by Jaine Fenn
THAT SPACE IN MY HEAD
Jarek was pondering the relationship between friendship and respect.
He had immense respect for Bez. She was a genius, and had devoted her life to the cause they shared. But she was not someone he considered a friend. She was too distant, too asocial. In some ways she reminded him of the Consorts. She had the same other-worldly outlook, the same obsessive interest in matters normal mortals failed to see the significance of. He didn’t dislike her. He just didn’t want to be trapped in a confined space with her for any longer than necessary.
Having said that, she’d changed since the last time they met.
There was a fragility, a humanity about her that hadn’t been there before. As a result, the journey to Tethisyn had been less stressful than expected.
He wondered if the mellowing of her character was related to the allies she had mentioned. She had let slip that she had a contact on Tarset who was helping her. Apparently he had provided a haven she considered safe - no mean feat - and had even taken part in ongoing operations against the Sidhe. Exactly what part, she refused to say. But Jarek had his suspicions about Bez’s new-found friend. A powerful man who knew all about the Sidhe: that sounded awfully familiar. Not that he’d say anything to her until and unless he had enough information to be sure-His com chimed. The caller was listed as a Frex Drelle, company name Bluewater Imports.
Jarek was torn: he was meant to be lying low, but he had already revealed that the Heart of Glass had someone on board besides its nominal owner when he’d corrected Taro’s attempts to list their cargo as open commodities - not something you did on a corporate world unless you wanted to be ripped off. And the quicker they sold their trade goods, the sooner they could make a speedy and inconspicuous exit.
Jarek answered. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Good evening. Who am I speaking to, please?’
‘Am ad Kelsor.’ That was the name of a fictitious business partner briefly associated with the Heart of Glass; he doubted this trader would have the inclination or means to check his story.
‘Well, Sirrah Kelsor, I’m interested in some of your cargo, specifically the meat and wine.’
‘Both rare items here, I understand,’ said Jarek, falling back into freetrader banter.
‘There’s always a market for such goods, yes.’
‘Given you’ve gone to the effort of contacting me outside normal office hours, I’d say quite a lively market.’ Jarek had already done a quick survey, and he’d been pleasantly surprised by the kind of prices being quoted for the ‘luxury’ part of his cargo.
‘I prefer to discuss specifics in person. Could we maybe meet up for an informal chat?’
That wasn’t an unusual request; such business was often conducted face-to-face, where the parties involved could assess each other as they bargained. ‘Normally I’d agree but I’m not currently in a position to leave the ship.’
‘Is there another member of your outfit there, someone else who could meet me?’
‘Unfortunately, that’s not convenient just now. Perhaps if you come back first thing in the morning?’
‘I’ll be frank, Sirrah Kelsor: there is a lot of interest in your cargo, especially the meat. It’s been a while since anyone brought in any plains-reared fleshstock.’
‘Which is why I decided to ship some.’
‘And given you don’t have much to sell, no doubt you will be holding out for the best deal. That’s why I wanted to make contact with you promptly. I would be happy to buy you dinner while we discuss what I can offer you.’
‘Thank you, but as I say, I need to stay here.’
‘Then perhaps I might visit you on your ship. I could bring some bluefin sashimi and weed wine: not as rich as the fare we would be bargaining for, but a token of Tethisyn hospitality.’
The man was certainly persistent. To refuse would be suspicious, and Jarek’s experience and instinct said this was a genuine offer. ‘All right. Just give me a while to get a few things sorted here.’
‘W ould an hour be enough?’
‘That’ll be fine.’ An hour would be long enough to take precautions - hopefully unnecessary ones.
Even as the word left Taro’s lips, Bez was already diving from her chair. A shot zinged overhead.
She landed behind the desk. With something solid between her and the Sidhe, she risked a glance to the side. There it was: the door to the executive gym suite that lifestyle holo had mentioned.
And it was ajar. She smiled.
The smile died when she saw what Taro was doing. He stood, swaying on his feet, staring out into the room with a glazed expression. As Bez watched he turned - awkwardly, slowly, inevitably - towards her hiding place.
TargetZero was going to use the Angel to kill her. She had to get to that door. But everything was moving too slowly, her body lagging behind her will.
Taro lurched towards her in a jittery shuffle, jerking his gun up as he moved. He was blinking rapidly, his face shiny with sweat.
She was going to die like Imbarin had, only knowing what had happened. In some ways that was worse.
Her world narrowed to the barrel of the weapon pointing at her. Behind it, barely in focus, Taro was trying to speak, his mouth working in comical exaggeration. Finally, he rasped out one word: ‘Run!’
Then, like a spring released, he pivoted round to fire at Markeck.
Bez didn’t wait to see if he hit her. She bolted through the door.
The room beyond was unlit and filled with odd shapes, presumably gym equipment. She avoided the large treadmill but failed to see a loop on the floor, which caught her foot and almost tripped her. While she was still trying to get control of her adrenalin-wobbly legs, someone grabbed her arm and a familiar voice said, a little breathlessly, ‘Wanna try that “Run” thing again?’
She nodded and let Taro half drag, half guide her through the room of shadowy obstacles. She dialled up her visual acuity; the confidence with which Taro was moving implied he could already see in the dark.
The darkness suddenly diminished; someone had opened the door to the office. Bez tensed, ready to sprint for it, but Taro hissed, ‘Here!’ and pulled her down behind a rowing machine.
She wanted to obey his first suggestion, and keep running.
‘There’s three of them, but I reckon I got one,’ he whispered. ‘I think Markeck’s sent in the other guard an’ gone round to flank us.
Bez called up the apartment layout. The boy was right: if the Sidhe went back out into the corridor and along towards the kitchen, she could get between them and the front door. ‘So what now?’
‘I sneak back towards the guard. You stay here, then when I com you, run across an’ hide behind that thing with the pedals.
Make as much noise as you want.’
‘You want me to be your decoy?’
‘Got a better idea?’
She didn’t. ‘All right.’
He slid away, melting silently into the gloom. She concentrated on trying to breathe as quietly as she could.
‘Now.’
At Taro’s relayed whisper Bez forced her rubbery legs to move, stumbling across to the piece of gym equipment he’d indicated.
She tried to shout but only managed a sort of strangled squeak.
The hiss of a silenced shot came from across the room. Then Taro’s murmur in her ear: ‘Got the fucker.’
The lights came on.
Bez ran back towards the office. Somewhere in the back of her mind was the thought that although Markeck might believe she was cutting them off by getting between them and the apartment door, she wasn’t, because they hadn’t come in that way.
Taro was crouched over a body sprawled in the doorway. There was no blood.
He handed her a small, compact gun, then pulled his cloak back round himself and stood up. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.
Bez took the weapon. It was a dartgun, probably only firing tranq: easier to procure than lethal weaponry, and ideal if you wanted t
o capture someone alive and question them.
The office was empty, save for Taro’s two original victims.
‘Shit,’ breathed the Angel, ‘must’ve missed that first bastard.’
So: one guard and one Sid he to go. ‘What’s your plan?’ hissed Bez as they ran out into the corridor.
‘Stay out of Markeck’s way until reinforcements arrive,’ Taro said grimly.
‘But you resisted her!’ Now she considered Taro’s actions, Bez was amazed: she would never forget how utterly the Sidhe on Tarset had subjugated her.
‘Yeah, well, that space in my head’s already taken, ain’t it?’
Bez supposed it was.
Taro continued, ‘What d’you reckon: bedroom or through the diner?’
‘Back the way we came.’ Not that she could escape that way: it had taken two Angels to fly her here. But it beat running towards the Sidhe.
They ran through the dining room and into the lounge. Taro hesitated, looking towards the door to the kitchen; Bez carried on, towards the balcony. ‘Bez, wait! You know I can’t carry you!’
Her options had narrowed: die, or kill. Try to kill, anyway. No choice, really, not with TargetZero. ‘We can set an ambush on the balcony. She’ll know we’re here, but the blinds’ll hide us visually so she’ll have to come out to get us.’
Taro thought for a moment then said, ‘Right you are.’
Bez stepped over the glass; Taro followed close behind. Once out on the balcony she broke left; he went to the right.
‘You stay there, close up against the window,’ said Taro, moving towards the balcony rail.
‘Wait-‘ He was going to fly off. Not that she blamed him.
‘I ain’t leaving.’ He gave a low chuckle. ‘J arek’ll have my balls if! come back without you. Nah, we just need to set up a crossfire: you’re on the inside, I’m on the outside.’
‘Of course. Sorry.’
Bez raised her weapon. She was shaking so much that, small though the gun was, she had to use both hands to steady it.
A figure burst through the door. Bez fired, pressing the trigger convulsively, once, twice, three times. She had no idea if she hit anything. The figure faltered, slammed into the balcony rail, then bounced off, falling towards the hazy space where Bez had last seen Taro. She heard a soft impact, saw vague movement.
Someone else came through, moving with far more control. Bez knew who it was even before Markeck turned and focused on her.
Bez squeezed the trigger but her aim was wild and the shot went wide. Then the Sidhe’s will reached out to her: Bez reacted to the instant compulsion to drop her gun but the connection was fleeting. She backed away, looking around frantically at everything except her Nemesis.
On the far side of Markeck she glimpsed a pair of indistinct figures struggling on the floor. Bez was sure the Angel could beat Markeck’s guard, but by then it would be too late. It would only take a moment for the Enemy to ensnare her.
Now her choices had changed: be dominated, or flee. No choice, really, even though there was only one place left to run.
The balcony’s railings were ornamental as well as functional, constructed of the organic curlicues Bez always associated with Tethisyn-Alpha architecture. Markeck reached for her, but she was already leaping for the railing, propelled by a fear greater than that of death. Her left foot lodged in an ersatz metal frond halfway up the barrier. She grabbed the top of the railings with her left hand, right arm flailing.
The Sidhe advanced. Her face, mercifully, was in shadow. In a voice of silk and honey she said, ‘We can discuss this rationally, you know.’
For a fraction of an instant Bez almost acknowledged the sense of the Sidhe’s words. Then in her mind’s eye she saw Imbarin, falling.
She threw herself off the balcony.
Her left foot caught, and she pivoted as she fell. Something in her leg went crack, even as that same leg was brushed by a fleeting, glorious touch. Not enough to hold her. Not enough to stop her.
I'll die free.
The thought had barely begun to form before someone grabbed her. Markeck! She tried to fight her off, then realised she was mistaken and relaxed. She was still falling, albeit more slowly. More slowly because …
Everything jumped into perspective.
It was Taro. He was trying to save her, the foolish boy!
In his efforts to slow their descent, he had got underneath her.
She found herself facing upwards, looking at the distant figure leaning over the balcony. Abruptly Markeck’s head disappeared.
A moment later something warm and wet spattered Bez’s face.
She was too busy being terrified to work out what had just happened. They were still falling, faster all the time. She wondered vaguely how fast: perhaps she could calculate the impact speed before they hit? No, she knew the approximate height and local gravity, but not the extent to which Taro had slowed her fall. Not enough, if the way the walls were rushing past was anything to go by. Would the boy let go in time to save himself?
His grasp tightened. Apparently not.
But that wasn’t Taro. She felt the other presence, another body supporting her, wrapping itself - herself - around her. The rush of scenery began to slow.
The screaming wind abated as they decelerated. She could hear the Angels’ harsh breaths in her ears.
Individual features sprang into focus: signs, windows, external lights. They were almost at street level. She closed her eyes.
The landing sent spikes of agony through her leg. She tottered and fell backwards. She gasped, winded, then opened her eyes wide to the vision of shining crystal towers stretching up into a purple-black sky.
IMPRESSIVE CARNAGE
Bez decided to stay where she was for now. When Taro bent over and asked if she was all right, she waved him away.
Nual came into view, crouching down beside her. ‘We need to go back for the data.’
Ah yes, the data. ‘But the Sidhe’ -,
‘She’s dead.’
Bez remembered the soft, warm rain. She sat up abruptly and began scrubbing at her face.
Nual continued, ‘Can you stand? Your knee- ‘
‘My knee?’ She lowered her hands then made the mistake of looking down. ‘Oh.’
‘You’re in shock, so you aren’t feeling it yet. We don’t have a med-kit and although I could solve the problem myself’ - Her gaze flicked to Taro - ‘that is not an ideal solution.’
Bez raised her gaze and wiped her hands firmly down her flanks. ‘There’ll be medicines in the apartment,’ she said.
‘Good idea. Here, let us help you.’
Bez didn’t object. They had to complete the mission. She did ask, as Nual and Taro were getting into position ready to carry her, how come Nual had failed to spot Markeck was still in the apartment.
‘She hid her presence, and that of her close bodyguards,’ said Nual. Then she smiled nastily, ‘I did the same, just before I killed her.’
‘So she suspected a trap and set her own?’
‘Precisely. It appears we underestimated her paranoia.’
By the time the Angels had flown back up to the apartment, Bez’s knee had started to send out tendrils of pain. They landed carefully. There was no avoiding Nual’s handiwork. Markeck’s body lay sprawled across the balcony. Her head was missing.
Blood, tissue and bone fragments were spattered in a wide radius around where it had once been, including up the walls and across the glass door. Apparently the x-laser’s reputation for being able to literally blow a person’s head off was no exaggeration.
Bez could put off her physical reaction no longer. Taro held onto her while she threw up. Ifhe objected to getting vomit on his boots he didn’t say. After all, they both had worse on them already.
Once she had retched herself dry, the Angels picked her up and flew her over the impressive carnage on the balcony, then through the apartment to the office. When they reached it, the scene inside looked almost tame in comp
arison.
‘I’ll go and find something for your leg,’ said N ual after they had lowered her into the office chair. Taro stayed; he didn’t need to, and Bez had work to do, but she found herself unexpectedly glad ofthe company. Before she turned her attention back to Markeck’s deskcomp she asked, ‘Out on the balcony, after I jumped: why didn’t you just go for TargetZero? She couldn’t control you, and you had the weaponry to take her out.’
‘Because then you’d have fallen and died,’ he said.
Bez nodded, as though it really were that simple, and turned back to Markeck’s compo When her more measured attempts still weren’t getting anywhere, she wondered about the Sidhe’s slate.
She probably still had it with her, and it might have less security on it. She was about to ask Taro ifhe minded searching Markeck’s body when Nual returned with a small box. ‘It’s an all-purpose trauma splint,’ she explained.
‘With painkillers?’ Bone-scraping agony was a distraction she couldn’t afford.
‘Yes.’ Nual crouched down beside her. Bez winced as the Angel pulled away the shreds of torn fabric from her knee. The act of easing the flaccid split kit around her leg set off whole new cascades of pain. ‘Sorry,’ said Nual, ‘I need to position this correctly.’
‘Just … hurry up, please.’
‘Right, I’m done. Are you ready for me to pull the tab?’
‘Oh yes.’
For a moment the agony spiked, as the splint inflated and pressed on her shattered kneecap. Then her whole leg went cold and wonderfully numb.
‘Are you getting anywhere with the comp?’
Bez focused on Nual. ‘Actually, no.’
‘Ah.’
‘What do you mean, “Ah”?’
‘I know this is usually your area, but do you mind if I have a look?’
‘If you like.’ Bez eased her chair back, careful of her splinted leg.
Nual leaned over and tapped a couple of keys. A menu screen came up.
‘What did you do?’ she asked.
‘Touched it. I’ve seen this before: some Sidhe genelock their tech.’
‘Genelock?’ Bez had heard of such measures, but genelocking was tricky, expensive and, in many systems, illegal. Also, it tended to be for a given individual. ‘How come you can access it?’