Sandy clambered to the attic. He made quicker work of the ascent than she had, pulling the old-fashioned ladder closed behind him.
“I-I heard a scream.” She fidgeted with the strap of her bag.
Taking her elbow to escort her to the window, he felt tension vibrating through her. “Kliin probably got tired of toying with poor old Portuc and shot him. We’re running out of time. He’ll be scouring the house for you next.”
The window was sealed and set with security alarm sensors. Holstering the blaster, he got out a small toolkit. He went to work on the window while she watched with great interest.
“What are you doing?”
“Something illegal on all the civilized worlds.” He kept his focus on the task. “These tools are standard issue for the Sectors Special Forces.”
Leaning on the wall beside the window, she eyed him. “You were in their military?”
“Twenty years. Ah, there we have it.” He slid the window out of its frame. Stepping through the opening, he offered her his hand. “Come on, this part of the roof is flat.”
“Then what?” Gamely, she climbed through the opening after him.
“Follow my lead.”
He traversed the roof, staying close to the center, drawing her behind him, until their progress came to a halt at the rear wall. Sandy took one horrified glance and hunched closer to the ornamental fretwork running the length of the house in the center. “I don’t like heights, in case you’ve forgotten. It’s three stories to the ground. How are we supposed to manage the descent?”
“No problem. Antigrav pads.” He took them from a pocket of his borrowed coat and slipped the military devices onto the soles of his boots. Self-activating with a faint hum, the antigrav cast a blue glare. He rose a couple of feet into the air, gesturing to her. “I’ll have to carry you.”
Sandy glanced over her shoulder at the window she’d climbed through. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. We can talk to Kliin.”
“He’s not in the mood to listen.” Mark scooped her into his arms and stepped off the roof, floating to the ground faster than he’d expected—the pads were old, military surplus, and not rated for a double load, but the best he could get on the black market. She kept her eyes shut and her head tucked into his shoulder.
Rather unceremoniously, he deposited her on the manicured grass a moment later.
Shouting erupted inside the house. A glaring floodlight came to life above them. He shot it out and grabbed her by the hand, taking off at a dead run across the garden, toward the perimeter fence of the small estate. Forcing her to go first through a hole he’d precut about a week ago, he followed right on her heels, pushing her behind a large bush. “Wait here.”
“Where are you going?” She sneezed as a cloud of sparkling pollen from the ornamental plant drifted in the slight evening breeze.
“I’ve got to retrieve the rest of my gear. I’ll just be a second.”
Hoping she’d obey orders and stay hidden, Mark ducked and ran before she could ask any further questions. Working his way through the extensive hedge, he paused at the edge of the street. Then he stepped onto the pavement, sauntering to the idling groundcar. The local merc continued to listen to mind-numbing music, tapping his hand on the control panel with the beat. Mark stunned him with one efficient, silenced shot. Opening the door carefully to keep the body from toppling out, Mark shoved the man into the passenger side.
“I’ll be right back,” Mark assured his victim cheerfully, in case anyone farther down the line of idling vehicles was paying attention, which he doubted. The nearby mercenaries were staring at the house, debating amongst themselves how much carnage was occurring inside. Retrieving his battered, green-and-black kitbag from concealment in the hedge, he heaved the equipment into the rear seat, before jogging to where Sandy crouched.
“Let’s get out of here, Your Highness. Our luck has held too long already.” He walked to the passenger side of the groundcar and pulled the unconscious man out, dropping him on the lawn.
Stepping over the guard, she slid into the front seat, clutching her bag.
“You there!” A shout from the vicinity of the house challenged him for the first time on this escapade. “What do you think you’re doing? Where’s Ivor?”
Mark got behind the manual controls as fast as he could, throwing his stolen ride into motion before he’d even shut the door. He yanked the vehicle in a tight circle, servo motors whining, and took off toward the center of town at high speed. There wasn’t much traffic to impede them at this late hour, even on Freemarket.
Sandy peered at the vidscreen. “Got four cars coming after us. Can’t you go faster?”
“Yeah. Hang on!”
He shifted into overdrive and tore through the streets, dodging slower traffic in his way. He’d memorized a variety of escape routes during his first week on the planet.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
“Local cops. Damn, I hoped the police would stay out of this like they usually do. Kliin must have paid them one hell of a lot of money to be at his beck and call. We’re going to have to ditch the car and make a run for it.” He took his attention off the road for a moment to assess how Sandy was holding up as the groundcar slewed from side to side in his violent maneuvers.
She screamed a warning, but even Mark’s reflexes weren’t fast enough to avoid a collision with the cargo hauler pulling into his lane. The groundcar rammed the side of the truck, safety mechanisms deploying instantly and retracting.
“Damn door is stuck.” Mark exerted his full strength, pushing the lock to release. “Are you all right?”
Ignoring his question, she shoved her hair out of her eyes. “The sirens are coming closer. Get us out of here!”
“I’m doing all I can.” He could hear the banshee wail of their approaching enemies. “Grab my kitbag from the back.”
She twisted in the seat to get both hands on the straps of his bag, dragging it over the divider into her lap.
“Where the seven hells did you learn to drive, pal?” demanded the truck driver as he burst from his vehicle. Cursing, the man yanked the door open, freeing them.
Mark half fell from the car, dodging under the trucker’s arm and coming up behind him, striking at the vulnerable spot on the man’s neck. The citizen collapsed, half in and half out of the car. Mark shoved him to the pavement and reached in to grab first his bag, then Alessandra’s outstretched hands.
“Now what?” Leaning on the car, she scanned their surroundings for an escape route.
Mark pivoted on his boot heel, getting his bearings. “The independent marketplace is this way. We can try to lose Barent and the local boys he’s hired in there. It’s a maze. The vendors don’t much like cops, which might work in our favor since we’re fugitives.”
Taking the lead, he ran down the alley away from the wrecked car and the cargo hauler. Even at this late hour, the marketplace overflowed with diners and shoppers. Mark slowed to a walk, keeping a tight grip on her hand. They walked past a whole row of jewelry merchants, ignoring the shouted offers from the eager vendors, then took a sharp right turn into an aisle of hanging baskets. He glanced behind and ducked under the nearest display, drawing Sandy after him, seeking a shortcut deeper into the convoluted arrangement of stalls and merchandise.
Fending off a rack of leather belts as she snuck under it, Sandy said, “Do you know where you’re going?”
“I always have multiple escape routes. We get to the other side, we can steal another groundcar from the parking structure. Are you okay?”
“My feet hurt and I twisted my ankle when we crashed, but I can keep up, don’t worry.”
As he swerved under a row of baskets to cut into the next aisle, Mark stopped Sandy before she could take another step. “Cop.”
Head tilted, talking into a com, the local policeman maintained an unblinking surveillance of the marketplace.
“Searching for us?” she asked, bending over to rub her bruised ankle.
“Probably—and now he’s seen us.” The man’s stance had shifted. He was talking fast into his com link and coming in their direction. Taking her elbow, Mark pulled her across the narrow space and into the next shop. Reaching out, he snagged a rack of leather purses and bags and toppled it across the entryway.
Dodging the proprietor and his wide-eyed customers, they bolted out the rear door. Their pursuer shouted at them to stop. People flowed into the aisle behind them, blocking the lawman’s progress with their arms full of merchandise.
“The locals don’t know who the seven hells we are, but being on the run is enough to get us help, like I hoped.” Mark dodged a refreshment cart and cut through an open-air dining area, a surprising number of the tables occupied at this hour. He stopped for a moment next to the food services, so Sandy could catch her breath while safely surrounded by a milling crowd of customers shouting orders for delicacies and drinks.
She straightened, adjusting the bag’s strap on her shoulder. “There’s another cop.”
Needing only a swift glance in the direction she indicated, Mark realized the situation was worsening. “And he’s got friends—Kliin’s mercenaries.” There were five uniformed men surrounding the local policeman.
He drew her behind the line of cooks at the nearest open-air grill, crouching among the bins and barrels of fish on ice and crustaceans crawling in barrels of salty water as the Kliin guards ran past, accompanied by three policemen. The men slicing and dicing vegetables and stirring vats of savory stew ignored the byplay, continuing their preparation without missing a beat. Mark breathed a silent prayer to the Lords of Space, thanking them for the indifference of the Freemarket citizenry.
“We’ll never get out of this predicament,” she said, breath catching on a sob. “There’s nowhere we can go. The police are all over the market.”
“The parking garage is probably locked down too.” He couldn’t believe he’d failed. This job meant more to him than anything he’d ever done for the Sectors. So how had he let it go so wrong so fast? Preoccupied, trying to think of other options for escape, he didn’t notice the small being approaching until it stopped in front of him.
Assessing the sentient’s pointed face and triangular, gray-furred ears, the wide yellow-flecked eyes, he wasn’t sure what he was dealing with. Nothing he’d encountered previously. Waving his blaster, Mark tried to shoo the being away for its own good. Not intimidated, the newcomer clutched his sleeve with four curved claws. “Come with me—I know what you need, but you must make haste.”
Instinctively trying to yank his arm away, Mark couldn’t free himself from the creature’s grip. “Who the hell are you?”
“Come, come, there is no time, traveler.” Tugging harder on him and reaching with its other hand for Alessandra’s skirt, the creature sidled a few steps. “You must hurry.”
He exchanged glances with Sandy. Eyebrows raised, she rolled her shoulders in resignation. “I don’t think we have any choices, do you?”
“Not now, no,” Mark agreed. “Out of options here. All right, what do you have in mind, friend?”
“Come, come, come!”
The being’s vocabulary seemed to be pretty limited. Still maintaining its hold on Mark, releasing Sandy’s skirt as if it didn’t care for the feel of the silky material, the sentient backed away. It escorted them along the line of stalls, keeping low and stealthy. Mark reached for Sandy’s free hand to make sure they didn’t get separated on this strange jaunt. A hue and cry erupted behind them.
Their odd guide led the way, weaving and dodging through the crowded aisles until the two humans were hard-pressed to match the pace.
Mark checked their six, stumbling over refuse on the path. Around a corner, through a narrow passageway, past a blur of staring citizens, doubling back occasionally, they ran. All at once their guide darted sideways, into a dark purple tent, and stopped. The sudden change in direction, followed by the unexpected halt, took Mark and Sandy by surprise. She tripped on his heel, bringing them both down in a heap, tangled with their guide. Mark lay on the carpeted floor, watching in astonishment as six cops sprinted past the tent’s open portal, never even glancing inside.
“What the seven hells?” Mark realized the strange being he’d fallen on top of was gone, vanished as if it had never been.
Rising, Mark reached to help Sandy regain her feet, relieving her of the heavy bag. She staggered as soon as she put her weight on the ankle she’d twisted escaping the wrecked groundcar.
“Welcome,” said someone from deep within the recesses of the tent.
Still supporting Sandy, trying to shield her from whoever approached from behind them, Mark turned.
A veiled woman, dressed head to toe in shimmering lavender, stood a few feet away, as if guarding the entrance to a second, larger room.
“I’m sorry we’re intruding,” Sandy said between panting breaths. “The little—the sentient thought you could help us.”
“The Nelafinari are never wrong in their assessment of Travelers,” their hostess answered, giving the last word a special emphasis.
Mark couldn’t decide if he and Sandy were in more danger from their pursuers outside or from this uncanny new player.
A second group of Kliin’s mercenaries and local police ran by, two men stopping to stare into the tent where Mark stood. Cursing under his breath, he shoved Sandy behind him and aimed his blaster at the nearest adversary.
“Do not.” A jarringly slender, seven-fingered hand reached out to grasp the barrel of the M27 and push it down. “The men you fear cannot see us. We’re outside their existence. For now.” In a heartbeat, the woman in lavender stood where she’d started, on the threshold of the other room. “I advise you to accept what is and move on. Our time is short.”
“Mark!” Sandy’s voice quavered on a note of pure terror as she grabbed his arm, pulling him to face the entrance.
Barent Kliin stood in the alley, glaring at the merchandise displays.
Mark took one step toward the exit. Barent would make a valuable hostage, exactly what he needed to buy their way out of the dead-end trap the marketplace had become.
“Leave and you can never return to this spot,” said their mysterious hostess. “This chance comes but once to a Traveler such as yourself.”
Sandy tugged at his arm, drawing him a step or two farther into the tent and interfering with his aim at Barent. “I think we need to listen to her. Maybe she can help. She’s protecting us right now. That’s worth something.”
Their unusual hostess laughed, and the sound trilled like birdsong, changing from second to second. “I’m Lajollae, Keeper of the Globes of Amarkana.”
“Which doesn’t mean anything to me,” he said, holstering his blaster as Barent strode out of his line of sight, going deeper into the marketplace.
Lajollae extended her arms, hands cupped in front of her at waist height. She held an iridescent bubble about a foot in diameter, which had materialized in the blink of an eye. A second bubble fought to come into existence, pulling itself out of the first. Tiny flecks of gold floated in the second bubble.
One golden mote separated from the rest and drifted through the skin of its own bubble and across empty space to sink inside the lower bubble. A moment later, another particle began the same journey.
“We have until the top bubble empties into the lower,” Lajollae said. “Then I’ll be gone from this place and time, your opportunity gone with me.”
“Opportunity?” Mark tried to focus on the vaguely sensible part of her declaration. “To do what exactly?”
“To Travel—come.” She beckoned for them to follow her into the tent’s second chamber.
Mark and Sandy exchanged another wary glance.
“What have we got to lose?” She bent to retrieve her bag.
“I’ve got it,” Mark told her, suiting action to the words. “All right, let’s go see what this Lajollae is peddling. Stay behind me.”
The princess trailing
him, Mark followed the strange being into her other room, giving the floating bubbles a wide berth. He attempted to calculate how many of the golden motes might have already descended, but focusing on the glittering shards was hard, making measurement impossible.
Seeing the dimensions of the inner chamber, he was positive this tent couldn’t have been in the part of the market they’d been running through just moments ago.
Lajollae was intent on him, her lavender face unnaturally long. Even the diamond-shaped pupils of her eyes were lavender. “I’m the servant of Ones who came before, setting me to follow my appointed rounds through their domain, to provide the amusement of Travel. My mistresses are gone eons ago, to an existence you could never fathom, young race that you are. But I was left carelessly discarded, with no choice but to keep to my route. You aren’t what the globes were created for, true.” She shook her head, as if recalling a great tragedy. “But if the Nelafinari bring you to me, then I can serve—you’re marked as ones who can choose.”
“The-the Nelafinari? The little fellow who guided us here?” Sandy had apparently identified at least one tangible fact to anchor herself in all this unreal discussion.
Lajollae pointed, and Mark swung around to find two of the small beings now kneeling at either side of the tent’s entrance. “They know my need, know I must send Travelers on their way. So the pack hunts.”
Mark didn’t like the idea of being prey, but the Nelafinari had saved them from immediate capture and, no doubt, his painful and prolonged death at the hands of Barent Kliin.
“We waste time.” Lajollae sounded uneasy. “You must choose to Travel or to stay.”
“You keep talking about traveling. How do you propose to help us get away from the men pursuing us? Do you have a groundcar or some kind of ship here?” Mark wondered if the tent included a third chamber, a garage maybe.
One of the Nelafinari growled deep in its throat, baring impressive fangs.
“Behold the Globes of Amarkana.” She yanked at a corner of what Mark had assumed to be the tent’s rear wall. The shimmering panel fell away, revealing a tree taller than Mark fashioned entirely from crystal. Jagged, sharp branches of clear glass, patterned with leaves incised deep into the surface, jutted from a thick trunk at odd angles. At the tip of each branch hung a perfect golden ball, ethereal bubbles made of solid material. The globes were translucent, empty at first glance, but then Mark saw faint spirals of white smoke in some, flickering lightning in others, flames in a few. Several appeared to contain misty rain droplets suspended as if captured in midair…the branches stirred with a faint chiming sound.
Lady of the Star Wind Page 2