“You also work well in the dark?”
Stavros looked up. Clausen stood at the cavern entrance, a battery searchbeam in one hand. He stepped in, flashing the beam into the hidden recesses, picked out the cold firepit, the stone sink, the sleeping platform, the tiny oil lamp burning at Stavros’s side, as well as the assurance that the linguist was alone. “Your neighbors indicated I might find you here. Obliging little folk.”
He moved farther into the cavern, stopped at the firepit, nosed a casual boot into its ash. “Quite a storm brewing out there, from the looks of it. Right up out of nowhere, like the last time. This wagon train of yours may never get off the ground.”
Stavros fastened a final buckle on his field pack and stood. He slung the pack across his back, abruptly tired of fencing. “What’s on your mind, Emil?”
Clausen sighed, wandering deeper into the cavern. The lamp swung offhandedly at his side but the beam slid deliberately from floor to sink to pipes and on around the wall. “I’m glad you asked,” he began in a comradely tone. “Because I’d like to work this out in a friendly fashion.” He stopped his wandering, rested one suede boot on the sleeping platform and let his lamp beam settle at Stavros’s feet. “Stav, what the hell happened while I was out there in the bush? I don’t recall we had such adversary relations before that, you and I.” He paused with a smile that might have included a wink had Stavros been looking at him. “No more than your usual with the rest of the world, that is.”
Stavros stepped off the platform and crossed to the sink. Such a direct confrontation was unexpected. “Don’t know what you mean,” he replied lamely.
Clausen chuckled. “I could almost believe that, Stav. And not wanting to tarnish your reputation as a young hothead, it still seems to me you could be a little more accommodating here and there. I’ll let the issue of the comlink go by. Weng’s right there. I’m best qualified to fix it. But when I ask for your help with the locals…”
“Emil, I’ve been doing the best I can.”
“So you keep saying,” Clausen replied, “but I know you can do better.”
“I’m a linguist, Emil. Labor relations is not my job.” Standing at the sink, packing his razor and soap in a side pouch of his pack, Stavros heard the prospector come up behind him. The lamp flashed on the wall and steadied as it was set down on the floor.
Right, Stavros thought. Now I get the lecture about remembering the source of my funding.
Clausen grabbed his arm, twisted hard to spin him around and threw his weight against his chest. Stavros was flung spreadeagled against the wall. The back of his head slammed into solid rock. Pack, razor and soap clattered across the floor.
“Your job is what I fucking well say it is!” hissed the prospector.
Stavros gurgled, heaving, the wind crushed from his lungs. His vision blurred. Clausen shoved a skilled arm up against his throat, pinning his head to the wall. The other hand came up gripping a silvered laser pistol, a small personnel weapon of the sort expressly forbidden on board spacegoing vessels. “The truth is, you don’t like me much, am I right? And you’re doing everything in your power to get in my way.”
Stavros sucked for air dizzily, struggling to understand how this could have happened so fast. Cool metal kissed his temple. The arm across his throat pressed harder, making him acutely aware of the fragility of his windpipe.
“Am I right, Stavros, my boy?” Clausen repeated more gently, his tone almost paternal, while his forearm increased its grinding pressure.
“No!” Stavros choked out, and his desperate lie sounded like terror. He struggled to free his breathing, but the smaller man had him expertly immobilized. “You sonofabitch!” he flailed, hearing himself whine like a wounded animal. “Get your fucking hands off me!”
Clausen laughed and stepped back gracefully, releasing Stavros as easily and unpredictably as he had taken him prisoner. The little laser gun swung to level at Stavros’s chest. “Well,” said Clausen with satisfaction. “That at least answers one of my questions.”
Stavros sagged against the wall, gasping, and made no move to lunge after him. Clausen shrugged and lowered the pistol to his side. “So tell me, son, what’s your beef? Surely we can work this out. What have I done to offend you, so wet behind the ears from the university?”
“Nothing,” growled Stavros. He rolled along the wall and slumped against the sink, panting with shock and rage and humiliation.
“I have something you want, perhaps?” asked Clausen slyly.
“Nothing,” rasped Stavros again, this time truthfully. Clausen had money and power and Stavros had always been sure he wanted neither, power particularly. Now he wondered if that was because he had never before been so aware of how little he possessed.
Clausen found the three-legged Sawlish stool that had served the computer work station. He dragged it into the beam of his battery lamp and sat, one leg crossed over the other, the laser resting comfortably on his knee. “You academics,” he began tiredly, “just don’t seem to understand the realities. This is not fun and games, boy, you get me? I’m putting your career on notice. As of right now.”
When Stavros held his sullen silence, Clausen shook his head. “I can make you or I can break you, Ibiá, It’s as simple as the old cliche. So why make it the latter when the former could be so much more satisfying for both of us? Believe it or not, I get no kicks from having to shove you boys back in line.”
Stavros glared back at him, hating the prospector for his calm while he himself still fought for a measured breath. What price, what form of bribe would Clausen offer for his loyalty? He was almost curious enough to open negotiations. The lamp beam backlit the prospector’s seated form with cold bright glare, leaving his face in shadow. He sighed and uncrossed his legs. The pistol flashed a sharp glint of reflection into Stavros’s eyes.
“And then,” Clausen mused, “there are always those unfortunate accidents that occur on these uncharted worlds…”
Stavros gathered the shreds of his self-possession and laughed. “Don’t you think you’ve threatened me enough already?”
“Evidently not,” replied the faceless voice. “Or in the midst of all the heavy breathing, did I miss your promise to get in line? You know, I’ve seen all this before, boy, these petty alliances with the locals. It’s always some idealistic youngster like you who gets himself in over his head. You should take a tip from Megan Levy. You don’t catch the old pros like her messing about, no matter how much they’d like to smear my ass from here to Centauri.”
Stavros held himself very still, pinned by the searchbeam, afraid that his slightest move might surrender whole paragraphs of meaning to Clausen’s canny hunter’s instincts. How much does he know?
“On the other hand…” The prospector rose and his shadow leaped against the wall. “This is getting a trifle tiresome, as impasses often do. I could put a bolt through your skull right now and be done with you, but then there’d be some awkwardness to deal with.” He reached for the lamp and hefted it, training the beam into Stavros’s slitted eyes. “And I prefer to think you’re as bright as they say you are, and will learn to value your future health as a working professional more than a few local acquaintances.” He paused, waiting. “Do I get the help I need?”
“You’ll get it,” Stavros growled, to be rid of him.
Clausen backstepped toward the cavern entrance. The searchbeam held steady, then dropped. “Excellent thinking, son. Well, go on, then. Have a good trip and get out of my hair. CONPLEX and I are delighted your work means so much to you, but don’t let it get in our way, eh?”
No bribe. No bribe at all. The offer was simply his life.
“Does the Commander know you smuggled an illegal weapon on board?” Stavros spat after him helplessly.
“Tut, tut. Smuggled?” Clausen balanced the pistol on his palm with a snicker. “This little guy’s classified as a tool, my boy, officially listed with the contents of my emergency kit, and you should be glad of it, since you
yourself said I’d need a welder to repair the dish.” He raised the shining gun and laid the stubby barrel alongside his nose. “You might be able to nail me for assault and battery, though I think you’d be hard put to offer evidence, but illegal possession? Never. The Company doesn’t want me running around unarmed.” He switched off the lamp as he reached the doorway. “Predators, you know,” he whispered and ambled off into the darkness, laughing.
Megan found him still slumped against the sink, head sunk to his chest. The little oil lamp sputtered on the sleeping platform. In the sink, the faucet dripped into an overflowing stewpot.
“Aguidran says it’s time, Stav. You all packed?” she called from the entry. She had put on fresh-pressed khaki field clothes. Her compass swung around her neck. “Stav?”
He didn’t move.
“Stav?”
His head lifted, barely. “I just had a visit from Clausen,” he said thickly.
“Yeah, he told me you were up here.”
Stavros shifted, coughed. “Did he also tell you he’d slapped me up against the wall like I was nothing, like some ball of snit, and shoved a gun in my face?”
“Ah. So soon,” Megan responded quietly.
Stavros glared at her. “Christ! Is that the best you can do?” He pushed limply away from the sink and muddled about gathering up his pack and soap and the shattered pieces of his razor. He clutched it all to him, looking dazed, then sank in a dispirited heap onto the steps of the sleeping platform. The pack tumbled from his grip as he dropped his head into his hands. “I couldn’t stop him, Meg,” he mumbled. “He could’ve fucking killed me.”
Megan went to him quickly, sat on the step beside him and slipped an arm around his back. His sweat-drenched shirt was cold against his skin. “Oh my poor innocent,” she soothed. “Of course he could have. And would have, if he’d been feeling threatened enough.” She rocked him for a moment, then asked, “How much does he know?”
Stavros muttered something inaudible, then took a breath, dragging his hands across his eyes. “He’s not on to you yet. I think mainly he’s noticed me getting in his way a lot.”
Megan patted his shoulder as she drew her arm away. “Well, it could have been worse, god knows. He may think a simple threat will be enough to scare you into line.” She sat back. “Weather’s acting up again out there. Aguidran seems to want to go ahead anyway.”
Stavros remained sunk in his gloom. “So goddamn helpless…!”
With a sigh, Megan leaned her elbows on her knees, matching his posture. “Look, Stav, I’m sorry. I thought you understood when you got into this that Emil is the real thing. He plays stakes in the gigabillions, and he plays them for keeps.”
Stavros raised his head to stare into the darkness of the entry. “That sonofabitch’ll never get his fucking hands on me again.”
Megan eyed him. “My goodness. You sound as if no one’s ever knocked you down in your life.”
“Not like this! Not with so little chance to hit back!” He roused himself long enough to slam a fist helplessly into the air. “Sonofafuckingbitch! How could I let him get the jump on me so easily?”
“Whoa. Hold it,” Megan warned. “Keep that young Mediterranean blood of yours below the boiling point. You have to stay as cool as he is, or he’ll have you. He’ll have all of us. We’re too few and too weak to risk giving ourselves away with impulsive action. We need you, Stav, and we need you calm and quiet and undercover. You can’t let this become a personal grudge match, or your anger will be another weapon in his hand.”
Stavros pretended not to hear. “ ‘Bloody, bold and resolute!’ ” he quoted, then muttered recklessly, “Of course, the real solution is to get rid of him. A little trip at the edge, a casual push, and… splat!”
Megan pursed her lips. “It could come to that with him, in self-defense. Are you ready to kill a man, Stav?’
“You got a better solution? That’s what he’d do to me, if nobody were around to notice!”
“I asked if you were ready to kill a man.”
“I’m ready to stay alive,” he returned harshly. “Shit, now who’s the innocent?”
“Stav,” she chided gently, “listen to me. You’re rightfully pissed at the man for proving his power at your expense, but it’s no cause for suicidal vows of cold-blooded murder. He is, as they say, armed and dangerous. You are neither. So put away your bruised pride and remember the real enemy. If by some miracle you did manage to get Clausen before he got you, CONPLEX’d just send in another like him. He’s not exactly unique out there in the megacorporate universe. Emil Clausen is basically a highly paid errand boy. The power he wields is only local, and he’s smart enough to know it. That infernal confidence of his is based on accepting both where the real power lies and his place in its structure.”
“Is this political science class?” Stavros sneered.
“Know thy enemy as thyself,” Megan returned. “And never let it get personal.”
He shook his head, relapsing into gloom. “The innocent and the professor… fine pair of conspirators we make. What in holy hell are we going to do against the likes of him?”
“Hey, I said calm down. I didn’t say roll over and die.” Megan smiled and nudged him playfully. “Listen, I’ve seen much worse than us going up against the biggies. How do you think revolutions get started?” She touched his chill arm. “The point is, you can’t give up on the legalistic approach just because you got messed around a little. Face it, you’re likely to get messed around a little more before this is all over, but next time, you’ll be ready for him. Adopting his methods is not the answer. The laws have been written to keep power like Clausen’s in check, and sometimes—rarely, I admit, but sometimes—you can even make them stick.”
“Meg, laws and revolution are a contradiction in terms.”
“Not if what’s revolutionary is to invoke the laws as they are written. Stav, don’t jeopardize the chance for real change for the sake of your ego.”
Stavros shrugged her off. “I won’t! Christ, Meg, I’m not a child!”
Backing off, Megan wondered. In a way, the incident was fortuitous. Clausen had unwittingly provided a naive and idealistic young man with a bloodless first blooding that left only his pride gasping for its life in the sand. Only much later would he understand how lucky he had been that Clausen did not yet see him as a real threat. Still, Megan had her doubts about Stavros’s ability to learn the lessons of self-control fast enough to save himself and save their plan. It was all mad, of course. After years of talk and no action, she had chosen this out-of-the-way planet to make a stand and this volatile raging boy for her ally. It was bad practice. It was flexing muscles left too long unused. She was still unsure why she had done it, but suspected the answer could be found in her fear that she might not be given another chance in her shortening life to take action where it mattered.
And then, of course, there were the Sawls.
It was too late to do anything about it but worry, and pray their conspiracy was not as hopeless as it might seem. She gathered up Stavros’s pack and shoved it onto his lap. “On your feet, comrade,” she ordered stoutly. “We’ve got a caravan to catch.”
38
The living quarters were dark and the corridors deserted. Megan and Stavros met no one until they neared the PriestHall, but the hubbub could be heard several tunnels away. Turning the corner, they found the corridor outside the Hall filled with apprentices, chattering excitedly as they helped each other into ceremonial tabards. The wave-and-flame sign of the PriestGuild glimmered on every proud chest. The chatter, interspersed with wrangles over the assignment of various banners and flags, mostly concerned the threatening weather and the dubious wisdom of going ahead with the leavetaking rituals.
Stavros looked about for Liphar and was relieved not to find him. He was still shaken and angry, and Liphar would read him clearly and be worried. The merest thought of what Clausen had done to him threatened a new attack of debilitating outrage. As he ed
ged Megan through the busy crowd, he glanced through the columned arch to the interior of the Hall. He saw as much noisy milling confusion inside as out. The majority of the PriestGuild, evidently convinced until the last minute that the ceremonies would not take place, now rushed to ready themselves. Mutters of thunder still rolled in from the nearby cave mouth, but Stavros doubted the priests could hear themselves over the din in the Hall, much less sounds from the outside. His eyes strayed unavoidably to their hands, chilled by their unnatural gleaming smoothness as he thought of the guar and the Master Healer’s uneasy acceptance of the painful ritual that brought life and comfort to the Caves. He longed to tell Megan about the guar cavern and its power plant, but remembering the cool touch of Clausen’s laser against his neck, he decided that among the prospector’s less formal credits was probably a master’s degree in extracting information. For Megan’s sake, Stavros would keep that information to himself.
“The PriestGuild seems to have accepted the inevitable,” Megan remarked as they sought a path through the mob of chattering apprentices. Stavros ducked to avoid a silken banner hoisted clumsily by a boy too small to control its weight. Just as they had worked themselves free, Kav Ashimmel came striding down the corridor with the harried members of her entourage scuttling along behind her, fresh from a final consultation with the weather watch. Stavros touched Megan’s arm to slow her, and glanced back as the apprentices stilled to their guildmaster’s approach. Her usual scowl tinged with reluctant optimism, Ashimmel announced that the sky had cleared and the ceremonies could proceed. The apprentices cheered. With a wave that seemed to imply some responsibility for this change of fortune, the Master Priest turned and stalked into the Hall.
“Well, hallelujah,” said Megan as they hurried toward the cave mouth. “I wasn’t sure how we’d explain your disappearance if the caravan had been called off.”
The Wave and the Flame Page 37