Confluence

by S. K. Dunstall

  “I can’t believe I let him do that.” She should have known better.

  “He did save our lives,” Chaudry said.

  “Chaudry, he’s a professional assassin.” Who’d probably kept them alive because he wanted to hear more about the line ships and their plans.

  To be safe, Radko had them pack up and move elsewhere. They hired a new aircar halfway across the city, swapped their equipment over, then took both aircars across the continent, where van Heel dumped the first one. After that, they went back to Bane and booked themselves into an apartment to make plans.

  “What happens now?” Han asked. “We go home, tail between our legs?”

  “No,” Radko said. What kind of a team were they if they let a setback like that stop them? “We get our report from the source. What names can you remember from the list of contributors at the front of the report?” She remembered five. Jemsin, EightFields, Quinn, RiverSide, and Jakob.

  “EightFields,” Chaudry said. “And that one you mentioned. Jemsin.”

  “Jemsin, EightFields, and Quinn,” Han said. “There was a Dr. Quinn who tested—” He paused, and visibly didn’t finish what he’d been going to say. “I wonder if it’s the same one.”

  Radko didn’t push. Han had probably met Quinn as a linesman. She watched Han rub his eyes—with his right hand, again—and wondered. How likely was trauma to change one’s handedness?

  “Find out all you can about those five people. I want someone I can get the reports from. Or at the very least, I want to know where they’re doing their experiments.”

  There were no records for Jakob, and it wasn’t a Redmond name. They had the whole galaxy to search, and they didn’t have the time or support to do it.

  “There’s plenty on Jemsin,” van Heel said. “She wrote a lot of papers.”

  “Forget about her,” Radko said. “She’s in jail.” If she’d spilled any information, the Yaolins would already know about it. “What about Quinn?”

  “He’s still doing line experiments, apparently,” Han said. “But there’s nothing here about where he’s doing them. Or where he’s living now.”

  Radko noted the “still.” Would he have a problem if they came up against Quinn?

  “Concentrate on RiverSide and EightFields then.” They were both Redmond-founding-family names, likely to be well-known in society. That was good in one way, because there was a lot of information about the founding families. They just had to find those particular names among all the noise.

  “EightFields,” van Heel said. “I can’t believe the names these Redmond people come up with.”

  Radko’s early studies of Redmond had taught her the importance of the names. “When the first settlers arrived on Redmond, they renamed themselves according to their surroundings. Thus, the EightFields family had a farm with eight fields. TwoPaths had two paths nearby.” She tried to remember other founding names. “OneLane. FiveWays.”

  “They’re still weird,” van Heel said.

  Radko got van Heel to hack into OneLane’s records, while Chaudry and Han searched for other people listed on the report, and she tried to find out what she could about OneLane’s contacts. The woman had run a legitimate business over the top of her fencing activities. Radko could even have bought a jeweled egg her mother had been after for years.

  A man named Daniel EightFields was a regular customer. It might only be coincidence, but once they were done with Adam, she’d get them to search on Daniel.

  “Adam EightFields fancies himself.” Van Heel pushed an interview onto the main screen. EightFields was being introduced by a young reporter.

  “Dr. Adam EightFields is one of our foremost line experts here on Redmond, and—”

  “Not only on Redmond,” EightFields interrupted him. “One of the universe’s leading experts on linesmen and line theory.”

  Apart from the fact that humans had only settled the one galaxy, there was a whole race of aliens out there whose children probably knew more about the lines than any single human expert. Radko would have bet Ean’s expertise over a whole roomful of people like EightFields, anyway.

  “So how does the news of a new line eleven affect line theory?” the reporter asked.

  “If it is a new line,” EightFields said. “The New Alliance claims it is, but is it really so?”

  Radko checked the date on the interview. Not long after Michelle had been kidnapped, back when people were still arguing whether there really was a line eleven.

  “Sounds like he took any opportunity he could to get on the media,” van Heel said. “Or he used to. Haven’t heard anything from him for months.”

  “Can you find out where he works? Where he lives?”

  “Last known employer, TwoPaths Engineering. But they have fifty sites. His address is here in the city, but then that’s the address of twenty other EightFields as well. Place must be a mansion.”

  Han was checking the social pages. “He’s got a sister, Christina, who manages the EightFields estate. A brother, Daniel, who’s a spacer in the Redmond Fleet.”

  “Only a spacer?” A founding family would have paid for a promotion for their son. Why hadn’t they? “Find out more about Daniel, Han. Tell me if he gets on with his family.” A disaffected family member might not be so loyal to said family. Or he might be broke. Maybe even sell a stolen report to a woman he shopped from regularly.

  She went back to the shop records. “Callista OneLane sold a jeweled brooch to Daniel EightFields sixteen days ago. I want to know if that Daniel is Adam EightFields’s brother.”

  Van Heel hacked into the city security system to view the records for the street near OneLane’s premises that day, while Chaudry and Han went painstakingly through each face she brought up and compared it to the image Han got from the social pages.

  Meanwhile, Radko worked on five different escape plans. They not only had to find which engineering complex EightFields worked at, but they had to get off Redmond afterward, and the longer they stayed here, the harder it would be to get off.

  Maybe they should go back to the original spaceport and convince the pilot who transported the shellfish to take them off.

  But how long before he’d be back?

  “Got it,” Han said. “It looks like the brother.”

  Radko compared the images and had to agree. “So let’s go after Daniel. Find out where he is and when we can get to him.”

  There was plenty in the vids about Daniel EightFields. He was a member of a well-off family, he was a lavish spender, and he was often in trouble. Much like the progeny of some of the Great Families on Lancia.

  “Looks like his family sent him to the fleet to sort him out,” Han said. “We get them on Lancia. The parents get tired of bailing them out of trouble and send them off to the fleet to learn some discipline.”

  Had that happened to Han?

  “They’re useless as soldiers, and we can’t send them anywhere dangerous, or their family sues. So they stick around headquarters, getting into trouble, and we have to bail them out. Or we send them off to worlds where, if they do get into trouble, it doesn’t hurt them or us.”

  Van Heel hacked the public comms codes, found Daniel EightFields’s comms, and they tracked it until he left the base. Vega was right. She was a class hacker.

  EightFields finally stopped at a nightclub.

  “Let’s go chat with EightFields the Younger,” Radko suggested.

  * * *

  THEIR images from OneLane’s shop were circulating on the news vids. According to the news, they were dangerous murderers, and anyone who saw them should call the fleet, not tackle them. Chaudry was unrecognizable as the regen victim, but his short, bulky shape was unmistakable. He looked nothing like the man on the vid, but anyone seeing him would report him because of his size. If the police investigated, they’d pass him over. Provided they didn’t
talk to him. If they did, they’d soon work out he wasn’t a native, so they’d probe more.

  Not the police, Radko corrected herself. The military. Redmond wasn’t treating this like a civilian murder gone wrong. They were treating it like a military problem. Even at OneLane’s premises, there’d been no local police. It had been a wholly military exercise.

  The report had been co-branded with Redmond military. How far were they prepared to keep the information secret?

  Han was more recognizable. It might be smart to keep them out of sight if she could. Radko looked nothing like Chen. Best if she did it alone.

  “Van Heel, can you get the feed from inside the club? Han and Chaudry, stay in the aircar with van Heel. If I need you, I’ll call. Keep an eye on me.” With luck, she could be in and out quickly, without any need for backup.

  She waited while van Heel hacked into the club feed. Even the screen inside the club showed their faces, with the words DANGEROUS KILLERS in large letters underneath.

  “Have you ever had to kill anyone?” Chaudry asked.

  She wondered, for a moment, if he was serious, for she and Vilhjalmsson had decimated a team of soldiers.

  “Before today, I mean.”

  “I’m not an assassin.” Not yet anyway. If she came across Vilhjalmsson again, it might be a different matter. Murdered in cold blood. “I have killed people.”

  “Don’t you mind?”

  “I don’t think about it.” She didn’t. It was her job. She was good at her job.

  “I’ve killed people,” van Heel said. “Three of them. If you think about it, Chaudry, it gets to you. Don’t persist.”

  Radko was glad Chaudry hadn’t harmed anyone earlier. Around about now, he’d be starting to feel bad.

  “Thank you,” Radko said to van Heel, and glanced at Han, who’d probably killed his first enemy today, too.

  He knew what the look was for. “I felt nothing.”

  That just meant it hadn’t hit him yet.

  “Got it,” van Heel said, and switched the camera view to pan on the patrons. They found EightFields with a group of people who laughed at every joke he made. Radko had had friends like that when she was a girl. The Yves Han that Radko had known as a child would have friends like that.

  But she didn’t know this adult Han at all.

  Which reminded her. “Han.” She took out her comms and tossed it across.

  He caught it with his right hand.

  “What do I do with it?”

  “Nothing.” She took her comms back. “Testing your reflexes.” And his handedness. This spacer she had in her team showed a strong tendency to right-handedness.

  Yet linesmen were always left-handed, and Yves Han had spent ten years with House of Sandhurst.

  Ten years. Was he the real Han or wasn’t he? If he was the real Han, but wasn’t a linesman, then why had Iwo Hurst kept him on? Because he could be useful? Or because the man in front of her wasn’t the same man Hurst had trained?

  She was starting to suspect he wasn’t the same man.

  She pushed that question away. Tonight, they were here to get information from Daniel EightFields. She tucked her blaster into the back of her trousers and pulled on her jacket. Loose enough and thick enough to hide the bulge. “Don’t come after me unless I really need help.”

  She swung out of the aircar.

  * * *

  THE nightclub was fashionable and expensive, full of shiny, glittering surfaces, and a lot of flashing lights. Radko bought herself a drink and turned to look around the room.

  EightFields’s friends were drunk. Their laughter overloud, their interactions with other patrons bordering on nuisance. In contrast, their host looked stone-cold sober, and he twitched every time someone entered the bar.

  He twitched when Radko entered but relaxed when she ordered her drink. He twitched even more when a group of uniformed fleet officers entered and didn’t relax until they’d passed through into a private room.

  A man with something to worry about? And from the way he looked broodingly at the screen every time Radko and the others appeared there, it might have something to do with Callista OneLane. Even if it wasn’t his brother’s report, Daniel EightFields had bought or sold something to OneLane, and he was worried he’d get caught.

  The woman closest to EightFields called for another round of drinks. EightFields paid with an absentminded flick of his comms. Radko couldn’t tell if he always paid, or if he was just inattentive tonight.

  Radko finished her drink and wandered over. “You’re Adam EightFields’s brother. Am I right?”

  He looked at her, and there was no welcome in his eyes. “Who’s asking?”

  “A friend of Adam’s. I haven’t seen him in months. Where is he nowadays? I’d like to catch up with him sometime.”

  Daniel EightFields shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

  She pushed her way in between the drunk woman and EightFields. “Of course you do.”

  “Hey,” the woman said.

  “What’s more,” Radko said, quietly, under the other woman’s protestations, “you’ll tell me, or I’ll mention your visits to OneLane.”

  She felt the hardness of a blaster shoved into her side. “Say anything, and I’ll kill you,” EightFields said.

  Good. He had something to hide. She didn’t move. If EightFields was desperate enough to pull a weapon on her, he’d use it, despite the consequences. “Why don’t we go outside. They’ll have security watching the patrons. If someone sees your”—she indicated with her chin, but didn’t look down—“they’ll call the police.”

  He looked around.

  “Your friends are too drunk to be any help.”

  He stood up. “They’re not real friends, anyway. The first sign of trouble, and they’ll be squalling for a team leader.” He stood close to her as they exited. “Do anything to draw attention to us, and I’ll kill you as soon as we get outside.”

  “Trust me, I want to draw attention to myself as little as you do.”

  EightFields led the way out through the back. The staff seemed to know him, for they let him go through.

  “You’re well-known here.”

  “Comes from being one of their best customers.” The back door led directly onto a street. “Keep walking. Straight ahead, then turn left at the black hole.”

  Black hole was an apt description. Radko hesitated before she stepped in.

  Van Heel couldn’t follow her here with the cameras. She’d have to assume she had no backup. She turned as she entered and chopped down and snatched the blaster out of EightFields’s suddenly inert hands.

  He cried out. There was a squawk from the end of the lane. Or alcove, really, for it only went in two meters. A light flicked on. Two indignant faces peered at them from the end of the space.

  “Find your own place.”

  “Get out,” Radko ordered, pushing EightFields up against the wall so he couldn’t escape with them. He struggled. She wondered if she could hold him.

  “We were here first.”

  Radko waved the blaster at them.

  Another squawk, but they scrambled out, grabbing their clothes as they ran.

  EightFields stopped struggling. “You’re stronger than you look.”

  “You’re not so weak yourself. I’m going to step back, let you go. Do anything stupid, and I’ll shoot.”

  EightFields stepped back into the alcove. “What will you do with me?”

  “Where is Adam?”

  “Why Adam, of all people?”

  Instead of answering, she said, “Did you sell the report to OneLane?”

  “What report?”

  They heard running footsteps, pounding toward them. Radko stepped into the alcove beside EightFields. “Give us away, and I’ll kill you.”

  The footst
eps stopped.

  “Radko?” Han’s voice.

  A bright light was shined into the alcove.

  “Turn the light out,” Radko said. She nearly added “no names,” but that would draw attention to the fact that he’d used hers. “I said I’d call if I needed help.”

  “Van Heel couldn’t see you out here,” Chaudry said. “This section’s not covered. And H—”

  “No names,” Radko said, sharply. Between them, they’d give the whole team away.

  Chaudry looked first at Han, then to EightFields. “He said Eightfields pulled a blaster on you. We thought.” He didn’t say what he thought.

  If Han had recognized the movement, there was a good chance security had seen it.

  “Let’s question him elsewhere.” Radko gestured with the blaster. There was only one safe place, and that was the aircar. She called up van Heel. “We’re bringing him in. Be ready for us.” He’d recognized them and would be able to describe them, but she didn’t feel safe in this alley right now. “Give me your comms,” she ordered EightFields, and waved the blaster impatiently in his face when he didn’t hand it over immediately.

  He handed it over. She tossed it into the alcove, hard enough to shatter it, then jumped on it as it bounced back, and kicked it back in.

  “She really likes to be sure,” Han said to Chaudry.

  “Comms are harder to destroy than you realize,” Radko said. “Come on.”

  The back door of the club opened as they reached the corner. Her heart sped up. Two bulky security men made their way down to the alcove.

  Van Heel dropped the aircar into the street. “Hurry, this is illegal.”

  Radko waited until Han and Chaudry were in the aircar, then shoved EightFields in and followed so close, she stepped on his heels.

  Van Heel took off straight upward. Han, Chaudry, and EightFields fell; Radko, more used to speedy maneuvers, kept her feet. She patted EightFields down, checking for weapons.

  EightFields hardly noticed. He was staring at Chaudry. “I know you. You’re the people at Callista’s shop.”

  “You do not,” Chaudry said. “I don’t even look the same.”