Hunt the Heavens: Book Two of the Shadow Warrior Trilogy

by Chris Bunch

  The woman hesitated, then obeyed.

  “You’re genuine,” she murmured. “Did Cormac tell you what happened that afternoon on the patrol craft?”

  “No. I didn’t figure it was any of my business.”

  “He always was a gentleman.” A smile touched her lips, and she was suddenly as young as Wolfe remembered her. “Can you get me out?”

  “I’m going to try.”

  “When? How?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Wolfe said. “But keep your track shoes handy … and this liqueur, Mrs. Kakara, is Deneb Reducto. It’s brandy that’s had most of the water taken out and replaced with an herbal compound.”

  Oriz was at his elbow. “Jalon sent me over,” he said to Rita. “He said to remind you it’ll be a long day tomorrow.”

  Rita moved her face into the semblance of a smile. “How thoughtful of Jalon,” she said. “I certainly wouldn’t want a hangover. Thank you, Jack.

  “I don’t believe I’ll try any of your wares, sir. That first taste should have warned me.”

  Wolfe offered the tray to Oriz, who eyed him, then shook his head.

  Wolfe bowed and moved toward a group of three men.

  • • •

  Joshua slid the rack of glasses into the washer, closed the door and touched the sensor. Steam boiled out, and he began loading another rack.

  “Leave that,” a voice ordered. “I need a drink.”

  It was Jalon Kakara, appearing no drunker, no soberer than he had before.

  “Yes, sir. What may I get you?”

  There was a pale light from outside as the planetoid’s program suggested dawn was close.

  “In the back cabinet, there’s a bottle. No label. I’ll take about four fingers of it.”

  Wolfe found a dark-brown bottle, poured a clear, colorless fluid, and passed it across. The big man warmed the glass in the palms of his hands, then sniffed deeply.

  “Might I inquire as to what that is, sir?”

  “On the world I come from, the government sets high duty on any alcohol. So we build our own. I keep some on hand.”

  “Is it good?”

  “Hell no! It’s swill. I keep it around to remind me of … of certain things.”

  Kakara drank, set the glass down with a clatter. “So you don’t think everyone’s got a price, as does everything they believe, eh?”

  “I didn’t say that. Since I’m on your payroll I’d sound like several species of a fool if I did,” Wolfe replied.

  “But you don’t think that what people believe is on the block?”

  “Sometimes,” Wolfe answered. “Sometimes not. Sometimes it doesn’t cost anything, either. People have a pretty good way of convincing themselves what they ought to believe at any given time without much encouragement.”

  “Shit! Philosophy.”

  Wolfe shook his head. “Not at all, sir. Just talking about what I’ve seen.”

  “The philosopher barman,” Kakara said. A corner of his mouth twisted.

  He drained the glass, got up. “Maybe I better keep you close. Find out more about what you think. That’d give you a chance to see whether I’m good at writing the music and then making anyone around me dance to it — and like it.”

  “As you wish, sir.”

  Kakara looked appraisingly at Wolfe, then slid off the bar stool and walked away.

  Wolfe watched until he’d left the big room, then went back to stacking glasses in the wash rack.

  His expression was thoughtful.

  • • •

  Joshua lay on a knoll in the center of the planetoid’s park, on a towel. There were sandals, a pullover, knee-shorts beside him, and he had another towel over his hips. His eyes were closed.

  He was not asleep. He floated out, away, toward the invisible roof of the planetoid, where the artificial sun and clouds floated.

  His fingers were splayed, thumb and forefinger touching, resting gently on his stomach.

  I float … I see … the void around me … all elements are one … I feel the world about me … I reach, do not reach, for a way, for a place, where I may call, where the woman and I may flee from … the void … the emptiness … I bring nothing … I take nothing …

  He felt someone’s eyes on him, sat up slowly, yawning.

  Rita Kakara left the path below the knoll and walked toward him. She wore a yellow sundress and was barefoot. Her feet made small springy indentations in the thick turf.

  “Good afternoon, Mister Taylor.’ “ The quotes she put around Wolfe’s name were barely noticeable.

  “Mrs. Kakara.”

  “I suppose you’ve heard already.”

  “No, ma’am. I’ve heard nothing. I haven’t checked in today. I’m on the late shift.”

  “Not anymore you’re not. My husband’s changed your assignment.”

  “Oh?”

  “He wants you to take charge of the bar on the Laurel. The bar and the commissary. Your contract will be adjusted accordingly.”

  Wolfe rubbed his chin, thinking. “Thank you,” he said. “I gather it’s a promotion.”

  “It is. Even if it’ll put you a bit closer to the fire.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “My husband doesn’t handle travel well. Sometimes he becomes … upset easily. Too easily.” Rita looked about. “Is it all right to talk?”

  Wolfe was about to say yes, but the Lumina concealed in its pouch in his crotch warmed. He shook his head, slightly. The dark-haired woman didn’t catch the gesture, started to say more. Wolfe held out a hand, low, palm flat.

  “Sorry,” she said. “What I meant to say was that Jalon is a little sensitive about this. Some people might find it amusing that a man who made his riches as he did would have problems in space, and think he’s afraid.

  “That’s not it at all.” Rita was talking a little too fast, Wolfe thought. But she wasn’t doing a bad job of recovery.

  “I think it’s just that he likes his comforts, his own place, and sometimes isn’t aware of it. The reason I wanted to mention it to you is to ask that you not judge him harshly if he snaps at you.

  “Please don’t take it personally.”

  “Mrs. Kakara, I do appreciate your taking the time, and I’ll certainly do my best. I must say that so far the job has been such a pleasure that something as minor as that won’t give me a problem at all.”

  “I thought you’d understand.” She smiled and went back down the path.

  Wolfe lay back down, then, after a moment, rolled onto his stomach. He remained motionless, and, after a space, his back moved slowly, regularly.

  I look … my eyes are many … I see … I feel …

  He felt a direction but made no move.

  A few minutes later, he opened his eyes a slit.

  To his right, on a hilltop nearer the mansion that overlooked the knoll, he saw a heavyset, medium-size man who moved like Jack Oriz walk away. Over his shoulder he carried a tripod, with what might have been a spyeye or directional mike mounted on it.

  “Grayle, Grayle, are you listening?”

  The response came through his bones, from the transponder against his breastbone:

  “I am.”

  “Instructions. I shall be leaving this burrow aboard a ship. Follow. Do not allow yourself to be perceived. Stand by for immediate closure and boarding. Give this information to Taen. Clear.”

  “Understood.”

  Joshua took off the transponder and replaced it in the cutout copy of The Barman’s Guide to Fine Spirits.

  • • •

  Joshua made a last check on the storage room, closed the door, and went to an intercom. “Commissary to bridge. All items safely stowed.”

  There was a double-click of acknowledgment.

  Joshua went to one of the couches in the barroom, sat down, and leaned back.

  Fifteen minutes later, a loudspeaker came on:

  “All stations, all stations. Stand by for lift … five, four, three, two … we’re gone.”r />
  He felt beyond, outside, and watched as the Laurel came clear of the dock and moved toward the sky, and the illusion of a world vanished.

  A great port opened, and the ship went out into blackness, then through the second lock, and was in the utter night/day of space.

  Again the loudspeaker spoke:

  “Time to jump, four seconds … three … two … one … now!”

  The Laurel was somewhere else.

  • • •

  Wolfe heard an argument, then a blow. He looked up from the lemon he was peeling into a long curlicue and saw Rita Kakara stumble into the room, then down the corridor that led to the owner’s suite. After a moment, Kakara followed, pausing only to glower at the two men at the bar.

  “You didn’t see anything,” Oriz advised.

  “Of course not,” Wolfe agreed.

  • • •

  “Mister Trang, what’s our destination?” Wolfe said.

  “Offaly 18,” the ship’s officer said. “Not that it should matter to you. There’ll be no leave granted, which is Mister Kakara’s general policy, even his wife.

  “Sorry, buster. You don’t get the Grand Tour on his credits.”

  • • •

  “Since you like white wine, Mrs. Kakara, here’s something you might not be aware of.”

  “Oh?” Rita pretended interest.

  “It’s a Château Felipe, from Rice XIX. Not that dry, very fruity, a bit of — ”

  The man beside her grabbed a handful of mixed nuts from the bowl on the bar, picked up his drink, and left.

  “We’re playing it by ear,” Wolfe said. “I’m going to try to take you off as soon as we land. Do what I tell you, when I tell it to you. Wear shoes you can run in, clothes that won’t stand out. Don’t bring any baggage or a big handbag. No more jewelry than you usually wear.”

  “The only thing I want out of this nightmare is me,” Rita said. “And you don’t have to worry that I’m going to behave like some flip-headed porcelain doll. I’ll carry my own weight.”

  Wolfe nodded once. “Sorry. I was selling you … and Cormac … short.”

  • • •

  “Open the mike to Taen.” Wolfe spoke in Al’ar.

  “I am listening,” the Al’ar said.

  “Here is what passes for a plan. It does not appear we shall be able to get the person we want away from the ship. Nor will I be permitted to leave. The best idea my brain provides is that we bring the Grayle in directly behind the Laurel as it’s on final approach. Find out what dock it’s going to be landed at, then put some covering fire down, while the woman and I — ”

  “Don’t even breathe heavy,” a voice behind him said.

  Wolfe spun.

  The door to his compartment was open. Standing in it were Oriz and two other men. Oriz held a blaster leveled on Joshua’s chest.

  Oriz stepped forward, ripped the bonemike off Wolfe’s chest, and smashed it with a bootheel.

  “It appears you aren’t nearly as cute as you think you are, hey?”

  Kakara hit Wolfe in the side of the head with the flat of a blaster, considered a moment, then hit him again.

  Joshua’s knees buckled, and he sagged back against the bulkhead. The right side of his face was a mask of blood.

  He forced himself erect.

  There were five others in the lavish suite: Kakara, Oriz, two bodyguards, and the ship’s first officer, Trang.

  “You aren’t the first who’s tried to pull something,” Kakara said. “And I’m real sure you aren’t going to be the last.

  “What was the scheme? Who were you talking to?”

  Wolfe didn’t answer. Kakara started to hit him again, then turned to the officer.

  “Trang, are you sure there’s no other ships within range?”

  “Yessir. We checked all frequencies, all wavelengths. Nothing.”

  “Then who the hell was he talking to? Somebody on the ship?”

  “Unlikely,” the sailor answered. “That’s a long-range transmitter he was using. Maybe, if it hadn’t gotten smashed, I could’ve figured out something from whatever frequency it was set on. But …” He didn’t finish.

  The door slid open and Rita Kakara entered. She saw Wolfe’s swollen face, masked her reaction.

  “Rita, get out of here,” Kakara said. “This isn’t for you.”

  “Why not? Whatever this man wanted to do … wouldn’t it have involved me? I want to watch whatever happens to him.”

  “You think you do now,” Oriz said. “But you won’t in a little bit.”

  “Shut up, Jack. Rita can stay if she wants,” Kakara said. “But I don’t want to hear you sniveling to show him any mercy. The son of a bitch — and his friends — wouldn’t have shown us any.”

  He hefted the gun and stepped toward Wolfe, then stopped. “Jack. Let me borrow your penknife.”

  Oriz took a small, ivory-bolstered knife from his pocket, opened it, and handed it to Kakara.

  The shipline owner grinned, showing all his teeth. It wasn’t a nice smile. “Taylor, you ever see what a knife — a little bitty knife like this one — can do?

  “I grew up hard, in the yards. The macs liked blades. Kept their women in hand. I saw what can be done … when you work slowly enough. Anyone’ll tell … or do … anything.”

  He licked his lips, set the pistol down on a table, and walked toward Joshua.

  The Lumina warmed against Joshua’s skin.

  Wolfe’s form wavered, vanished.

  Trang shouted surprise.

  The air blurred, and Wolfe was there, heel hand striking Kakara on the forehead. He stumbled back against the table, sending the pistol spinning to the deck.

  Trang took three fast steps to the door; he was reaching for its control, when Wolfe knocked him down with a spin-kick and moved on, without finishing him.

  A gun went off, and part of a bulkhead sizzled, charred.

  Oriz had a hand inside his jacket, reaching for his gun. Joshua slammed into him, and he crashed into his two henchmen.

  Joshua was turning, inside their guard. A backhand rapped one of the men between the eyes; the man squealed and fell, both hands trying to put his face back together, gun dropping, forgotten.

  The second man jumped back, let Oriz go down, and was in a fighting stance. Joshua snap-kicked, took him in the elbow. The man yelped, grabbed himself, took a knuckle-strike to the temple, and fell.

  Oriz was scrabbling for his gun when Rita kicked him in the side. He grunted, rolled away.

  Rita had his gun in both hands.

  Kakara had come back to his feet. Rita was between Wolfe and her husband. Oriz pulled himself up.

  “Rita! Give me the gun,” Kakara snapped.

  “I’ll get it. She won’t shoot,” Oriz said.

  The heavyset man had taken two steps when Rita shot him in the throat, blowing most of his spine into white fragments against the bulkhead. His head flopped once, and he fell forward.

  The gun turned, and its bell-mouth held steady on Jalon Kakara.

  He lifted two hands, trying to push death away.

  “No.”

  Wolfe’s voice was soft.

  Rita didn’t move. She looked at Joshua, then back at Kakara. Her finger was firm on the firing stud.

  Kakara made an unpleasant sound in his throat.

  The dark-haired woman turned, tossed the weapon to Wolfe.

  He caught it in midair. “Now, let’s go have a talk with the bridge about meeting some friends.”

  • • •

  Wolfe knelt in the open lock, holding the blast rifle that had been waiting in the Grayle’s lock on Kakara, the Laurel’s captain, and another officer. The side of his face was swollen, the blood only half dried.

  “All right, Rita,” he said, his voice a little mushy. “I have them. Go on into the ship.”

  The woman put the safety on her blaster, started to obey, then walked over to Kakara.

  The two stared at each other for a very long time.
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  Kakara was the first to look away.

  Rita nodded, as if something had been settled between them, and went quickly into the Grayle.

  “My ship’s armed,” Wolfe said. “Cut your losses, Kakara. Don’t try to be cute.”

  The big man stared at him.

  “Whoever you are,” he said hoarsely. “You better learn to sleep with one eye open. And don’t make any long-range investments.”

  “I never do,” Wolfe said. “And I sleep with both eyes open. Always.” He slid one hand free, touched the lock sensor, and the door closed.

  A clang came as the Grayle disconnected from the Laurel.

  “Sir, shall we track them?”

  Jalon Kakara didn’t answer. His eyes were still fixed on the blank alloy portal of the airlock.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “You have no crew?” Rita said.

  “Don’t much need one. The ship’s automated.”

  “So where was it hiding?”

  “Dead astern of the Laurel. She doesn’t have much of a silhouette anyway, and nobody ever looks over his shoulder. Except in the romances to make sure the wolves are still there.”

  Rita tried a smile, which graduated to a successful grin. Wolfe poured her another cup of coffee.

  “Should I have shot him?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Why not? The bastard gave me more than my share of bruises. Broken bones, twice. And if you were one of Cormac’s people, you surely aren’t a pacifist.”

  “No,” Wolfe said, taking his cup to the washer. “I’m hardly that. But death’s a little final, sometimes.”

  • • •

  The planetoid of Malabar, and its attendant junkyard, was “below” them.

  The woman eyed the screen.

  “Eleven … almost twelve years,” she mused. “I hope I haven’t built up something to be more than what it was.”

  “Not from Cormac’s lights. And if it is … you can always leave.”

  “No,” Rita said flatly. “Maybe I don’t know what I should be wanting. I certainly didn’t when I went for Jalon.

  “I’ll stay the course, if he’ll have me. Because I know nobody ever, not ever, gets a third chance.”