“Like where?” asked Roche. “Within? If you’re suggesting that COE Intelligence—”
“No, no,” cut in Teh quickly. “I mean into the past.” He leaned back into his chair, away from the frowns and puzzled expressions around the table. “There was another group apart from the Eckandar Trade Axis which possessed more than the average working knowledge of genetics. In fact, if I’m not mistaken, they were the original source of the Eckandi’s current know-how.”
“Who?” said Sabra.
“A splinter group from the older Pristine governments. Pre-Commonwealth—even pre-Dominion, I think—but definitely local. Obsessed with Transcendence by means of biomodification. The Eckandi helped them build a base, if I remember correctly, and they traded knowledge for services. I don’t recall what happened to them—except that there was some sort of backlash—but if what they gave the Eckandar Trade Axis was only a small amount of their complete knowledge, then they might have been just the right people to design something like Cane.”
“I’ve never heard of anyone like that,” said Haid.
“I have,” said Emmerik. “My mother used to tell me stories about them when I was a child, along with all the other Transcendence stories about the Crescend.”
Haid faced Emmerik. “What were they called?”
Emmerik shrugged, but it was Teh that spoke.
“I can’t remember,” said the physician. “And I’ll admit it seems far-fetched—”
“More than that. It sounds crazy.” Sabra didn’t bother to hide her skepticism. “How long must Cane have been drifting out there for him to be one of them?”
“A long time.” Teh shook his head. “Hundreds, maybe thousands, of years.”
“And was he?” the woman asked Roche.
“I don’t know,” she said. “The science team on the Midnight might have analyzed the corrosion on the hull of the capsule, but their data was lost with the ship.”
“It’s pointless asking anyway.” Sabra looked away. “No one could survive more than a month or two in a life-support capsule.”
“That’s the usual assumption,” said Haid. “Which was why Sylvester suspected that such a stretch might have caused Cane’s amnesia.” He sighed. “And it seems we’ve come full circle. Does anybody have anything they’d like to say that hasn’t already been covered?”
Sabra raised her hand. When Haid looked to her, she said, “He’s obviously dangerous. We should get rid of him now. Turn him in to the wardens before he has a chance to destroy us. He only says he doesn’t remember anything, after all. We would be gambling an awful lot simply on the strength of his word.”
Haid grimaced. “How about you, Emmerik? What are your feelings on this?”
The Mbatan looked uncertainly at Cane, then back to Haid. “Having seen him fight, I’m still wary.” After a few seconds of staring into Cane’s unblinking eyes, he said, “But I’ve decided to trust him. He fought for us, after all.”
“Whatever he was, and is,” put in Neva, “he’s on Roche’s side. So as long as she remains with us, I don’t think we’re in any danger.”
“Roche?” Haid indicated that it was her turn to speak.
“I can understand your suspicion,” she said, “and your reluctance to put faith in someone you hardly know. But I’m in the same position. For the most part you’ve treated me fairly, and I respect that. As long as our goals remain the same, you can count on me for support. And I too believe you can count on Cane as well.”
Haid nodded. “What about you, Cane? What do you think we should do with you? Dispose of you, or use you as a weapon?”
“The answer seems obvious.” Cane smiled slightly, the only expression he had worn throughout the meeting. “If I am a biological weapon—one that has been programmed by others, what’s more—then I am inherently unreliable. My instinct tells me to follow Roche, but that may change at any moment. Who knows when my programming will take over? Or what I might do? If I was in your position, faced with such a choice, I would rely on my own abilities and not take a chance on something so unpredictable.”
Haid’s expression was one of bafflement. “You’re suggesting that we get rid of you?”
“No. I’m simply saying that that is what I would do in your position.” His smile widened. “Or try to, anyway.”
* * *
Haid called the meeting to an end moments later, saying he needed to think prior to reaching a decision. Before he could leave, Roche asked if she could go to the medical center.
“I don’t know.” Haid didn’t hide his reservations. “Veden only regained consciousness an hour ago, and I don’t think you’re particularly high on his visiting list.”
“I won’t stay long,” she said, not sure whether she was telling the truth. Teh’s point about the Eckandi had been an interesting one. If Veden knew something, she might be able to persuade Maii to lever it out of him. “I just want to get my shoulder checked. While I’m there, I can make sure he’s okay so I can put Maii at ease.”
Haid hesitated. “All right. But leave when Sylvester tells you to.”
“Don’t worry. I only want a couple of minutes.”
Haid nodded reluctantly. “You know the way?”
“That’s okay,” Sabra said, stepping forward. “I’ll take her there.”
“Thanks.” Surprised by the friendly gesture, Roche almost missed the look that passed between the rebel leader and his assistant: a look of warning from Haid, and resentment from Sabra.
“Don’t worry,” said the woman. “I’ll take good care of her.”
“You do that.” Haid turned back to Roche. “I’ll see you later.”
The two guards escorted Cane out of the conference room at the same time Roche and Sabra left, causing a moment’s confusion in the narrow doorway. The corridor outside took them to an elevator that was, again, barely large enough for the five of them.
“We’ll wait for the next one,” said Sabra.
“No, it’s all right.” Roche slid into the carriage between one of the guards and the wall. “We’ll fit.”
The doors closed with a sullen hiss. As the elevator jerked upward, the butt of one guard’s pistol jabbed Roche in the hip. She twisted away from him in the confined space.
“If you think this is bad,” he said, smiling, “be thankful you’re not topside. Delcasalle’s got patrols in every quarter looking for you.”
“He has?” Roche’s brow creased, “I wasn’t told that.”
“Ameidio doesn’t tell you everything,” Sabra said, her eyes flashing. The good humor that had prompted her to take Roche to the sick bay appeared to be waning fast.
“I don’t expect him to,” said Roche.
“Really?” The elevator paused as they passed a floor, causing the carriage to sway. “It doesn’t look like that to me.
Roche fixed her with a calm and unflinching stare. “No? What does it look like to you, Sabra?”
Sabra scowled silently to herself and faced the dented and scrawled doors of the elevator. Roche glimpsed one of the guards in the corner grimacing.
“There’s a rumor in the ranks,” said Cane. “I overhead it before the meeting. It’s said that you’re a spy for the wardens.”
Roche groaned. “You’re kidding.”
“Unfortunately not,” said Cane.
“But what about the Midnight? Houghton’s Cross?”
“The full truth of your identity is being kept secret to prevent word leaking to Enforcement plants on the surface,” said Cane. “In the absence of information, speculation spreads.”
“But...” Roche fought to contain her sense of outrage in words. “If that’s the case, then why would Haid be telling me anything at all?”
“It’s not hard to seduce a cripple,” said Sabra coldly.
“What?” Roche snapped.
“Why not?” Sabra’s face flushed an angry red. “He was a proud man once, before coming here. And, as they say, a beautiful woman is a powerful poison.”<
br />
“Your anger betrays your jealousy, Sabra,” said Roche, fighting to keep her own temper in check. Then: “Is that what you really think of me?”
Sabra glared at her through the flickering light of the elevator. “I don’t know what to think of you, Roche. But I’ll tell you this much: I don’t trust you or your friend here.” She glanced pointedly at Cane. “And jealousy has nothing to do with it. I just don’t like the idea of Haid’s judgment being affected at this stage by some misplaced trust. It’s too dangerous to our operations.”
“Did he give you any reason to question his judgment at the meeting?”
The elevator shuddered to a halt. “We get out here,” Sabra said, ignoring the question. “You coming or not?”
Roche squeezed her way past the guard and out of the elevator, her pulse racing with suppressed anger. What was wrong with the woman? If she wanted to make a scene, why do it now? Why didn’t she do it back at the meeting?
“This way.” Sabra headed off along the corridor without looking back. Roche gritted her teeth and followed.
“Listen,” she said, her shoes slapping on the damp floor of the passage. “You can’t be that worried about Cane and me, surely. Whatever your problem is, I’d rather you tell me now.”
“I think we’ve already said enough, don’t you?” Sabra’s back remained rigid.
“No, I don’t think we’ve even started—”
“Then let’s not.” Sabra stopped in mid-stride and turned to face her. Even in the poor light from the few working lamps, Roche could see hatred behind red-rimmed eyes. “Or I might be tempted to leave you down here.”
Roche noted for the first time the grimy stains covering the walls and floor of the corridor, and realized with some alarm that they were in a part of the underground complex she had never seen before.
“Where the hell is this place?” she said uneasily. “What are you playing at?”
“Nothing.” Sabra turned away and resumed her walk into the shadows. Over her shoulder she said, “I told Haid I’d take care of you, and that’s exactly what I’ll do.”
Roche followed a half-step behind, matching the other woman’s swift pace with stubborn determination. Whatever Sabra was up to—a test, perhaps, of the newcomer—she resolved to meet it without flinching.
Morgan absorbed this in silence for a moment. The name didn’t ring a bell, and didn’t seem particularly relevant.
While she was doing so, Roche wandered back along the corridor, peering through doors at random. None of the rooms was occupied, and they hadn’t been for some time. The floors were covered with a thin slime created from years of dust mixed with the moisture seeping down from the ceiling, and the walls had cracked and peeled with age. The farther they moved into this area of the rebels’ headquarters, the more decrepit it became.
Stepping out of one room back into the hallway, Roche froze, her attention focusing upon a distant noise.
She heard it again. A faint sound from the direction they had just come, right at the edge of hearing.
“When you’re ready, Commander.” Sabra’s voice echoed down the corridor from behind her. Roche turned to face the woman—
And raised her hands.
“I’m not going to pretend I like you, Commander.” Sabra kept the pistol aimed squarely at her stomach. “But I don’t want to shoot you, either. So just walk along the wall, slowly, and keep doing so until I tell you to stop. Okay?”
Roche nodded, noting the tremor in Sabra’s hands and the desperate look in her eyes. “Okay.”
“Then let’s move.”
One step at a time, without breaking eye contact, Morgan began to move along the wall. Sabra swiveled to follow her, keeping well out of arm’s reach. When Roche had passed her, she waved the pistol. “No, don’t lower your hands.”
Roche ignored the pain in her injured shoulder as best she could and walked along the passageway. Twenty meters ahead, the corridor branched into a T junction, with both arms of the T dark. It was clear to Roche that they had almost reached the edge of the inhabited areas and were about to enter the unrestored sections of the old university.
Whatever was about to happen to her, she supposed, would happen to her there. If she was going to do something, it had to be before then.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to explain—”
“No.” Sabra’s voice was curt. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Whatever it is, I guess it involves whoever’s following us, right?”
“Please, Commander. Don’t be so stupid. No one’s been this way for years.”
“Sabra, I’m serious. There is someone back there, and if they’re not with you...”
The sound of Sabra’s footsteps slowed, then stopped altogether. “Wait,” she said.
Roche glanced around quickly and, seeing Sabra’s back turned, made a dash for the intersection. The pistol cracked loudly, and something snatched at her side. Without breaking stride, Roche took the corner at a sprint, catching herself roughly on the wall as she did. Meters behind, the wet slap of Sabra’s shoes followed.
The right-hand arm of the T was lit only by infrequent maintenance lights. Little could be seen through the gloom. The corridor angled to the left, and Roche made it around the bend just as Sabra fired a second time. The shot went well clear, ricocheting brightly in the near darkness. Roche’s feet slipped in the slime as she took another corner. Quickly regaining her footing, she plunged ahead through the dimly lit corridors, dodging the occasional p
ile of rubble littering the floor. Row after row of inviting doorways passed her, but she ignored them. Her only hope was to lose Sabra, or somehow to double back to the T intersection.
Roche’s long stride and years of exercise gradually widened her lead, although, the sound of Sabra’s footfalls was still too close for comfort. She took another left-hand turn, stumbled over a pile of broken furniture, then a right. Her shoulder began to ache. If she could only find a weapon—something solid enough that wouldn’t disintegrate at the slightest touch—
Another corner brought her to a door. Through the light of a faded lamp above it, she saw the letters of a damaged sign: F re E t.
The door was locked.
Out of options, Roche spun to face the way she had come. She launched herself forward at the exact moment Sabra rounded the corner.
Taken by surprise, Sabra barely had time to raise the gun before Roche pushed it aside. Letting her weight carry her forward, she met Sabra’s stomach with her shoulder, forcing them both to the ground. A third shot sparked crazily in the confined space, making Roche’s ears ring.
Sabra punched wildly in the darkness and connected once above Roche’s right ear. Roche kicked back and was gratified to feel her foot meet flesh. She grasped for purchase on her struggling adversary, wanting to use her Armada training but failing to obtain a grip; the data glove made her left hand stiff and unwieldy. The butt of the gun swung back to strike her injured shoulder, and she gasped involuntarily. Sabra rolled, brought her knee upward into her stomach. Roche fought the impulse to curl into a ball, then swung the Box’s valise into exposed ribs and heard bone crack.
Sabra hissed and wrenched the pistol free. Roche tried to regain her footing and slipped in the moisture. Her flailing arm knocked the gun aside for a moment, but it returned a split-second later. Sabra’s face behind it grimaced in triumph. She fired at exactly the moment Roche brought the valise up to protect her face.
The impact of the bullet knocked the valise from her hands. She kicked both legs into Sabra’s chest with all her strength. The woman lifted into the air with relative ease, striking the wall on the far side of the cul-de-sac. Roche watched in total bewilderment. The kick hadn’t been that hard...
The Prodigal Sun Page 24