Jerem stood and turned. Then he stopped dead at the sight of Korvan pointing an ugly-looking pistol right at his head.
“Going somewhere, kid?” the Stacian inquired.
XVIII
The chime of the comm woke her. Miala sat up in bed, feeling groggy and disoriented. It had taken her a long while to fall asleep. She didn’t dare take anything that might have helped her, since the last thing she wanted was to feel drugged and slow whenever the kidnappers did end up calling.
She glanced over at the chrono next to her bed. About half-past 0600, which meant she’d probably been asleep for only three hours or so. It could be Thorn, but somehow she doubted it. Pushing the covers aside, she stumbled out of bed and pushed the button on the comm unit to take the incoming call.
The screen remained dark. She heard a rough voice ask, “You’ve got the money?”
“Yes,” she said. Her brain seemed to start firing, adrenaline coursing through her veins and giving her the energy she so desperately needed. “I want to speak to my son.”
“No,” said the kidnapper. “You can talk to him when you’ve brought us the money.”
Miala had been halfway expecting something like that. Trying to remain calm, she replied, “Then how do I know he’s even still alive?”
Without pausing, the kidnapper said, “You want him back? Bring the money to the Stony Point amusement park. Be there in fifteen standard. If we see the merc, the kid dies.” The flat buzz of a disconnected line followed, signaling that the kidnapper had hung up.
Damn, she thought. Damn, damn, damn. But she knew there wasn’t anything she could do at this point except follow the kidnapper’s instructions. Thorn had left her a small signaling device the night before; all she had to do was press the button, and he would know that she was on her way to rendezvous with the kidnappers. He didn’t want her using a comm, in case outgoing transmissions from her hotel room were being monitored, but he’d told her the signal from the tiny unit he’d given her was nearly undetectable. Exactly what he was going to do after he received the signal, he hadn’t told her. She supposed that, once again, he’d kept her in the dark for safety’s sake. If she didn’t know anything, she couldn’t give it away.
Right before she had gone to bed, Miala had laid out her clothes in preparation for the meeting with the kidnappers, and she threw them on now, fastening the tunic with shaking fingers and sliding her feet into the low-heeled, comfortable boots she’d gotten the day before. After that she pulled her hair back into a clip, then knelt and retrieved the satchel which contained the ransom from its hiding place under the bed.
It was early, but she should still be able to catch a mech jitney without too much trouble, as they tended to congregate outside the larger hotels. Clutching the satchel in one hand, she took a breath, then pushed the button on the signaling device Thorn had given her. He already knew where to go, of course—now she just had to get there as well.
She left the hotel room and didn’t look back.
“So how’s your power pack doing?” Jessa inquired, sounding as cool as if they were parked in an unmarked car performing routine surveillance instead of trading potshots with a couple of thugs who apparently had an unlimited supply of charges for their guns.
“Not good,” Creel replied, risking a quick glance at the glowing readout on the butt of his pistol. He had three, maybe four shots left. “How about you?”
“The same,” she said, and squeezed off another blast before ducking down behind the countertop once more. At least this time her shot elicited a gasp and an outraged curse. Apparently she’d connected this time. “Any bright ideas?”
“Not really,” he admitted. Things had gone from bad to worse in such a short period of time that he hadn’t had much of a chance to stop and analyze what had gone wrong. It had seemed like a simple enough plan—head over to Rendarlin Point, do a quick survey of the perimeter of the property, try to get a read on how many perps might be involved. He’d even performed a quick scan with the equipment in their patrol car to see if the place had any security systems online.
Unfortunately, whoever these guys were, they seemed to be well-backed and -supplied. Their equipment had obviously been designed to fool standard-issue detection devices, and snoop sensors had gone off almost the second he and Jessa had alighted from their vehicle. They’d been forced to run for the dubious cover of the ticketing kiosk in which they now hid, since it was the only unlocked structure they could find. While Creel hadn’t been able to determine exactly how many attackers they faced, it had to be at least two and possibly as many as three or four. He thought he’d wounded one of them in the first volley they traded, and now it sounded as if Jessa had done the same, but with their power packs about to die on them, he knew they probably wouldn’t be lucky enough to take out all of their attackers with the few shots the two of them had left.
“Maybe they don’t know we’re cops,” Jessa said. She was wedged under the counter that fronted ticket window, her face looking pale in the shadowy half-light of the coming dawn.
“You think they’ll let us go if we tell them that?” Creel inquired, not bothering to keep the derisive edge from his voice.
“I wish.” Taking advantage of a small lull in the firefight, she popped up from her hiding place, got off two more shots, then slipped back into position under the ticket counter. “But there might be a greater chance of them taking us captive instead of just shooting us outright. Anyone who knows anything about RilSec knows that we take cop-killers very seriously.”
That much was true. Of course, crime was far from nonexistent on Nova Angeles—or he and Jessa would have been out of a job—but much of it involved high-stakes industrial espionage, embezzlement, or just good old-fashioned theft. The last time a RilSec officer had lost his life in the line of duty, a gang of off-world smugglers had turned out to be the culprits. They’d been tracked across ten systems by a task force specially assigned to that purpose, and brought back to Nova Angeles for justice. All parties involved had been found guilty and executed. Capital punishment still existed on the books here, but as far as Creel could recall, those cop-killers had been the only ones he could remember facing such final justice. No, anyone with two brain cells to rub together would probably think of a good reason for trying to avoid taking down one RilSec officer, let alone two.
He hated the idea of just giving up, but they didn’t have a lot of options. Of course the vehicle they’d left behind at the entrance to the amusement park had its normal transponder signal activated, and probably after a while someone at HQ might notice they hadn’t checked in and send out a team to investigate, but Creel doubted that would happen quickly enough to save their asses. Stupid of him not to have signed out more guns, but taking anything more than their usual sidearms would have sent up a lot of red flags. He’d thought they could do this quickly and quietly, then send out for backup if the situation warranted it. After all, there had been a distinct possibility that he and Jessa wouldn’t find anything here at all.
Oh, we found something all right, he thought grimly. A whole big bag of something. Not exactly the sort of maneuver that’s going to earn me a commendation. But right now the most important thing is survival. We can deal with the consequences later.
“Do you want me to do it?” Jessa asked. Her voice sounded almost too calm. “Maybe they’ll be less likely to shoot if they see a woman first.”
Creel didn’t like that idea at all, but he knew she had a point. You could preach all the equality of sex and species you wanted, but when it came right down to it, humans at least were still hard-wired to view females as less threatening. “All right,” he said. “But only because I can’t think of a better idea.”
“Tell you what,” she replied, giving him a smile that, despite their situation, somehow made his knees feel a little weak. “If we get out of this, you can buy me dinner.”
“Deal,” he said immediately.
“At Angel’s Flight,” she added wit
h a grin.
Only the most expensive restaurant in Rilsport. A dinner there would probably cost the equivalent of a week’s salary. Still, considering the circumstances, it was a bargain. “No problem.”
The slightest flicker of a dimple showed in Jessa’s cheek. “I should’ve let you get me into a compromising position long before this, Creel,” she said. As his brain tried to wrap itself around that statement, she rose, hands held at shoulder height, and called out, “Don’t shoot—we’re with RilSec. Surrendering our weapons now.” And she tossed her spent sidearm out through the kiosk’s window.
For one heart-stopping moment Creel was sure the thugs outside would shoot her anyway as she stood there, exposed and unarmed. Then he heard a voice say, in an unfamiliar accent, “What about the other one?”
Silently he handed his dead pistol up to Jessa. Once again she threw it out onto the ground. Creel heard it clatter against the concrete walkway.
“Both of you, out,” the thug said. “Now.”
Feeling a little stiff, Creel climbed to his feet and stood next to Jessa. Without speaking, she reached out to open the kiosk’s door. It was an old-fashioned, unpowered entry and so swung slowly outward. Then she stepped outside, and he followed close behind her.
Their attackers turned out to be three in number, all human, though with a scruffy, wary mien that suggested they were off-worlders. The tallest of the three limped forward and said, “Keep your hands up.” His lower right leg showed a scorch mark from a glancing pulse blast. Too bad it hadn’t been a few centimeters to the right. Then he gestured toward his two companions. “Check ’em.”
In spite of the dire circumstances, Creel had to force a grin from his lips as he watched the men head in Jessa’s direction, only to see the bigger of the two elbow his compatriot in the ribs and push him off toward Creel. No doubt the man had been hoping he’d get a chance to pat down Jessa, who certainly didn’t look like your standard RilSec officer.
She kept her head up, barely seeming to notice as the man searched her for any additional weapons with more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary. His partner, who favored a wounded left arm, did the same to Creel in a much more perfunctory way. Then they stepped back.
“Clean,” said the man who had checked Creel.
“Same here,” the other one chimed in.
Keep smiling, little man, Creel thought, after shooting a quick glance in Jessa’s direction. She had remained expressionless, but he could see the muscles knot in her throat as she swallowed. I get the feeling that in this case payback is going to be a real bitch.
“RilSec, huh?” said the apparent leader, staring down at Jessa. “So what brings you out this way?”
Still looking straight ahead, she replied, “Jessa Kodd, RilSec Homicide, badge number 328879-A.”
The man did not look amused. “Fargging cops.” His dark gaze shifted to Creel. “What about you?”
“Rafius Creel, RilSec Internal Affairs, badge number 274392-D,” Creel said. Maybe he’d survive this, and maybe he wouldn’t, but in the meantime it gave him a great deal of pleasure to complicate this thug’s life in any way he could.
“Cute.” Still, the man seemed to realize that he wasn’t going to get much more out of them at the moment, because he plucked the handheld off his belt and said, “Korvan, we’ve got a situation here...”
Jerem stood there, frozen in place, looking down the snout of the Stacian’s gun. He hadn’t realized how scary those things were up close. His whole body screamed at him to run, but he knew better than that. One move, and he’d probably get fried on the spot. Then again, these guys had been planning to kill him anyway. What was stopping Korvan from shooting him now and getting it over with?
Right then the Stacian’s belt-mounted handheld squawked, and, apparently caught off-guard, he looked down at it.
It wasn’t much of a chance, but Jerem knew it might be the only one he got. He also knew there was no way he could turn and run back the way he came. He had to get past Korvan, off into the main section of the park, where he could (hopefully) lose himself among the maze of derelict attractions there.
So he did the last thing anyone would expect—he ran toward Korvan, dropping to his knees at the last second and scuttling between the Stacian’s legs like a red-eye crab flushed from its hiding place in the rocks.
Korvan let out a bellow and dropped his handheld, reaching down to grasp Jerem before he could make his escape. But although the Stacian’s bulk was impressive, it also seemed to slow him down, and Jerem had sheer terror and agility on his side. Before he could quite register what had happened, he found himself behind Korvan, running toward the heart of the amusement park, feet pounding against the pavement as if a pack of Bathshevan devil-dogs were after him. He couldn’t stop to think. Instinct had taken over, and the only thing that filled his thoughts was finding someplace to go to ground, someplace where the kidnappers couldn’t possibly catch him.
From behind him he heard a confused jumble of shouts, some random pulse fire, and then more shouting, not all of it from Korvan. At some point he must have retrieved his dropped handheld and called in the rest of the goons. Jerem still didn’t know how many of them were out there, and he didn’t know what kind of scanning equipment they had. All he did know was that he had to put as much distance between him and them as possible. The shooting had stopped, so he guessed that whoever the strangers involved in the firefight were, they’d either been killed or captured, which meant he couldn’t look for help from them, either.
You don’t need them, he thought. You’re Eryk Thorn’s son. What would he do?
Well, failing his father’s enormous arsenal, about the only thing Jerem figured he could do was make himself as unfindable as possible. Stall for time. Surely sometime soon his father would be able to track him down and rescue him. Wasn’t he the greatest mercenary in the galaxy? After all the bad guys he’d defeated and bounties he’d claimed, locating his own son shouldn’t be that difficult.
His headlong dash had brought Jerem into the center of the park, where the coated steel forms of abandoned rides surrounded him. They couldn’t rust, of course, but their paint had started to look faded and blotchy, exposed to the sun and wind and salt air. They rose up around him like an odd metal forest, sheltering him, although Jerem knew he couldn’t let himself get too comfortable.
They’ll figure out where I am pretty soon, he thought. So I need to get someplace where they won’t think to look. But where?
The creaking of a broken gate caught his attention. Most of the rides had been closed off pretty effectively, all their gates chained shut and guarded with electronic barriers, but somehow the entrance to the one nearest him had been compromised. The barred metal gate shifted slightly in the rising dawn wind, and Jerem stared at it for a second, then past it to the looming shape of the ride it had shielded. Sky Tower, the sign read, in faded Anglic characters. It was one of those impossibly tall attractions where you got taken way, way up in a little car and then dropped from the top, free-falling before the repulsor jets kicked in. His mother had avoided things like that, citing a problem with heights, but Jerem knew he sure didn’t have any fear of high places. Good thing, too, since this one was really, really tall.
The car that had taken people to the top was long gone, but the access ladder built into the ride’s infrastructure was still there. Jerem pushed his way past the gate, wrapped his fingers around the ladder’s rails, and began to climb.
The ride to Stony Point seemed excruciatingly long, although Miala knew that they were actually making quite good time. At this time of the morning, the streets weren’t nearly as crowded as they would be in an hour or so. She had instructed the mech driver to stop about a hundred meters from the entrance to the park. It just seemed safer that way.
Mouth dry, she paid off the driver and alighted from the cab, then began making her way toward the large gateway that sealed off the park. The air felt cool and damp, a breeze rising off the ocean. T
he day was still mainly overcast, but Miala could sense rather than see the sun as it came up to her left.
As she drew closer, the gate swung inward, although there did not seem to be anyone around. The skin along the back of her neck prickled. Even though Thorn had been alerted that she would be here, and even though she knew he somehow had to have this place under surveillance, she still felt horribly vulnerable and exposed as she walked through the gate and on down the road that stretched out past it. In happier times it had led to the parking lots where visiting families could leave their cars, but now she followed it through those empty concrete spaces, on to the area where the main ticket windows had once stood.
They were still there, although shuttered and dark. On one of them she saw evidence of a recent firefight; scorch marks showed dark on the faded paint of its sides. She frowned, wondering if somehow Thorn had already met up with the kidnappers and engaged them.
That hope was immediately destroyed, however, as the immense figure of a Stacian moved out from behind the ticket kiosk, followed by the slighter form of a tall human male, one who appeared to be limping from a grazing pulse blast to the leg. The man held a pistol trained on her, but the Stacian appeared to be unarmed.
“Miala Fels?” he asked.
He used the name she had been born with, the name she thought she’d left behind on Iradia. Obviously he knew all about her past. Just because he was Stacian didn’t mean he was necessarily one of Murgan’s relatives, but Miala had had the feeling for quite some time that this matter was personal. Stacian clannishness was known the galaxy over. It stood to reason that Murgan and Korvan must be related somehow.
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