with herself for keeping her emotions so tightly under control. When she was in the club, all she wanted to do was snap the cuffs on Terannia and haul her back to the Eliter cells at the PSR office and ask her the questions properly.

  Overheard them talking.

  Relatives keeping watch.

  All of it was such total bollocks – and Chaing had let t
hem get away with it. Typical. Now he was enacting an even bigger crime, using Eliters to observe the stolen ammunition shipment rather than trained and loyal PSR officers.

  It was as if everything he did was designed to taunt her. You are a crudding Eliter, and I will bring you down.

  She stared at the back of his head as they sat in the Torova, waiting for an update from the ‘relatives’. Beside her on the back seat, Corilla sat with her eyes half closed as if she was on the verge of sleep. Every time Jenifa checked her link detector, the red light was on.

  Are they linking to each other? Laughing at me?

  She dearly wished the little device was directional.

  ‘Terannia knew Rasschaert, you know,’ she said. ‘She employed him nine years ago. I interviewed her when we were hunting Florian. She’s a radical.’

  Corilla opened her eyes. ‘You see all of us as radicals.’

  ‘And today justified that, didn’t it? Terannia is part of your network. And Rasschaert Fell; I saw blue blood coming from the bullet holes my colleagues put in his body. But when did he Fall? Did Terannia tell you that? Exactly where do her sympathies lie?’

  ‘You’re an idiot.’

  Jenifa’s hand bunched into a fist.

  ‘We’re using connections,’ Chaing said calmly from the front seat. ‘That’s all. And because of that, we’re going to find a route into the nests.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  A small sigh escaped form Chaing’s lips, and Jenifa saw Corilla’s lips twitch in amusement.

  You’ll make a mistake. And when you do . . .

  Twenty minutes later, Corilla said: ‘Uh oh.’

  ‘What?’ Jenifa and Chaing said together.

  ‘A sheriff’s car just pulled up outside Minskies.’

  ‘Crud,’ Jenifa grunted. ‘We need to order them away. The gangsters will panic.’

  ‘They’re not sheriffs,’ Chaing said with quiet excitement. ‘Remember Hawley Docks? That’s the transport team.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’ Unless you’re part of the links.

  ‘Only government vehicles are allowed on the street during martial law. It’s them.’

  ‘They’re coming out of Minskies,’ Corilla said. ‘Bringing boxes. Ah, it’s terVask himself.’

  Five boxes were loaded into the boot of the sheriff car, she told them, then terVask climbed into the back seat and it pulled away.

  ‘Start the engine,’ Chaing told their driver.

  ‘Turning west onto Eaux Avenue,’ Corilla said. ‘Now Pinchat Road.’

  ‘Let’s go,’ Chaing said. ‘Take us round to the Veralson district. There’s no rush. I don’t ever want to get within a kilometre of them. Understood?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  The bogus sheriff car weaved an intricate route across Opole, taking twenty minutes to travel four kilometres, using the side roads and sometimes tiny back alleys so they avoided every checkpoint. Eventually they finished up on the north side of the Jaminth district.

  ‘Larncy Square,’ Corilla said finally. ‘They’re pulling up in Larncy Square.’

  ‘There won’t be any dodgy nightclubs there,’ Jenifa said. ‘Jaminth is a business district with some upmarket residential blocks.’

  ‘Take us up to Quillit Road,’ Chaing told the driver, visualizing a map of the area. ‘Quickly now. And park just short of Simonet Street; that’s the one that leads into Larncy Square.’

  ‘So what are we doing there?’ Jenifa asked.

  Chaing twisted round in his seat to grin at her. ‘You, corporal, are going to take a walk along Simonet Street and see which building they’re using.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘My leg and arm mark me out even in civilian clothes. You don’t trust Corilla and the Elites. So yes: you. Confirm the location. We’ll circle round and pick you up on Florissant Avenue.’

  The Torova pulled in at the pavement, ten metres short of Simonet Street.

  ‘Five minutes,’ Jenifa said gruffly, and stepped out. The car pulled away. She didn’t hesitate; people noticed hesitancy. Not that there were many people on the pavement, and those were mostly old, past reservist age. A few bicycles slid along Quillit Road, with only the occasional car and lorry. The tram tracks down the middle were empty.

  She turned down Simonet Street. Its buildings were ancient, four or five storeys high – grand homes or the apartments of nobility back in the Void when they’d been constructed. Then slowly as the city expanded, they’d been adapted into smart offices.

  Her heart rate accelerated as she approached the end of the street where it opened out into Larncy Square. Her right hand hovered over the concealed shoulder holster. If this was a set-up, she’d been played perfectly. Not that she believed Chaing would do that; he seemed genuinely intent on capturing Roxwolf.

  Jenifa had only managed a few words with her furious mother before he’d come wheezing and sweating into her seventh-floor office.

  ‘Why?’ Yaki had demanded. ‘You could have been safe by now. You have nothing to prove, not to me.’

  ‘If we get Roxwolf, we can break the nests wide open. That is how the proper PSR operates. We don’t give up because things are difficult, or hard for individuals. You taught me that.’

  ‘This isn’t difficult,’ Yaki had said through gritted teeth. ‘This is the end.’

  ‘Not if we’re strong.’

  Larncy Square had been built as the exemplary heart of the Jaminth district, formed by matching white-painted stucco terraces with high bay windows and curving balconies on the upper floors. They caged a communal park of tall walwallow and vive trees, itself encased by iron railings that now acted as security posts for the dozens of bicycles the residents left chained there. A fountain pond in the middle had been allowed to decay into a circular marsh of mushy leaves; tiny higkel birds waded over the rancid surface to their mossy nests adorning the central statue.

  As soon as Jenifa reached the square, she saw the sheriff car parked on the other side. She made a play of walking purposefully to one of the bicycles near a corner of the railings, bending over to unlock it and pantomiming lost keys.

  Two men in sheriff uniforms were unloading boxes and carrying them into one of the terrace buildings. She caught a glimpse of terVask’s profile as he sat in the back seat. Then she was striding through the huge archway which connected the square with Florissant Avenue.

  ‘They were offloading into the Cavour office,’ Jenifa said as she tumbled into the back seat of the Torova.

  ‘Cavour. That’s a law firm, isn’t it?’ Chaing asked.

  ‘Yes. They handle evasion cases for the tax office, along with normal criminal prosecution for the city’s sheriff’s office.’

  ‘Then they should be right at home cohabiting with Roxwolf,’ he murmured.

  ‘So what now?’ she asked.

  ‘Back to the PSR office. I need to review things.’

  ‘What’s to review? There’s a crud-load of ammunition on its way to the nests so they can kill us. This is obviously a staging post, and judging from the set-up possibly Roxwolf’s new hideout. We call in an assault squad and snatch as many of the bastards as we can, then sling them into the cells and interrogate them. If we get lucky, we catch Roxwolf himself.’

  ‘Charging in unprepared was what we did last time. Remember how well that went? Besides, you can’t interrogate Fallers; it never works.’

  ‘But Roxwolf isn’t an ordinary Faller.’

  ‘Exactly. He’s a tricky little swine. We have to be smarter this time.’

  *

  Most of Opole’s government departments were in disarray trying to implement the proscriptions of martial law, with uncertain chains of command and urgent orders contradicting each other. On top of that, the remaining residents were attempting to cope with restricted travel and a chaotic tram network. It was a city edging close to a nervous breakdown.

  Turmoil, however, was not a concept that infiltrated the PSR records division. Down in the basements under
the Broadstreet offices the air was still and dry, the temperature stable, along with the demeanour of the black-suited clerks who bustled round hugging their files with the same care they’d show a newborn infant. This department carried on unaffected by anything.

  Chaing knocked on Colonel Kukaida’s door. He thought he’d be exasperated by the normality pervading her domain, but he actually found it quite a relief.

  ‘Come.’

  Nothing had changed. Kukaida sat behind her broad desk, her grey uniform buttoned neatly. Photographs formed a grid before her. Two clerks hovered, awaiting instructions.

  ‘Colonel, I—’

  She held up a finger, and shamefully Chaing fell silent. The finger dipped and landed on the photograph of a middle-aged woman in an expensive fuchsia-pink cardigan. ‘That one,’ she said.

  A clerk nodded and picked up the photo, carrying it out of the bright white office like a sports trophy. The other clerk began to tidy away the remaining photos.

  ‘Yes, captain?’ Kukaida asked.

  ‘I need some files.’

  ‘Then it is fortunate that you’re here. Files are the one thing we have in great abundance.’

  ‘Not files on people.’

  ‘Really? How intriguing. What kind of files do you want, captain?’

  ‘Civic files. Specifically, building blueprints and city engineer utility plans. Very old ones.’

  ‘The appropriate city hall department can provide you with those, captain.’

  ‘I don’t want to use city hall, colonel. I have reason to believe it is compromised. My mission is of the highest priority, and top secret.’

  ‘What an important man you are, Comrade captain. Luckily for you, we do have copies of all city files, of course. However, they are microfiched. Searching through even one cassette for a specific blueprint may take you some time.’

  ‘I can accept that.’

  ‘Very well.’ She signalled the clerk. ‘Please inform my colleague what it is you require, and the relevant cassettes will be brought to you in the second-level viewing library.’

  ‘Thank you, colonel.’

  *

  The assault team had walkie-talkies, but on Chaing’s orders these remained switched off during deployment. They all wore civilian clothes, carrying bags or suitcases containing their weapons. Fortunately most of the reservists walking about Opole’s streets were carrying similar bags stuffed with clothes as they reported to their registration centre. It made the team unremarkable – as Chaing intended.