Queen of Nowhere

by Jaine Fenn

  She said quickly, ‘I owe you an apology.’

  ‘An apology? You mean for running off like that on Eklir?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He shrugged. ‘Well, yeah. Apology accepted. You’ve realised I’m not your enemy after all, then?’

  She nodded tersely . ‘Yes. I was wrong.’

  ‘Would you like to tell me what changed your mind?’

  Bez thought for a moment. ‘No,’ she said. Then added, ‘Not yet, anyway.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ He smiled his irritatingly engaging smile.

  ‘Listen, I - we - wanted you to know how impressed we are. No, impressed isn’t the right word. Amazed.’

  ‘Amazed? By what?’

  ‘Bez, all we’ve ever managed to do is trash a couple of Sidhe ships, and that was essentially self-defence. You took out their entire fucking network! Most of it, anyway.’

  Bez felt the unaccustomed pull of a smile on her face. ‘That was always the intention.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I’d drink to that if I had anything appropriate to hand.’ He made a show of looking around, then focused on her again. ‘But the job isn’t entirely finished, is it? Unless you only summoned us here to apologise.’

  ‘Correct again. But first … first I need to speak to Nual.’

  He looked taken aback. ‘Uh, sure. If you like. I’ll call her up.’

  ‘Wait - I want you to stay as well. While we talk.’

  ‘Whatever you say.’

  He turned and shouted over his shoulder. Bez reminded herself that the Heart of Glass wasn’t a very big ship.

  While he waited for his crewmate, Captain Reen said, ‘Anyway, it’s good to see you again.’

  She nodded, then remembered to say, ‘And you.’

  He stood up and his place was taken by the beautiful creature Bez had last seen asleep in Captain Reen’s comabox. He stood behind her, fuzzily in shot.

  ‘Hello, Bez,’ said the Sidhe.

  Bez stared at the projected figure’s chin and forced herself to respond normally. ‘Hello.’

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I wanted the first time I talk to you to be … like this.’

  Nual gave a faint smile. ‘Because my powers won’t work over a com, you mean.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A reasonable precaution.’

  Bez was also made vulnerable by their chosen method of communication. The Sidhe might have been robbed of her ability to persuade and influence, but Bez was showing herself on an open corns channel, rather than hacking or employing some other deception. The parallel stung.

  Nual said, ‘Did you want to ask me something?’

  Bez had had plenty of time to consider all the questions she might ask this alien, but now only one mattered. ‘Why you?’

  ‘You mean, why did I rebel?’ For a moment Bez wondered if the Sid he was reading her, despite the distance, before deciding that, no, she was just perceptive, able to guess people’s motivations in a way some ordinary humans were.

  ‘Yes. You’re … different, aren’t you? From the other Sidhe, I mean.

  ‘I am. As for exactly how and why, I’m not sure myself. All I know is that as I grew up I grew apart from my sisters, until one day they excluded me. They would have been wiser to kill me, but before they could I made contact with Jarek. He helped me escape.’ Her smile became bitter. ‘I’ve been doing my best to wreak havoc on the rest of my race ever since, although you’ve achieved more than I ever could.’

  ‘That was a compliment,’ said Bez warily. She let her glance dart up to meet Nual’s eyes. They were as mesmeric as she had feared.

  ‘It was a statement of fact.’

  Bez looked away. She had proved she could deal with this atypi-cal Sidhe. That was enough for now. ‘I’d like to speak to Captain Reen again.’

  ‘Of course.’ N ual stood with predictable grace.

  As Captain Reen sat down Bez said, ‘I need to see you in person.’

  ‘Just me?’

  ‘No. All of you.’

  Arnatt arranged for a hardcopy message to be handed to Captain Reen by a customs official, telling him when and where to meet her. He also arranged for the location Bez chose - a public one, in contrast to her previous meetings with the freetrader - to be under surveillance by trusted, armed guards. ‘If the Sidhe tries anything, they’ll shoot her,’ he said succinctly.

  Assuming they got the chance, Bez thought but didn’t say.

  Instead she asked, ‘Will you be around?’ Her feelings for Arnatt were nothing like those she had developed for Imbarin, but she trusted him to support her mission.

  ‘I’m afraid I have business elsewhere. But I’ll keep an open com, and my men won’t let anything untoward happen. Not that I think it will. Reen’s as fanatical about the Sidhe as you, in his own idiosyncratic way.’

  The bar she chose was relatively respectable with a rep for good live music. There was no band tonight but it was pretty full of people getting food or meeting friends for a drink. She arrived early and waited. Captain Reen turned up on time, his two companions walking a few paces behind him. He wore drab spacer’s coveralls, but the other two dressed with more style; in the boy’s case, conspicuously so, though given his height he was never going to be inconspicuous. The Sidhe wore dark glasses, hiding those dangerous eyes.

  Reen paused, waiting for Bez to invite him to sit. After she’d done so, he squeezed in next to her. The other two slid across to the far side, Nual sitting as distant from Bez as possible.

  ‘Order what you like,’ said Bez, who had a beer in front of her.

  They selected from the table menu, Taro taking twice as long as the others. Bez tried not to stare at the Sidhe and to get a grip on the mixed emotions her presence was triggering.

  Once the orders had been placed, Bez engaged the table’s privacy screen. She had chosen this bar because its private booths employed a good range of countermeasures.

  ‘So,’ said Captain Reen, rubbing his hands together distractedly.

  ‘Let’s wait for the drinks.’

  ‘All right.’

  The drinks arrived swiftly so the awkward silence did not last too long. When the server had departed - having brought beer for everyone except the boy Taro, who had ordered some sort of ridiculous cocktail - Bez said, ‘We need to finish the job.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Captain Reen. The others nodded. ‘How can we help?’

  ‘We have to hit ThreeCs.’

  ‘The media corp? They’ve taken a pretty big hit already, haven’t they? They had a lot of Sid he working for them.’

  ‘I’m not talking about their regional offices. We need to go to T ethisyn, their home system.’

  ‘Wasn’t the Sidhe at the corp HQ arrested?’ He looked over at Taro, who blinked carefully. Bez resisted the urge to smile: the boy was still getting used to his headware.

  ‘Er, yeah,’ Taro said after a moment. ‘Woman called Lana Crais.

  She’s currently awaiting trial on a shitload of offences, including ID fraud, wrongful imprisonment and attempted murder.’

  ‘Crais was one of two Sidhe agents at ThreeCs’ head office,’ said Bez. ‘The corp is sufficiently important to them that at anyone time they have someone at the top, with another infiltrator being groomed to take over when she retires. It was all in the Setting Sun data, Captain Reen.’

  ‘That’s Jarek to you, Bez. And I’m afraid we aren’t as familiar with the intel from the Setting Sun as you are.’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’ She had another thought. ‘You didn’t try to get hold of the ship’s original memory-core, did you?’

  ‘No,’ he said, looking confused. ‘Why would I want to do that?’

  ‘No reason. It’s not important anymore.’ He did have a copy of the data, though; she could ask about that later, and restore what the Xantier rebels had taken from her. ‘We need to concentrate on ThreeCs.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Taro, ‘when you was on about me taking someone out last time
we met, was that this other Sidhe in ThreeCs?’

  ‘Yes. The head Sidhe at ThreeCs is probably the most firmly entrenched and powerful representative of her race in human-space.’

  ‘And you want us to kill her?’ Taro sounded eager enough.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If she’s so powerful, ain’t that gonna be tricky?’

  ‘Possibly. I have a few ideas and some inside knowledge. But I’ll need you to get me there. And there’s something else we have to do on Tethysin. Something I have to do, rather.’

  ‘Which is?’ prompted Captain Reen - Jarek.

  ‘Get hold of the data we need in order to finish the Sidhe for ever.

  ‘You’d be the woman for that job,’ said Jarek. ‘So, what you need from us is help getting in, support once you’re inside and for one of us to kill the Sidhe in charge?’

  ‘Precisely. Obviously your previous debts to me would all be discharged with this mission.’

  Jarek made a dismissive gesture. ‘It’s not about money or favours, Bez. It’s … Do you mind ifI discuss this with my crew in private?’

  ‘I guess not.’ Such were the perils of working with others. ‘Did you want to stay here?’ She didn’t like the idea of them going back to their ship and running away now they realised what she intended to do.

  Taro chipped in, saying, ‘I like making decisions where there’s a bar within easy reach.’ Jarek nodded. Nual inclined her head.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ said Bez, and got up.

  She half expected Arnatt to be waiting for her outside, but he wasn’t. She wandered Tarset’s familiar byways, lost in thought.

  Although Jarek owed her, it was not a debt she could force, and the decision had to be one his companions agreed with. They were an odd trio: the trader, the boy-assassin and the renegade Sidhe.

  She wondered if Nual’s opinion carried equal weight in their little band. Probably. However mismatched, they appeared to function as a team.

  Staring unseeing into the window of a workwear emporium, she asked herself whether, if they did refuse to help, she would try to take on ThreeCs herself. The data made it worthwhile, even if she had no chance of killing Markeck. So yes, she would. Somehow.

  The incoming com call was Jarek. All he said was, ‘We’re in.’

  REMILLA

  (Tarset hub)

  The moment she felt the Deva die was the worst moment of Remilla’s life.

  After months hiding out in this alien, godless place, the call had finally come. She had gathered the materials she needed, gone into the ducts, and done the Deva’s bidding.

  The guard had had to die: he opposed Divine Will. She also understood why the Deva had chosen another to accompany her out of her captivity. The unwilling thrall the Deva recruited in the holding cell was unworthy, but she was also expendable. Remilla was more valuable than that.

  She had revelled in the Divine connection the Deva had awoken in her, and in the glorious knowledge that she was rescuing a god-dess from the infidels. Everything before - her repressive childhood in the Community and the sordid years in New Salem - had led up to this.

  Then, suddenly, the Deva was gone.

  At the moment it happened, Remilla was paralleling the Deva’s course as best she could, scrambling through the hidden spaces behind walls and above ceilings. She was not in a position to see anything, but she had heard the fateful shot and felt the sacred connection die.

  If the murdering heathens had found her then, she would have fought back with all her might in the hope they would kill her.

  She had wanted only to die for the Divine and follow the Deva beyond death.

  But no one had known she was there: why would they, when she was in a place too small for these oversized hub-dwellers to reach? After a while, jammed in the corner of a duct, Remilla had come to her senses and fled back to her echoey lair.

  None of those among whom she made her home knew she had been involved in the events on Tarset’s dockside. Not that she lived closely with the other inhabitants of this dark and derelict corner of the station. Most of the time her neighbours ignored her; and the empty, crud-encrusted tank where she slept was accessed only by a pipe, which was a squeeze even for her. When she first started living among Tarset’s hab-rats, the combination of her ‘home defence’ knowledge from the Community and her relative strength in the lower gravity had allowed her to defend herself.

  But she had soon realised there was a better way. She made herself of interest to the most powerful gang leader, initially just for her body - which he took more as a dare than because he wanted her, so she got a beating too - and then for her ability to go places others couldn’t in order to spy on the gang’s rivals and pilfer supplies from ‘citizen country’. The gang viewed her as something between an indulged pet, an occasional runner and a whore oflast resort, but that didn’t matter. She obliged them: in return they made sure she was left in peace.

  She followed up on the incident at the docks as best she could, eavesdropping on locations where such matters were discussed, peering out from her hidden perches to view public newscasts, and listening to local hdb-rat gossip. In the latter case she was careful not to reveal her interest: showing you cared about something was a weakness that could be used against you. She discovered, to her fury, that the thrall recruited by the Deva had survived the incident. Worse than that, the woman was said to be in cahoots with station security. Remilla became certain that this wretched individual had directly contributed to the Deva’s death. She was still perplexed as to why, when the woman and her male companion had first entered the Deva’s cell, the Deva had insisted Remilla attack the man, given he had been the greater threat and therefore the more useful person to enthral. No matter: he had died. But the woman - apparently her name was Kenid Sari - had not.

  Remilla also discovered that she herself was wanted as a result of the incident; they broadcast her rD, which she hadn’t used for months. However, they also put out a description, which was more of a problem given her distinctive appearance. So far, no one had said anything - hab-rats generally enjoyed seeing citizens inconvenienced - but now there was talk of a reward. To be turned in by fickle allies was not the ending she had in mind.

  The news from further afield was bad too. From what she had managed to glean, action was being taken against the Devas - the Sidhe, as unbelievers called them - all across human-space. The Divine spark was being extinguished, a thought which made her want to weep.

  These days, Remilla spent all her free time praying. To come so close to saving a Deva, and then to be betrayed! The resulting desolation was almost enough to sap her will. Almost.

  ILLOGICAL CONVICTION

  ‘You need to see this.’

  Bez blinked away her overlays. At least Captain Reen had commed her rather than just yelling down from the bridge. The curtained walls of her makeshift ‘cabin’ replaced the tiled newscasts - three text, one talking-head - she had been reviewing. She tried to keep the irritation out of her voice when she responded, ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s easier ifI show you.’

  ‘All right.’

  She had noticed a change in the media reports over the eight-day journey to Tethisyn. The possibility that there had been a scattering of Sid he living among humanity for centuries was now being openly discussed. A few - non-ThreeCs-owned - channels were even calling for a ‘Revelation Purge’. But too many of the Enemy remained safely ensconced in their positions.

  Bez pulled back the curtain to see Taro loping across the rec-room towards the galley. He gave Bez a cheery wave, then called over, ‘Wanna caP’

  ‘In a minute,’ she called back. Then added, ‘Thanks.’

  Taro and Nual had been polite if distant during the trip here.

  Nual in particular was careful not to crowd her or initiate conversation. The two Angels had spent most of the journey in their cabin.

  Bez avoided thinking about what went on in there. Those lurid legends of Sidhe sexual
appetites were surely exaggerated. Then again, Nual could just be sleeping off the back-to-back transits.

  She had a clear path across the rec-room, which made a change.

  She knew the crew were trying to curb the chaos that pervaded their ship, but Jarek had the ability to make a space untidy simply by walking into it.

  Up on the bridge, Jarek was hunched over a flatscreen display.

  He straightened as Bez approached. ‘Recognise that?’ he said, pointing to a line of highlighted text.

  ‘Yes,’ said Bez grimly. ‘I do. Are these the ships currently in-system?’ She was used to seeing this sort of data in raw, not-entirely-legal form rather than laid out prettily for people - like freetrader captains - who could legitimately access port records.

  ‘Yep. ,

  Bez blinked to bring up details on the ship he had indicated from her internal storage. The Lambent Spire was a medium-sized tradebird currently hauling an assortment of luxury goods bound for ThreeCs’ top execs but it was captained by a Sidhe. ‘And this is their arrival timestamp?’ she asked, pointing to a set of digits.

  Jarek nodded.

  The ship had been in-system for two days. Looking at the location code, she realised it was on Tethisyn-Alpha right now. She swallowed and said, ‘They’re berthed at Port Viridian.’

  ‘Indeed they are. Do you want to carryon?’

  She stared at Jarek. ‘We can’t abort.’ Then she added, with more confidence than she felt, ‘Viridian’s a big place. It’s not as though they know your ship ID.’

  ‘No, but they know me.’

  ‘You were thinking of staying with the ship anyway, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yes. Now I definitely will. And I won’t be trying to trade.’ The Heart of Glass’s hold was half full of refined metallic components, chilled natural-reared meats and a few cases of fine wines; an odd combination, but the best cargo Jarek had been able to rustle up to provide cover for coming to ThreeCs’ home system.

  ‘Prime,’ said a voice behind them. Bez turned to see Taro hovering - literally - in the hatchway up from the rec-room. ‘Means I finally get a go at yer actual freetrading, don’t it? After all,’ he added, raising the bulbs of caf he held in either hand, ‘reckon I’ve paid me dues as driver and bevie-boy.’