Blood Will Tell

by Christine Pope

  There was no point in prevaricating. “Yes,” she said.

  The alien’s copper eyes narrowed slightly. She recalled that Murgan’s had been a darker shade, almost dark red rather than true copper, but the two did seem to share a certain similar cast of features—the same high-bridged nose, the same humorless, thin lips. “You have the ransom?”

  In answer she lifted the satchel she held in her right hand. “I want to see my son, Korvan.”

  He scowled at her use of his name, but said only, “I’m afraid you’re in a position to demand nothing. Chaddick, take the money.”

  Still holding his gun pointed at her, the Stacian’s partner stepped toward Miala and plucked the satchel from her fingers with his free hand. Then he backed away and handed it to Korvan.

  He opened the satchel and looked inside, then gave a small, approving nod at the sight of the neatly bundled stacks of shining Gaian currency it held. “I’m glad you decided to be smart about this, Ms. Fels.”

  Even though she knew Thorn had promised her that the kidnappers wouldn’t be holding on to their ransom for very long, Miala couldn’t help experiencing a pang at seeing Korvan take the money. Of course it was nothing compared to getting Jerem back safely, but she and Thorn had paid for that money with blood and sweat and toil, and it hurt to see it in that foul Stacian’s hands.

  “My son?” she asked.

  At her question, Korvan and his compatriot exchanged a half-annoyed, half-amused glance. “Wait here,” Korvan said.

  Something felt very, very wrong. Quelling the panic that had begun to rise in her stomach, Miala said, “Look, I’ve done everything you told me to. But do you really expect me to just sit here and wait while you walk away with my money without giving me any indication that my son is even alive?”

  A look of anger flashed across the Stacian’s face before his features stilled themselves once more. “As I just said, you’re in a position to demand nothing. But if you insist—” He made a slight gesture with his free hand, and immediately his partner reached out and grasped Miala by the arm. “We can all take a look together.”

  Trying to guess what exactly Korvan had meant by that, she stumbled along behind the Stacian as his partner dragged her toward the center of the park. She didn’t bother to make an attempt at freeing herself. The man’s grip was like cold-poured steel.

  Once they had reached an open area that served as a courtyard in the center of several abandoned rides, Korvan stopped. Almost immediately two more men came out from behind a small structure that Miala guessed used to be a power substation. Places like this required enormous amounts of energy, and probably the little shack had contained back-up generators in case the main feed from Rilsport’s city center failed.

  “How are our guests doing?” Korvan inquired.

  The smaller of the two newcomers grinned, showing yellowing teeth that only enhanced his rodent-like appearance. “Just fine, boss, although they probably find the accommodations a little cramped.”

  “No matter,” said the Stacian. “In a little while they’ll discover their quarters are the least of their problems.”

  Miala briefly wondered who his “guests” might be, and why their problems were apparently going to increase in the near future. Of more pressing concern, however, was Jerem. She cleared her throat. “My son?”

  An ugly smile distorting his thin lips, Korvan replied, “Ah, yes, your son. The ever-resourceful and agile Jerem. Apparently he had issues with his accommodations as well, and escaped.”

  “Escaped?” she repeated, incredulous. “You mean you don’t even have him?”

  “Not exactly,” Korvan said. His head tilted upward, as if he were focusing on one of the rides that loomed overhead. “We have managed to track him down. Unfortunately, he’s not being very cooperative.”

  Unease sweeping over her, Miala looked up as well, trying to follow the Stacian’s gaze. To her horror, she saw a small figure inching its way along the gantry that had once suspended small cars for a free-fall thrill ride. A few meters away, a second, larger figure crept steadily closer toward the first one, which could only be that of her son.

  She didn’t even realize she had begun to move forward until the wounded kidnapper dug his fingers even more tightly into her upper arm.

  “There’s not much you can do,” Korvan said. “At this point, I suppose it doesn’t really matter. If he falls, he falls. We already have the ransom.” And he stared down into her horrified face and began to laugh.

  An anger deeper than any she had ever known boiled up from somewhere deep inside, white-hot as a plasma drive. Without thinking, she kicked back at the man who held her, feeling a sense of visceral satisfaction as the heel of her boot connected with his groin and he let out a muffled groan. Immediately he released her arm, and she lunged forward.

  Her moment of freedom was short-lived, however. Even as she gathered her breath so she could bolt off in the direction of the ride where Jerem hung suspended a hundred meters off the ground, Miala felt a heavy hand descend on her shoulder and yank her backward. She collided with Korvan’s massive bulk, and then his arm settled around her throat with crushing force.

  “Going somewhere?” he asked, his breath hot against her ear. “Let me applaud your maternal instincts, Ms. Fels. But there’s no way you could get to your son in time to rescue him, and since I have your money, I couldn’t care less whether he falls from that tower and ends up flatter than an Eridani saucer-fish.” The pressure against her throat decreased slightly as he added, “But you—you could be worth a great deal in certain sectors of the galaxy. A little something extra for my trouble, as they say.”

  A wave of revulsion swept over her, and Miala raised her hands to claw at the arm that held her in a choke hold. Better to go out fighting than to let him take her prisoner, this monster who had kidnapped her son and was now willing to let him die, who threatened to turn her into a slave.

  But even as she prepared to dig her nails into the Stacian’s enormous golden-skinned forearm, a shadow seemed to pass over the rising sun. And out of that shadow shot a bolt of acid-green fire, one which connected with the kidnapper who had stood before her. The acrid smell of charred flesh hit Miala’s nostrils even as the man fell to the ground, his corpse smoking from the intense heat.

  About time, Thorn, she thought. Korvan’s grip on her had loosened slightly with shock, and she took advantage of that fact to drop to the pavement, feeling it scrape her palms as she flattened herself to get out of the line of fire. Two more bolts followed, and she heard Korvan’s accomplices cry out in agony.

  The Stacian could not move as quickly as she. He began to reach for her, but another bolt of shocking green fire burst forth, hitting him directly in the chest. Miala heard him scream, a curiously high-pitched sound for someone so huge, and then she felt him crumple, landing on her outstretched legs. The impact was so painful and unexpected that for a few seconds she could only lie there, wondering if he had managed to break both her limbs in his fall. Then she gave a cautious little wiggle of her right leg. It hurt, but not enough to have been broken. Probably she’d be covered in bruises tomorrow—if she ever managed to get him off her.

  Somewhere off to the right she heard the distinctive whine of turbos, followed by a wave of hot air hitting her cheek. Metallic footsteps clattered against the pavement, and then the appalling pressure of Korvan’s dead body on her lower half suddenly eased.

  A gloved hand appeared in front of her face. “You all right?”

  She reached out and wrapped her fingers around Thorn’s, letting him haul her upright. The Fury sat a few meters off to the right, looking completely out of place in the amusement park setting. It was only his voice that told her who he was, because somehow he’d gotten his hands on a suit of GDF power armor, and it covered him from head to toe.

  No time to ask him where the hell he’d gotten it, or whether he’d had it stashed in the Fury all along, so she said only, “As usual, your timing is impeccable
, Thorn.” Once she was standing—and to her surprise, Miala found she could stand upright, even though her knees shook and every muscle from her hips downward told her that they didn’t much care for the way they’d been treated—she gasped, “Jerem’s up there. One of them is still after him.” And she pointed up toward the gantry, where, thank all the gods ever dreamed of by sentient species, their son still clung to the heavy steel framework.

  His helmeted head swiveled upward. “Got it.” And Eryk Thorn took off at a run, moving more swiftly than she would have thought possible, until her addled brain suddenly realized that he was airborne, a jet pack on the back of his armor lifting him up and away from her, up to rescue his son.

  Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all, Jerem thought. ’Cause now they’ve found me, there’s no place to go.

  He clung grimly to the weathered gantry, legs dangling a good hundred meters above the pavement. Sure, he could say he wasn’t afraid of heights, but it felt a lot different when there wasn’t much separating you from a particularly nasty death. He wondered if he slipped and fell whether he’d die on the way down, or whether he’d have to wait until he hit the bottom to meet his end. Either way, it didn’t promise to be too much fun.

  How they’d managed to find him so quickly, Jerem couldn’t be sure, although maybe they had some sort of scanning device that would track a living being among all the steel structures. Not that it really mattered at this point, he supposed. What really mattered was how he was going to get out of this.

  He didn’t recognize the man who crawled along the gantry toward him—it wasn’t the rat-faced kidnapper who had brought him his meals, or the tall dark-haired one who was scary in a quiet way. And of course Korvan couldn’t have hauled his big Stacian butt all the way up here. Still, it didn’t really matter—Jerem could tell from the look of angry determination on the man’s face that he wasn’t exactly thrilled with having to scramble up here to chase after a kid, especially one who was supposed to sit in his cell like a good little boy and wait to be killed.

  About a meter separated Jerem from his current perch and the absolute endpoint of the gantry. He inched backward a bit, not because he thought it would do any good, but just because he felt like he ought to be doing something.

  “Where do you think you’re going, kid?” the man called out, sounding breathless and annoyed. “Gonna dive off the end into the bay?”

  That would have been a spectacular stunt, but even if he could have survived such a fall, the waters off Rendarlin Point were too far away to offer even a hint of escape. No, the only way Jerem was getting off this thing was either the way he came, or by going ker-splat on the pavement below.

  “Maybe,” he said, wishing his voice didn’t sound so weak and trembly. “What about you?”

  The man muttered something. Jerem couldn’t be exactly sure, but it almost sounded like he said, “I’m not getting paid enough for this...”

  Jerem didn’t have time to think about that, though, because all of a sudden a bolt of green pulse fire shot past him, right toward the kidnapper. The man cursed, and reached for the holster at his hip—not an easy maneuver when clinging to a gantry some hundred meters off the ground. And while the man scrabbled for his sidearm, another bolt whizzed past Jerem’s other ear, this time hitting the kidnapper square in the chest and knocking him backward. He screamed, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the steel structure, before his body went limp, and he slipped, tumbling away into the cool sea-scented air. It seemed as if an awful lot of seconds went by before Jerem heard the man’s body finally hit the pavement with a sickening thud.

  And then he looked up, to see Eryk Thorn—his father—hovering in the air a meter away from him, jet pack holding the mercenary up in defiance of Nova Angeles’ gravity, just like the shock troops Jerem had read about in his graphic novels. It was only the coolest thing ever.

  “Ready to get down from there?” his father asked.

  Trying to look nonchalant, Jerem said, “Yeah.”

  Of course the helmet hid Eryk Thorn’s expression, but Jerem got the impression his father smiled behind the helmet’s smoked-plastic visor. “Okay. Wait there.”

  He sailed closer, then extended a hand. Jerem reached out to take it. There was one heart-stopping second where it seemed as if he were free-falling, just like the ride advertised, but then he felt his father’s strong arms close around him, holding him tightly as they swept downward toward the ground. Even with all the times Jerem had tried to think what flying might feel like, he had never imagined it could be this much fun.

  They settled on the ground in an open area between all the high-rise attractions. Jerem saw his mother waiting for him there, her face white with worry. At her feet lay the bodies of Korvan, the dark-haired kidnapper, and two other men. He guessed that his father must have gotten to them first and then come after him. Maybe it should have scared him a little to see dead bodies like that, but Jerem could only feel a rush of satisfaction that Eryk Thorn had killed them all.

  His father released him once they stood on solid ground again. Jerem sort of wished they could have kept flying around, but he supposed his mother might not have been exactly thrilled with them for leaving her behind while she waited on the ground. Still, he couldn’t help exclaiming, “That was fun! I want to do it again!”

  For a second his mother just stared at him. Then she gave a sort of hiccuping laugh, and rushed forward and pulled him into her arms. Her body shook, and Jerem realized she was laughing and crying at the same time.

  Grown-ups, he thought, with a mental shrug. He didn’t see what the big deal was.

  After all, he’d always known his father would come rescue him.

  XXIX

  The supply room where the thugs had unceremoniously shoved Creel and Jessa was dark and smelled of mildew and stale lubricants. From the sounds of gunfire that he could barely make out through the door, a major pile of crap must have hit the air circulator. Almost immediately after the one man had contacted his boss on his handheld, a commotion erupted from the other side of the park, and Creel had found himself getting pushed in here without the goons even bothering to tie him and Jessa up.

  Not that having his hands free helped much. The door had been locked from the outside, and since the cramped little compartment didn’t have any windows, there was no way he could tell exactly what was going on. Jessa, ever resourceful, had gone to the lock mechanism and had begun the tedious work of prying off the faceplate using the edge of her belt buckle as a crude lever. It wasn’t much and would probably take her forever, but a quick survey of the supply room had shown that it was swept bare of everything except a few discarded containers, which appeared to be the source of the stale lubricant smell.

  “What do you think’s going on out there?” he asked, after sidling closer to watch Jessa struggle with the lock. He knew better than to offer to help.

  “Don’t know,” she gritted. The belt buckle slipped, and she swore under her breath. “But it was pretty obvious that our guys weren’t happy about it.”

  True, Creel thought, smiling a little to himself. It was maddening not to know what might be going down in the park outside, but anything that brought a little grief into those goons’ lives had to be a positive.

  Metal scraped against metal, and he gave an involuntary wince. Still, at least it seemed this time as if Jessa had gotten a better angle to shove the buckle under the edge of the faceplate. Maybe it would actually work. If they got out, maybe they could sneak up on the perps, take them from behind...

  With no weapons, and outnumbered two to one, Creel told himself, shaking his head. I think you read too many comic books growing up...

  Suddenly the door slid into the jamb with a whine of miniature servos. Creel opened his mouth to say, “Good work, Jessa,” then realized she hadn’t even begun to lift the faceplate from the lock mechanism. The door had to have been opened from the outside.

  Outlined against the gray-white early morning ligh
t stood a stocky figure in armor, the distinctive shape of the GDF shock-troop helmet he wore clear even in silhouette. Behind him Creel could see the slighter frame of Mia Felaris, who had her arm around a boy of eight or nine standard years. The kid’s eyes were shining, and he looked as if he were trying to maintain a serious expression, but a little smile kept lifting at the corners of his mouth. Creel got the impression that the boy was having a great time but was under strict orders to behave himself.

  For a second Creel just stood there and stared at the odd trio, ignoring the shocked intake of breath that came from Jessa’s direction. So I was right, he thought. Still, he knew he’d have to play this very, very carefully.

  “Good morning...Captain Marr,” he said.

  The helmet tilted the smallest fraction of a centimeter. “Morning, detective. Thought you might want to get out of there.”

  “That’s for sure,” Creel replied.

  Eryk Thorn stepped back out of the doorway, allowing Creel and Jessa to exit. Her lifted eyebrow indicated that she had all sorts of things she would like to say but wouldn’t...at least not until later.

  Creel glanced over at Mia Felaris, at the boy she held so close. The kid was swarthy and dark, and didn’t look much like her. He did seem oddly familiar, though, as if Creel had seen his face somewhere before.

  Even though he had had his suspicions, this sudden confirmation of his theory hit him with as much force as a blow to the gut. He glanced back at Eryk Thorn, who reached up to remove his helmet. Creel supposed the mercenary had nothing to hide at this point—after all, both he and Jessa had seen Thorn’s face back at the docking bay, when the man had been dressed in simple civilian clothing. But it was still a little shocking to watch him lift off the helmet and then tuck it under his left arm.