Ranh

by Ian J Miller

"I authorised the destruction of that package," Baht said, as she began to drive away.

  "I'd better not go back and demand it, then," Kazyn joked.

  "Not unless you want me to have the police there, ready to arrest you before you get inside," Baht pointed out. "It's my signature on that form."

  "Point!"

  There was silence, until suddenly Baht hissed, "Three officers at the main gate. Maybe the cameras picked me up talking. Lie low!"

  The vehicle slowed, and as it stopped, Baht began singing a popular song. When the officer persuaded her to lower the window, her voice became quite hideous, and a terrible screeching 'song' went out across the spaceport.

  "Excuse me," a shaken officer asked, "but who were you talking to before?"

  "I was singing," Baht replied. "Is that a crime?"

  "The way you do it, yes," said the senior officer.

  "All right! So I can't sing. But that's my problem."

  "Sure is," an officer muttered.

  "There's no need to be insulting. So, what's the problem? You've already inspected me, and I haven't got anything. You can contact the Space Port. They've lost a parcel, they delayed me for goodness knows how long while they established they've lost it, and now I can't get out of here, and I'm supposed to be at classes in ten minutes, and I'm stuck here. What'm I going to do now? It's just not fair!" Her voice began to wail as she got to the end.

  "Look, we're just doing our job. We want . . ."

  "You're harassing me! Throwing your weight around on a poor student. You want to know whom I was talking to? Well, look around. There's nobody here. I was just singing, although why I don't know because with the likes of this going on, I've surely got no reason to be happy. You're going to wreck my whole semester, and – "

  "There's nobody there," one of the guards nodded. He was clearly feeling sorry for this young female.

  "I suppose not," the senior officer muttered. "All right then. On your way, and if you must sing, keep the window wound up."

  So Baht drove off, still singing, her head waving to the rhythm.

  "Well done!" Kazyn said later. "You kept your nerve very well."

  "I was a bit scared," Baht admitted, "but I suppose that helped me sing worse."

  "One of these days," Kazyn said, "I'll make sure you are rewarded." He paused, then added wistfully, "Always assuming I survive all this."

  Chapter 16

  Kazyn had received two names and addresses from Methrell. How accurate her information had been, and whether he was being played, remained to be seen, but he had little option but to follow through. If she were trying to help him, there was no better ally, and if not, no worse enemy, than the Military Curia. If he were to walk away from this challenge, he would have no future in Ranhyn society.

  His first target lived in an apartment in one of the historic buildings. This section was constructed during one of the energy crises that kept returning. The area was designed to pack in the maximum number of Ranhynn at a minimum distance from employment. As a consequence, the streets were narrow and the buildings were tall. At about two meters above street level the buildings reached out until they almost, but not quite, reached the building from the other side of the street. Walking down these streets was similar to walking down a near endless tunnel, but with slits in the top to let in air. Not that the streets were designed for walking. The height was very suggestive for a Ranhyn: head down, tail out, run!

  There were good reasons for running. The area was run-down, there were clear signs of decay, and also clear signs of lack of care. This was an area where criminals would take what they could. A slow-moving Ranhyn who could not defend him or herself could be mugged, raked and robbed. Truth and justice were not strongly held values here; instead, fast legs, good eyesight, and friends with long sharp claws were what were desired.

  But above all, the best reason for running was the stench. The number of waste disposal bins approached zero, and these were not that frequently cleared. Ranhynn were carnivores at heart, and there were the ever-present odours of diamines from waste meat, particularly putresceine and cadavereine. This was not the place to bring his honorary nestling.

  Kazyn was not running, although he did have scented plugs in his nostrils. This was the number, and the question was, now what? How would he get in? The windows by the ground were caked in dust, and had seemingly not been cleaned in decades. They probably had not. Ground floors were of particularly low status, because the main means of transport these days was by shuttles that run along a sequence of overhead cables and rails. Entering from the main street through a window was probably unnecessarily provocative. He would try around the back.

  In the end, it was ridiculously simple. The door at the rear was unlocked, mainly because the lock had had its working parts removed. He walked in, and walked to the caretaker's office. As expected, there was nobody there. He walked around the back, and took the room key he needed. He then proceeded to a spiral.

  He had always found the Terran staircases to be an unnecessary pain. If he wore boots, it was painful, because the boots effectively only made contact through the very front part of the boot, which meant two toes had to carry most of his weight in an enhanced gravity field. Bare feet were not much better. The steps were so narrow he had had to bear his weight on his toes, or bend his toes and pull himself up with his claws, but if he did that going up, the corner of the next step below always bore into the palm of his foot, then, to make matters worse, his third claw never seemed to fit anything. Then there was this stupid rail on the side, which did virtually nothing except stop you falling off the side. Who would fall off, and if you were worried about that, build a wall! Going down was not that easy either, because now effectively all the weight had to be carried on his heel. The wretched Terrans simply did not know how to build stairs.

  The spiral was the way to build a means of going up and down. The spiral worked its way upwards at about forty degrees to the horizontal, with nice low ceilings so as not to waste space. At regular intervals there were great rock-like protuberances, with nice little recesses that would fit claws, and rough flat slopes on which boots could get traction. Accordingly, a Ranhyn could stay in the normal walking position, climb with his rear feet, and scramble up with his front claws. Far more civilised! There were also elevators, but in such a run-down building, Kazyn elected to climb as he did not trust the elevators.

  Although he felt he was in excellent condition, and his muscles had been built up through his time on Earth, this had been quite a climb. He carefully opened the door to the hall, had a quick look around, and quickly strode to the door of number 707. There seemed to be no recording devices, and if there were any in a building in this area, almost certainly they would not work. Not that it mattered. The light was appalling, and since he had a key, if anybody was watching, they would take no notice.

  He closed the door behind him and, with the light of a small torch, he crept to the bedroom. There before him was one of the two who had placed the carcass in his room. He was almost certainly the senior one of the two. Kazyn took out a length of wire, and made nooses that went around each of the legs. He then checked the larder, and yes, there was a place for hanging carcasses. Even better, this bed was on wheels. He carefully wheeled the bed, and still the fool did not wake up. Finally, with the bed half in the larder, he flung the wire over a beam and pulled.

  There was a loud squawk as the victim found his legs pulled upwards, and the bed kicked out towards the main room.

  "Quiet!" Kazyn snarled, "or I'll do some butchery!"

  "What… Who are you?" Then followed a series of threats.

  "If you knew who I was," Kazyn hissed, "you would realise those threats are pointless."

  "The police'll –"

  "The police are already looking for me," Kazyn pointed out, "mainly because you left a plucked carcass in my larder."

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "In that case I won't get any useful informati
on," Kazyn shrugged, "so after I've finished eating your innards, it will have been a waste of time." He paused, then added, "And then again, perhaps not. When you're on the run, food tends to be difficult to get, and fresh warm meat almost impossible. I mean, you can't just walk into your local butcher, can you?"

  "What do you want?"

  "Information," Kazyn said simply. "Give it to me, and you live. If it is true, you will never see me again. If you lie, I'll be back, and you will be eaten, alive, over days. Your choice."

  "What do you want to know?" came the hesitant response.

  "That unfortunate carcass was drugged elsewhere, correct?"

  "Yes," came the hesitant reply.

  "His apartment?"

  "Yes."

  "Did the police investigate that apartment?"

  "How would I know?"

  "You can do better than that," Kazyn said. "Do I have to find your singeing torch?"

  "Why do you think I know?"

  "Because," Kazyn said sharply, "you would want to know how the investigation was going."

  "They cleaned up," came the response, after some hesitation, and after Kazyn had returned from the kitchen with the torch.

  "They cleaned up," Kazyn nodded. Yes, this was no ordinary crime. His mind began racing. What now? He looked at his captive again, and asked, "Why did you do this?"

  "We were paid."

  "I believe you," Kazyn nodded. "So far, so good. Now, why?"

  "You should be able to work that out," came a sneer.

  "Oh, I can work out a out of things," Kazyn said. "My last best workings out, as you put it, were over a business lunch, so perhaps you might reconsider that answer before the saliva gets running too well."

  "It's obvious! They wanted to incriminate you."

  "Yes, it is obvious," Kazyn nodded, "but now we've established there was a 'they'. Who were they?"

  "I . . . I . . ."

  "Come on! My patience is running thin."

  "I'm not exactly sure."

  "Who commissioned this? Who told you what and how to do it?"

  There was a pause, then the eyes turned to the torch, which Kazyn appeared to be going through initial lighting procedures.

  "Look, I . . ."

  "I couldn't care less what you are trying to say," Kazyn snarled. "I want a name."

  "It was . . ."

  "Yes?"

  "Sender." This was said almost as a whisper.

  "That doesn't make sense." Kazyn lit the torch.

  "It was. It was Sender Sessyl. He's the fourteenth unacknowledged. Go check it up."

  Kazyn stared at his victim. He was frightened, and so frightened of having mentioned the name. And contrary to what Kazyn had said, he had to acknowledge at least the elements of sense. The fourteenth unacknowledged could only mean one thing. Cardinal Sender! Only a cardinal could have fourteen offspring, and acknowledge none of them. After all, in traditional religion, Cardinals were supposed to remain chaste, but there was little point in being a Cardinal unless one could use the consequent power to one's advantage. Only a Cardinal would then permit the offspring to carry his or her name, and treat them like young princes.

  And that meant the order had been initiated by the Cardinal, which in turn meant that either the order had come from the Great Conclave, or there was a rogue Cardinal.

  What did that mean?

  One thing was clear. Dealing with the sort of Ranhynn in front of him was one thing, but Cardinals were a completely different matter. Which raised the question, was he being told the truth? He nodded to his victim, released the wire, and when his victim had fallen to the ground, he undid the loop.

  His victim shuffled to a corner and lay there, quivering. He was so frightened, he was barely thinking. That would have been the truth, at least as far as he knew it.

  Time to go and awaken the other.

  * * *

  This was pathetically easy. Dawn was approaching, and his victim had just collected a small delivery at his front door. Kazyn slipped in, and noting that his new victim did not seem to recognise him, he walked closely behind the retreating figure. He even got into the same elevator without arousing suspicion, but by the time he was halfway to his victim's apartment, a sense of suspicion was developing.

  Kazyn then pounced forward, and placed a large knife-blade at the ribs.

  "If you wish to live, open your door and enter," Kazyn hissed.

  There was no struggle, and Kazyn pushed his victim inside and closed the door.

  There was a ringing sound from a videophone, and this diverted Kazyn enough that his victim broke free and made for a desk. Kazyn calmly let him get to where he wanted to go, then leaped onto his victim's back, dug the great claws into the lower body, and pulled the head back with his hands.

  "Fall to the ground or I'll gut you right now," Kazyn said calmly. That visit to Earth was becoming more and more beneficial. His strength was superior to almost everybody else's, except, of course, his mother’s.

  The victim obeyed, and Kazyn, with one eye clearly on him, opened the drawers. In the second was a rather powerful handgun. Rather illegal, but likely to be quite useful. He searched some more, and found a good supply charge cylinders. He pocketed these, and the gun.

  "Now," he said, eyeing his victim, "I am going to ask you one question. If you don't give the same answer as your other partner gave, I'll gut you here and now, then go back and do the same to your partner. Give me the truth, and you live."

  "What do you want to know?"

  "Who commissioned you to put that carcass in my larder? Who told you what and how to do it?" Kazyn paused, then added, "Your partner told me, after considerable discomfit. I need you to confirm it."

  "I . . ." His mind was racing, but Kazyn noted that the mere mention of his partner having told had increased the fear levels very significantly. This was almost confirmation in itself.

  "Speak!" Kazyn hissed.

  "You'll kill me anyway . . ."

  "On the contrary, if you don't tell me I'll tell whoever your partner mentioned that you had given the name. If it's true, if I know anything about them, they'll make your future painful in the extreme. All I have to do is watch what happens."

  "You don't know . . ."

  "No," Kazyn smiled. "You don't know. But I think you know that the threat's real. You wouldn't last for a day against them. Tell me, and they'll never know it was you."

  "I suppose it's one way of getting rid of you," his victim laughed a very frightened laugh. "It's you they'll kill. So you go after the Senders, and see where that gets you."

  Kazyn nodded. Confirmation! "I shall leave you. Don't try to follow, or else," Kazyn nodded and waved the knife under the throat of his victim. He then opened the refrigerator, grabbed some supplies, growled at his victim, and left.

  Chapter 17

  For the first time, Kazyn realised that he had a problem that might be insoluble. If a member of the Conclave was trying to eliminate him, either that member was acting alone, or the Conclave required his removal. The first would be really bad, because such a member had considerable power, however others in the Conclave could protect him. If the second, there was not much on this planet that could protect him. His only chance then would be to try and get aboard Natasha's shuttle, and when she left, he would leave the planet.

  And do what? Being the only one of a species on a planet was not something he would look forward to. No, he would stay, and if necessary, die.

  If he wanted to live, and he did want to live, he had to find out who were against him, and why? The problem was, how? Who could he trust? He could trust his mother, and he could trust Baht, but could he put either of them in danger? Possibly he could risk putting his mother in danger, because she was probably already in it. The only reason he could think that anybody would want to get rid of him was that he had been to Earth, and so had his mother. However, he had to leave Baht alone. It would be unfair to put her in danger, and in any case, there wasn't much she could do.
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  What about the Seppets? The problem here was clear. They were as likely as not to be working for the Conclave. Yet to ignore them could also be disastrous. Therein lay the problem. What was Methrell really after? He had to get information to her, although he was unclear as to how. Perhaps that was the one thing Baht could do.

  Which left the immediate problem: where to now? The surveillance system would be looking for him, but it was not particularly efficient. He would be expected to leave this region very quickly, to get away from his last reported sighting. Instead he would find a cellar and wait.

  * * *

  In the end, he decided to try the cellar of his victim's building. It had been used from time to time as a doss-house, there was old bedding, and it had the appearance as a base for drug-snorting parties. There were two side-rooms, one containing the grottiest toilet he had ever seen, and the other containing heaps of rubbish, together with two cupboards. He opened the first, and quickly slammed it shut again before the piles of rubbish poured out. He clambered over more rubbish and tried the second, and to his surprise, when he pushed back enough rubbish on the floor so he could open the door, it was empty.

  He shook his head, and sat down on the rubbish. It was time to think.

  It was then that he heard a noise. He strode to the door and peeked up the stairs. Uniformed Ranhynn. They would be looking for him. What could he do? It was then that he remembered his time on Earth. It was a trick from what were considered very bad movies there, but at the time he had been quite surprised, and had marvelled that anyone could do this.

  He clambered back across the rubbish, opened the cupboard door, took out the shelves and piled them on the floor, then squeezed into the cupboard, took a very deep breath, then pulled the door towards him. He shut his eyes, and began to breath very deeply, very slowly, to try to control his shaking.

  As a species, the Ranhynn were almost universally extremely claustrophobic. On Earth, Kazyn had practised being in closed spaces so that when he returned he could play tricks of disappearing and reappearing on his friends, who would never believe he could hide in such places. Now he had to hope he had succeeded in control. He realised that he was gasping. He must breathe slowly.