The Vanished Seas (Major Bhaajan series Book 3)

by Catherine Asaro

  Interesting. She made it a statement rather than a question. Although I hadn’t told them why I wanted to meet, it wasn’t a stretch, given my position as an investigator. Still, she didn’t miss much.

  “We haven’t found her yet,” I said. It had been too long, two days, one hundred sixty hours.

  Zeddia looked bored. “You think her disappearance connects to Scorpio?”

  “If you mean, could you be in danger, then I hope not. But we have to be careful.” I motioned to the cop by the wall of the café and his two mini-drones floating nearby. “That’s why we have officers assigned to each of you.” I considered them. “I understand you were all in consideration for the Metropoli account, along with Jen Oja.”

  “It was mostly Jen.” Zeddia glanced at Tallmount. “Though I thought you had a shot at it.”

  Tallmount said, “I had a sense—”

  “Hey!” Daan interrupted. “We all had a shot at it. Mara just pushed us out.”

  “Yah, she was definitely a bitch,” Zeddia said.

  Such compassion for their missing colleague, Max thought.

  They don’t seem to like her much. Most people do, though.

  Jealousy, I suspect.

  I focused on Tallmount. “Did you want the contract?”

  “I thought about it,” she said. “It certainly would have been a good career step.”

  “Of course we all wanted it,” Daan said. “But if you’re asking would we hurt Mara over it, then hell no.”

  “Is that what this is about?” Zeddia snapped. “You think one of us took revenge? That’s a load of slop-shit.”

  “Someone might have,” Daan mused. “Mara is a fucking pain, the way she’s always ahead of everyone else.”

  Max sent me an amused thought. Their EIs need to tell them to clean up their language.

  Not likely. Unlike me, these execs had nothing to prove. They probably spoke more conservatively at work, but the Scorpio higher-ups would know everything about the execs they were considering putting in charge of a deal worth billions. Neither Daan nor Zeddia struck me as smart choices. I had a better impression of Tallmount, though.

  Daan finished his drink and waved over a floating servo-orb. As it swooped to our table, he held out his empty glass. “Get me another.”

  “Right away, sir.” The orb unfolded a silvery arm from its body and took his glass, then hummed back to the café.

  “They call that service?” Zeddia snorted. “So sloppy. Too much association with the dust scum under the city, I’d wager.”

  Daan laughed. “It’s a matter of breeding, Zeddia dear.”

  “What breeding?” Zeddia said. “They ought to clean out the ruins, get rid of all that human trash.” She paused. “Do you suppose the people down there are fully human? I doubt it.”

  Fuck you, I thought. This time, Max didn’t object.

  Tallmount was watching me. To Zeddia she said, “Maybe they feel the same about Cries.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Daan said. “They like us.”

  I’d have laughed at that absurdity if I hadn’t wanted to punch him. “Why do you say that?”

  He waved his hand at the Concourse. “The vendors make money off us.”

  “None of the Concourse vendors come from the Undercity,” I said.

  “Of course they do,” Zeddia told me. “If it wasn’t for us, they wouldn’t have a living. They should be grateful.”

  Grateful? My hand clenched around my water glass.

  Tallmount spoke quickly. “I suspect the Undercity is far different than any of us know.”

  “It’s not a big deal.” Daan wiped sweat off his forehead. “This is a boring subject.”

  Maybe. More likely, it made him uneasy. From what Jak had told me, Daan spent far too much time and credits in the Black Mark. Although most worlds allowed gambling, here it was a felony punishable by prison and large fines.

  The servo-bot brought him a new drink, and he took a deep swallow.

  “I need to go.” Zeddia was looking across the bridge at the clubs. “Time to enjoy the night.”

  I motioned to the two police mini-drones. “Stay with one of them. Don’t go alone.”

  Zeddia laughed as we all stood up. “Could be an interesting night for that drone.”

  I tapped my gauntlet, sending each of them a holo-mail. “If any of you think of anything else about Mara Quida, you can reach me with the code I just commed to you.”

  Zeddia was already walking away. She waved her hand over her head, apparently her goodbye. Daan waited, shifting his weight back and forth. Tallmount looked at me, at Daan, then back at me. She said, “If I think of more, I’ll let you know.”

  I wondered what was up. “That would be good. You can reach me anytime.”

  She nodded, still pausing. Daan stayed put, so Tallmount nodded to us and left.

  Max, I thought. Schedule a reminder for me to contact Tallmount when I have a chance.

  Done.

  “Did you want to talk to me?” I asked Daan.

  He squinted at me. “Do you really think we’re in danger?”

  “It’s possible.” Especially him.

  “But—do I have to stay with the cop or the drones?” He cleared his throat. “What if I, uh—have a native guide?”

  Good gods. He wanted to go to the Black Mark even now. Jak always sent an Undercity guide to bring in his clientele. He required the city slicks wear blindfolds and sound dampers so they could neither see nor hear while their escort led them on a circuitous route through the aqueducts. Without that guide, they’d never find the Black Mark; they’d end up mugged or killed instead. His clients mostly loved the thrill of danger, but I doubted they realized the true risk. Most of them had a sense of entitlement that blinded them to the harsh reality of the Undercity.

  If Daan wanted to sneak off to the casino, he’d have to give the cops the slip, which would put him in danger. I’d seen what addiction did to people. Jak considered his casino like a bar where patrons enjoyed a night out with friends. He didn’t deny some people had a problem, but he didn’t believe he was responsible for a gambling addiction any more than a bar owner was responsible for alcoholism. It bothered me, especially given that Jak’s own gambling habit could destroyed him if he hadn’t been so damn good at poker, and if becoming owner of the Black Mark hadn’t changed his path in life. He also employed many of our people, paying high wages and seeing to their health and families, which earned him their fierce loyalty. I’d never made peace with the cognitive dissonance of my lover being both a criminal kingpin and a hero to our people.

  “Where would this guide take you?” I asked Daan.

  He stared down at the Concourse. “Some places people go, they don’t want to be followed.”

  “Daan, look at me.”

  He met my gaze, suddenly defiant. “It’s not your place to judge me.”

  “Whatever you’re planning to do, it’s not worth risking your life.”

  “I didn’t say I was planning to do anything.”

  “Fine. Whatever you’re not planning to do, don’t do it. Daan, I’m serious. Your life could be in danger.”

  The servo-bot hummed up to us. “Would you like another drink?” it asked Daan.

  “No. I’m going.” He looked relieved at the interruption. “Send the charges to my account.”

  “Done, sir.” As the bot floated away, Daan nodded to me. “Good night, Major.”

  I hoped it stayed that way. Although I didn’t particularly like him, or at least his views on the Undercity, I had no wish to see him become the third casualty in the disappearing elite of Cries.

  I was crossing the bridge on the Concourse when Max thought, Your shadow is back.

  I paused at the top of the span and rested my hands on its rail. The canal stretched out below until it faded into the smoky mist at the end of the avenue, a kilometer distant. What shadow?

  I think it’s the person who followed you out of Cries yesterday.

&n
bsp; Apparently I hadn’t fooled her with my nondescript appearance. I had on city clothes today, boring enough to blend with the crowds. When I dressed this way, people here tended to assume I was some sort of law enforcement protecting them against nefarious Undercity types.

  I looked around, but saw nothing out of place. Where is she?

  Across the Concourse from the café where you met the execs. See the open-view counter?

  It took me a moment to figure out what he meant. A festive stall stood near the bridge, topped by a roof of bright blue cloth with gold tassels hanging from its edges. The proprietor stood behind a counter heaped with pottery glazed in swirls of color.

  Do you mean the man selling pots? I asked. I thought my shadow was a woman.

  No, look to the left side. I’ll magnify. See that ripple in the air?

  As Max accessed the lenses in my eyes, the counter grew larger as if I were walking toward it. I did see a ripple now, one in the shape of a person standing only a few paces from the stall. The owner doesn’t seem to know anyone is there.

  If he checked, he’d probably notice, Max answered.

  I headed the other way, down the bridge toward the glitz-clubs. Is my shadow following me?

  Yes, she’s coming up the bridge.

  At the bottom of the bridge, I blended in among the crowds. After a ways, I turned down a narrow alley with no lights except holos dancing on the buildings on either side. The club on my right shimmered with red and white polyhedrons, all these geometric shapes twirling around, pleasing but weird. On my left, cascades of purple light flowed down the wall like a waterfall.

  Behind the buildings, a narrow lane went past storage huts. They weren’t lit except by a faint overflow of light from the clubs. I kept going, farther from the main boulevard, deeper into the back alleys. Eventually I reached the Concourse wall, a barrier that rose to the ceiling far overhead. Tourists never bothered to visit these places where the shiny nightlife faded into the practical construction that supported the underground world. The darkness had become thick.

  My shadow still trying to disguise herself with holos? Here in the dark, the light she needed to produce holographic images would make her stand out like a beacon.

  No, she deactivated her holosuit. She’s still shrouded from UV and infrared sensors, however, and she’s using a sound damper.

  Walking along the wall, I trailed my fingers across it until I felt a familiar set of ridges. I tapped them in a pattern that had passed from generation to generation of dust gangers. When I pushed the wall, it moved inward just enough to let me squeeze through the open crack.

  Send out my red beetle. I had two drones, one red and one green. Although both were the same model with rudimentary AI brains, they’d developed differently over the years, which meant they might pursue their targets in different ways. I was curious to see if the red bot gave me different insights on this person following me than the green had already produced.

  The droid rose out of my jacket pocket, rustling the leather, and flew off. I closed the hidden door, leaving me inside the wall and my shadow outside. Max used the sensors in my gauntlets, so my going inside the wall limited what he could detect. The droid could reach him, though.

  Have the beetle follow my shadow, I thought.

  It’s registering her pulse and respiration. She stopped walking. I’d bet she doesn’t know how you vanished.

  Good. I stayed put. Even with my sound dampers working, I didn’t want to risk her hearing me. Shrouds worked best at a distance; this close, it was harder to fool people.

  She’s moving again, walking along the wall away from us, Max thought.

  I waited a few moments to put some distance between us, then opened the door enough to slip back into the darkened alley. Keep me shrouded, except for the holosuit. Don’t activate anything with a light.

  You’re hidden. She’s headed toward the Undercity.

  Connect me to the beetle.

  Done.

  I was suddenly in the air above the Concourse, watching the alley with infrared vision. The scene appeared dim and translucent, superimposed on my normal vision. The woman below had matched her suit temperature to her surroundings, making it difficult to see her in IR.

  I still don’t recognize her, I thought.

  I’m getting a bit more detail, enough to refine the image I made yesterday.

  Check it against every database, including any offworld networks you can reach.

  That’s trillions of records. It could take a while.

  Take whatever time you need. Find out who she is. She can’t be completely off the grid. No one is. That wasn’t one hundred percent true, but the few wizards who could manage that feat wouldn’t likely be skulking around the Concourse.

  My shadow headed toward the end of the Concourse, where it exited into the real Undercity. A sign there warned any tourists to go no further, at risk to their lives. It was the only true sign about the Undercity on the entire Concourse. Before my shadow reached that point, though, she stopped. When she spoke into her comm, my beetle picked up some of her words.

  “. . . not here . . . lost her again.” She paused. “No, Bialo left with the cop.” More silence. “Why would he give his guards the slip?” Yet another pause. “All right . . . I’ll take care of him.”

  Damn. They’re going after Bialo. We have to get to him first.

  How? It sounds like he ditched his guards.

  It doesn’t matter. I know where to find him.

  If I wasn’t too late.

  CHAPTER IX

  LIQUID ROCK

  The Black Mark was in full swing, awash in purple light and glitz-dust floating in the air. It was mesmerizing, at least for anyone without military biomech in their body blocking subliminal invitations. I wandered among the tables looking for Daan, with no success. I’d changed into my usual clothes, a black muscle shirt and trousers, with my pulse revolver plainly visible in its shoulder holster. No one bothered me tonight.

  “Eh, Bhaaj,” a woman said.

  I turned to see Dara in her glitz makeup. If I hadn’t known her so well, I’d never have guessed this was the same woman who looked after a family of five, including her two daughters, her two adopted children, and her husband Weaver, one of the most gifted artists I’d ever met. Jak paid her well, enough that she could provide a stable life for her family, a rarity in the aqueducts where many adults didn’t even live to see their children grow up.

  “Eh, Dara,” I said.

  “Got a whisper today,” she told me. “Good news.”

  I smiled, another rarity. Dara was my closest friend, and good news for her was good news all around. “What’s the buzz?”

  “Weaver’s license,” Dara said. “Doctor Rajindia told us. License is ready to pick up.”

  My mouth dropped open. This was more than good news. It was a freaking miracle.

  I’d worked with Weaver for two years to get him a license to sell his tapestries and glassware on the Concourse. We’d even arranged for him to rent a stall, not a fancy area, but respectable. And for two damn years, our work had gone nowhere, because the blasted Cries licensing authority blocked us at every step.

  Nor was it only the bureaucrats. Convincing Weaver it was worth the effort had been almost as tough. He didn’t like city slicks, he didn’t like the cops who patrolled the Concourse, and he didn’t believe the credits that people in Cries would pay for his work meant squat. You couldn’t see credits. You couldn’t hold them. They had no trade value in the Undercity. I’d resisted my urge to push. He had to want this himself, not because anyone told him that he should do it. He was setting a precedent, a huge step for my people. He would be the first true Undercity merchant to sell his work on the Concourse.

  In the end, it was his oldest daughter, fourteen-year-old Darjan, who convinced him. She loved to learn and often bargained with me, teaching tykado to the youngest children in return for my getting her schoolbooks. Weaver listened to her. He’d s
till needed time to adapt to the idea, but he had more than enough, because it was taking so long to work through the bureaucracy. Had he finally succeeded? I was almost afraid to rejoice.

  “Doctor Rajindia brought news?” I asked. “How? She’s a healer. Not burrow-rat.”

  Dara smiled tolerantly at my idiot pun about bureaucrats. “Doctor Rajindia came to see kids. Check their health.” She walked with me across the main floor. “Weaver told her about the license. She said she’d ask. Came today to check on me and Weaver. Told us the news.”

  “Good news, yah.” Incredible.

  Dara’s smile faded. “Got to go to the city to get the license. We can’t.”

  I understood. Like many of my people, Dara never left the Undercity. The first time I’d stood under the open sky, I couldn’t even see it all. The neurological pathways in my brain had needed to rewire themselves so I could comprehend that incredible vista. On the rare occasions when adults among my people ventured out, some hated all that open space. Others adapted, but most returned home with relief. In the past few years, though, more of our young people were sneaking up to the desert, going at night first, when it was easier to deal with so much space. Our children adapted faster. Maybe if we showed our babies the sky, their brains would learn early to accept that vast land and sky.

  “I go with you and Weaver,” I told her.

  Relief showed in her gaze. “Is good.”

  “Got a question for you. Looking for a city slick.”

  She snorted. “Room full of slicks.”

  “Man called Daan.”

  “Not know.” She motioned around at the main room. “See him?”

  “Not here.” I tilted my head toward a hallway that led to the high-stakes poker rooms. “Maybe private.”

  “You go.” She headed to the bar, then looked back with a grin. “Come drink later, yah?”

  “You bet.”

  I headed for the poker rooms.

  I searched four games before I found Daan. He sat at a round table with five other people who varied from dissipated youths to glitz-fibs to older execs. A handsome young man with blue hair dealt them cards. I knew the dealer; Bez lived with one of the smaller dust gangs. He put the wages he earned here toward food for their circle of kith and kin. In this game, he dealt real cards, not holos. You could only join these backroom games if Jak invited you, and every player went through a tech search to make sure they weren’t bringing cheats. The lights were dimmer because Jak turned off his hypnotic holos. Stakes went high in these games, but they were the only way you could get a fair shake in the Black Mark.