“You ... you want to know my name?” Niki asked incredulously.
“Unless you wish me to call you Delta three dash two-eight-one, yes."
“Nikisha, uh, Niki Kaznov."
“Welcome aboard, Nikisha Uh Niki Kaznov."
“No, that's not correct. My name is Niki.” In time he would learn, he reassured himself.
“Correction noted. Welcome aboard, Niki. Is that now the correct entry?"
“Yes. That's it. Niki."
“Thank you, Niki. Initial startup sequence is now complete, with status at all locations inside operational tolerance. Operational failure probability is less than four percent. Do you want me to begin the mechanical, preflight startup, Niki?'
“Er, uh, no ... not yet. I'm ... we're not ready yet.” Ready for what, he wondered. “We need to keep your condition secret—unnoticeable from the outside. Is that possible?"
“Yes, Niki. Such a situation was anticipated. Please, place your left hand on the screen in front of you and your right eye on the cup to the right."
“Um, why?"
“You will be recognized by hand print, voice print, and retinal scan for security purposes."
“Oh, all right."
It was a slightly awkward position for him but he managed. This cockpit must have been designed for a tall, thin person because it all seemed too tight and everything was a bit too high, he thought.
“Thank you, Niki."
“I ... need to sleep here tonight. I can't leave until tomorrow. Is that a problem?"
“No, Niki. Full security surveillance will be maintained while you are dormant. How long do you wish to remain in your dormant state?"
“Let's see ... uh, the museum opens again in eight hours or so. Man, where did the time go? Uh, make it seven hours. I need seven hours."
“You will be awakened in seven hours, Niki. The time goes where it always goes, Niki. Into the past. You will find your quarters in compartment 8-C."
“Is ... is there a name I'm supposed to call you?"
“Refer to this system as ‘Twenty-three.’ All systems respond to their respective unit number."
“Twenty-three, is it possible to activate the other shuttles from here, or do I have to go to each one of them?"
“Any system may be activated from any other system. Do you wish to proceed with preliminary startup procedures for all systems at this time?"
“Yes. Yes, I do. Start them all now and set them to your current condition."
“Yes, Niki. Startup has begun for all responding systems. Do you wish a list of systems that are not responding?"
“No. Not now. I'll get that from you, later. Now—I need to sleep."
* * * *
Still groggy from another fitful night, it took Niki some time to figure out Twenty-three's visual scanning system. Using the local area scanner, Niki waited until he saw the guard leave the shuttle display floor for his morning cup, then stepped out of the airlock onto the catwalk. The door sealed silently behind him, and it looked as if it had never been opened.
That's good.
Niki had been in the museum so much in the last few days he figured no one would notice if or when he entered through the lobby. He wandered around on the catwalk for a while trying to look as if he were doing what he always did. When the guard returned he would take the lift down, exchange some early morning banter with him, and leave. He was starving. He'd had no food or drink since the morning before and hadn't thought to ask Twenty-three if there was anything on board, though he didn't imagine anything would be any good after two hundred years or more.
“Niki. Niki?"
It was Pasha's voice calling him. What is she doing here, he wondered? She wasn't supposed to be free until tomorrow after midday, but there she was, standing by the guard's station, looking anxious.
Something must be wrong.
When the lift reached ground level, she was there waiting for him, and, before he could get off the platform, she jumped up and threw her arms around him, drawing him tight against her.
“Niki,” she said into his ear, “we need to talk. Can you come with me to Twelve Points, right now?"
* * *
Chapter X
Washton and Lanno sat side by side, trussed up firmly like two bales of human hay bound to a steel bench in the center of a large, empty room. A solitary lamp, hanging from an unseen ceiling, shone down around them in a tight cone of white, its boundary marked by a pall of recently disturbed dust. From the surrounding gloom came the sound of whispering, but nothing could be seen beyond the small circle of cold light on the gray stone floor.
Lanno's head was cocked at an unnatural angle because of the displaced axis in his neck. Trails of dried blood traced thin lines of reddish brown from his ears down the sides of his crooked throat and expanded into large blotches on his collar. Both eyes, grotesquely swollen, framed in deep purple tinged with blue and green, were nothing more than slits weeping a yellowish fluid, and his nose hung limply to the right side of his face in testimony of the severe, carefully applied beating he had been subjected to for several hours. Lanno sat, shored up by his bindings, mumbling gibberish into the sullen darkness.
“Well, Washton,” a hard voice said out of the black beyond the boundary of light. “You're down to two chances of telling me what I want to know."
The clack of heels on dull gray stone echoed around the room as the voice moved about in the darkness.
“Your first opportunity is now. You give me what I want, and in exchange I won't term old Lanno—both of you will be free to go. If not, I'll give you a chance to see the manner in which you'll be termed through a demonstration on your limp, babbling friend."
There was a long silence. Then, “If, after the demonstration, you still refuse to talk, you will be treated to a similar end ... but much more slowly and painfully administered by my able assistant, Dr. Kadin. Did you know that he is an expert in such things? It amuses me to watch him work. Such knowledge of the nervous system—such precision in delivering pain. A true artist he is. Have I made myself sufficiently clear, Mr. Washton?"
“Yes. Yes. I'll tell you what you want.” Washton's words dropped from his dry throat as the barest whimper of a whisper.
“What's that, Mr. Washton? Did I hear you say you will cooperate?"
“Yes, yes, yes—damn it—I'll cooperate.” Washton's broken voice bounced off the bare stone, and reverberated around the chamber. “The man you want ... the man you want is Nikisha Kaznov."
“And you're sure he's the only one?"
“Yes."
“Where can we find this Nikisha Kaznov, Mr. Washton?"
“He's ... he's working for us at ... at the Museum of the Ancients. I got him an apartment in East End. Two-ten Fissure ... near the Feynman Center. Now, please, let me go. On my Ancient, I won't say anything to anyone about this."
“Do I understand you correctly? Are you giving me your word of honor, Mr. Washton?"
“Yes. You may do ... do whatever you want with Lanno. I won't say a word. Just let me go—please,” he pleaded.
“Thank you, Mr. Washton,” the other said evenly, softly—coldly. “You've been most cooperative, and you'll be happy to know that the Paz Cadre always rewards its cooperative friends, Mr. Washton."
More hollow echoes of heels on the dusty floor, more whispers. “Sergeant,” the voice said in a loud, more authoritative manner. “Burn both of them, but don't let Washton suffer too long. That's the least we can do for such a brave and honorable man who has contributed so much to the cause.” His remark was followed by a maniacal laugh from beyond the light and a steel door slammed in finality.
About three hundred meters from the warehouse in the Nucanda Lanno mining fields hovered a large air transport of the type used by the militia. It reflected the light of a comfortably smaller Vegamwun that had barely violated the southeastern horizon, pushing long shadows across the barren, craggy surface of Nucanda Territory.
Six men dressed
in the dark gray uniform of the Paz Cadre approached. The air was sharp and crisp, the kind of briskness that snaps at your nose but doesn't quite justify heavy clothing. Temperatures fell fast at the northern and southern extremities of Paz as she journeyed toward the far end of her orbit, and it wouldn't be long before the howling ice storms began.
One of the men, the leader, judging by the amount of polished copper dangling from the breast flap of his uniform, raised a hand and the group stopped as one man.
“Sergeant,” he said, forcing his words over the undulating, chest-pounding roar of the waiting vehicle's fans, “I want you to contact Ops in New London. Give them the info on the Delta and tell them to secure his apartment—now. I don't want to lose this one, and I want to be sure we get a shot at grabbing him before he has a chance to go under. If we don't get him now, we may not have another opportunity. Now, go."
The sergeant snapped a salute and moved off double time to an AS-rover south of the hovering transport. Turning to his junior officer, he said, “Lieutenant, this is going to be uncovered quickly. Take your squad to Nucanda Center and monitor what goes on. If it looks like it's turning sour, set up whatever damage control seems appropriate. I don't want it to get out of hand up here, and I sure as hell don't want to be caught out in the open before we're ready."
“Yes, Colonel,” the young officer replied. “You want us to do a cleanup on the mess back there?"
“No—I think not. Just eliminate any signs of our presence.” He looked into the rising Vegamwun, its bright white disk reflecting off the dark tint of his glasses, and said to no one in particular, “I want them to be identified. I want the Generation to know they're at risk. Who knows, we may even be lucky enough to get the credit for Lon Su because Washton was so damned good at covering himself."
He bowed his head into the grit being thrown out by the high pressure air beneath the transport and, with a thin, emotionless smile, made his way to the boarding ladder. As he placed his foot on the bottom rung, a vicious, animal-like growl of a laugh issued from his pursed lips. “Fools,” he muttered. “All poor, damned fools."
The small group he'd left in the landing area broke ranks and moved off to their respective duties like dark gray shadows succumbing to first light, while two piles of ash and charred bone lay smoldering on a cold stone floor beneath a steel bench framed in a circle of harsh, white light.
* * * *
Twelve Points was packed to overflowing, and they were greeted by the sound of a hundred hushed voices coming through the closed curtains of all the booths where people leaned their words across tables, trying to make their individual points without disturbing the others who were doing the same.
During their trip to Twelve Points, Pasha had related the details about Lon Su and the visit from Albo Shan. From the sound of it, things were heating up and, by Pasha's account, the members of Twelve Points were now voicing their concerns over the possibility of having Council investigators, maybe even Law Apps, looking over their shoulders soon.
Antaris appeared from one of the booths in the front of the restaurant and ushered them into the kitchen, away from the din. She was wearing that intense look Niki had come to know meant she was concentrating on something that was bothering her.
“I am so glad you came, Nikisha. It is, I fear, time for you to vanish."
“Wait,” he protested. “What do you mean ‘vanish’ and why now?"
“Pasha has told you about what has happened?"
“Yes, but Lon Su might have been termed by one of his own people and, from my experience with them, that's a distinct possibility. I don't think that's reason enough for me to go into hiding."
“Niki,” Pasha said calmly. “It's more than Lon Su. Albo Shan is aware of who you are, and we believe he has made the connection between Mr. Washton and Lon Su. Oh, he may not be a direct threat, but what he knows, or thinks he knows may get picked up by the seditionists, and that could spell the end of us all."
Pasha looked desperate, tired and beautiful. Wrong line or not, he loved her.
“Well, maybe. Still, I don't see the reason for so much worry. I mean, after all, Bo isn't the enemy. It may be true that he has figured out who I am—but he couldn't know what I am. Now, could he?"
“Unfortunately, Nikisha, the answer to that question is that he may,” Antaris responded. “Mr. Shan has built himself an impressive reputation. The word is, although I am sure it is exaggerated, that he has solved more crimes than Law Apps and Enforcement together. Whether this is true is beside the point, and, as Pasha said, he is not the problem—whether he is right or wrong, it is what he has in his head that is the problem."
Antaris poured massak for them and said, “The seditionists continue to operate in ways we do not understand. We have no knowledge of the ways their organization works, who is in charge, or where their backing comes from. We are sure about what it is they want and, like everyone else, they know you are the key."
The key. The key to what? Niki had used a lot of his time searching for the answer to that question and was no closer to it than when he had begun this enlightenment business. The dreams remained too cryptic, the memories vague and elusive, his thoughts too confused. He had been a fisher—a good one. Now what was he? Now, he was an unwitting recipient of another piece of the Fathers’ legacy, and he'd been catapulted into a role with no script, no direction. He was playing out his part on an unlighted stage with other characters mysterious and dark. The dreams—he had to unravel the dreams.
“So, what is it you're suggesting, Trina?” he asked.
“I am not sure, yet. You are probably safe for the moment, but we need a plan and we need it soon."
She paused while she toyed with her long, red hair—something she always did when deep in thought. Finally, unwinding the strands of hair from her fingers, she continued. “We need ... we need to find a way to keep you away from potential harm and the possibility of abduction. We need a place for you to stay that no one else will think of, until we understand what it is the Fathers want us to do. Then maybe we can come up with a way to do it before our troubles get too deep."
Antaris played with her hair again, and Pasha wrapped her arms around Niki's waist, a welcome advance in their relationship. Niki felt the warmth flowing across his face again.
“All that has happened over the last few days has made another portion of the Riddle of the Ancients clear to me, and I have spoken to the others about it. We must protect you at any cost, and every one of them out there,” she said, waving her hand toward the kitchen door, “is prepared to do so at the cost of their lives—if it should come to that."
* * * *
Pasha drove a deliberately circuitous route to Niki's apartment in East End to be certain they weren't being followed, while Niki sat quietly, steeped in his own thoughts. He felt very humble and desperate. His life was upside down. How much simpler it would have been if Nurusha hadn't died. None of this would be happening. Sure, there would be the memories and the dreams, but he'd still be on an island far off in the Southern Sea. There would have been no stimulus to percolate it all up so close to the surface, to make it so real. He could have told old Balwin about his dreams, and Balwin, as always, would have had ready answers. Balwin had had ready answers for everything. His answers were usually wrong, but Niki could always use them to sublimate his problems.
Damn the Fathers and their stupid games—their riddles and their memories.
Pasha turned off Feynman onto Fissure. The lights in Niki's apartment were on. Thoughts of Nurusha and old Balwin vaporized as Pasha drove by without slowing. There were figures moving around inside, and one, close to the door, could be seen plainly. He was dressed in a dark gray uniform that Niki didn't recognize.
“Law Apps?” he asked.
“No, wrong color,” she said as she turned onto Bohr Boulevard, then tensed and turned to look at Niki. “The chip? What did you do with the chip?"
“It's safe."
“It's not in
your apartment?"
“Huh-uh. It's locked away in shuttle Twenty-three. Better than any safe on Paz.” Firing a glance over his shoulder he could see nothing to help identify who was in his apartment. “I take it you think it's the chip they want?"
“No. There are only two people—three now—who know it exists. They're after you. I don't know how they found out where you were living, but they did. Seditionists, I would assume."
“Rings of Ahriman, now what do we do?"
“I don't know."
Pasha drove around for an hour, and Niki thought about the chip. More specifically, what she had said about it. If only three people knew about it, then where had it come from? It was authentic, he was sure of that, but how was it that it had come into their possession?
“Pasha?"
“Mmm?"
“Where ... where did you get the chip?"
“We found it at Crash Site Seventeen. Um, three years ago, I think."
“Found it? How? How did you find it?"
“Why, Niki?"
“Doesn't it seem a little coincidental that you, of all people, should find what could be considered the most important document in our history—and a critical element in this enlightenment business?"
“I've never thought about it in those terms, Niki, but now that I am ... maybe it is a little odd."
“Odd, all right. So, how did you find it?"
“Trina and I took one of those group tour things—you know, eight hundred notes for five days? Five days, everything included, to the Claska Copper Works, but we weren't interested in the copper. We took it because of the side trip to Site Seventeen."
“Uh-huh, but exactly how did you find it?"
“I don't remember all the details, Niki. I only remember we found it in a ravine that ... no, wait ... I do remember.” She had reached the edge of North End and dropped off the track at a charging and maintenance bay used by people before embarking on one of the territorial tracks north and east from the New London city line. She pulled into a charging dock and looked over at Niki. “Thinking back on it ... it was very strange."
Seeds of Memory Page 14