“Nothing,” I say, and even I don’t believe myself.
“Nothing can be something,” she says.
“Exactly my point,” I say, trying to change the subject. “You keep telling me the Draeu don’t want anything, but they clearly want something: treasure. I agreed to take this job, but I need honest answers, and I need them now.”
Maeve stands up. “If it’s answers you want, then follow me.”
That was easy, I think.
“Yes, it was,” Mimi adds. “Too easy.”
“Is she lying?” I ask.
“The standard disclaimer always applies.”
I have no choice but to follow Maeve. With the hem of her robe leaving a thin trail in the dust, she leads me up to the arcade. At the corner she presses on a panel, which slides open, revealing a hallway I hadn’t discovered yet. The hall leads to a room, and inside is a single table made of wood, two matching chairs, and a glass lamp. The walls are covered with shelves and the shelves are filled with books. Books made of paper and bound together.
“A library,” I remark. “I’ve only seen one at battle school.”
Maeve takes a seat and motions for me to do the same. “It belonged to my family. Books were more precious to us than food. Each of us brought them with us when we immigrated.”
“Immigrated?”
“I was born on Earth,” she says. “My family left Boston after the plague caused the fall of the United Corporations of America. My father said that it was our chance at a new life, but I knew it was a life sentence. Argued with him the whole time he sold off most of our belongings and left us with nothing but the clothes on our backs. He kept saying that the Orthocracy would take care of us. But even at seventeen, I knew that wasn’t true.” She pauses. “Seventeen. That’s the age you and Áine are now, if you count in Earth years. Tch. Children grow up so much faster on Mars. Live less long, too. Not such a bad thing, I think.”
“You were going to give me answers.”
She spreads her arms wide and sweeps past the shelves. “Treasure you sought. Treasure you’ve found.”
“A library?” Somehow I doubt that the Draeu are interested in books. They don’t eat paper. “It’s precious to you, maybe, but it’s not treasure.”
“Define treasure.”
“Coin. Precious metals. Things so rare or in demand they have value.”
“Guanite.”
My brow wrinkles. Why is she cursing me? “I’m not following you.”
“Once upon a time,” Maeve says, “guanite was the most useful resource on Mars. Not valuable, but useful. The Phase Two engineers decided that polluting the planet was the fastest way to build up an atmosphere, so they built mining outposts all over the southern lands. The Fishers were the biggest, and Fisher Four was the grandest of all. An underground wonder, it was. You’ve seen the ruins. The Cross is all that’s left, now, but before, ah, I’ve seen the digigraphs. This was before the Orthocracy tried to lay Fisher Four to waste because the miners wouldn’t leave when the Manchesters and the ovens shut down. Now all we’ve got left is a few crumbling buildings and a million kilometers of empty tunnels to call home. We’re like the guanite. Once treasure, now useless.”
I rub my head. “So what you’re trying to tell me is that you have no treasure.”
“No,” she says, rising to her feet. “What I mean is that if the Draeu think we have treasure, it doesn’t matter whether we do or not. All that matters is that they are willing to do anything to get it, and that makes your job that much harder.”
“A more cynical man would say impossible.”
“Then it’s a good thing you are not a cynic.” She gestures toward the door. “May I show you out?”
As we’re leaving, Maeve locking the door behind us, Mimi chimes in, “Did you believe her story?”
“Not a word of it,” I say.
“That’s good, cowboy. Because according to her heart rate and breathing patterns, she—”
“Was lying?”
“Through her rust-stained teeth.”
CHAPTER 24
Hell’s Cross, Outpost Fisher Four
ANNOS MARTIS 238. 4. 0. 00:00
The queen sits on her throne looking down on Kuhru. The miserable worm, he has failed again. Such a disappointment. When she took the Draeu in hand, she thought he would be the valiant, true warrior she could hold up as an example. His battle school record was stellar—freakish physical skills with an aptitude for sharpshooting and a thirsty ambition.
That’s probably where I failed, she thinks. I mistook ambition for intelligence and intelligence for the ability to follow simple, straightforward orders.
“What possessed you,” she says, pulling the dagger from her sleeve, “to attack Bramimonde? Your order was plain. Threaten her. Remind her that we were watching her every move. Remind her of the fate that awaits her if she dares to betray us. At what point did I tell you to chase her across the tundra like a pack of wild jackals?”
“The old woman slapped me, my queen,” he says, bowing, but looking at her through fierce eyes. “It’s was an insult. I had to save face before the Draeu.”
“Your little feelings got hurt, so you almost killed my spy?”
“That was not my intention.”
“And that bullet hole in your temple?” she says, tittering. “Did you mean to get shot or was that not something you intended, either?”
Absentmindedly, he touches his forehead. “No, my queen. I meant to kill the Regulators.”
“The Regulators are nothing!” She takes the dagger, slides it into his cheek, and pulls. The razor edge of the blade slits the skin, and his mouth flaps open, blood pouring onto the floor as he groans and cups his hands beneath his chin. “Bring me Postule. And clean up that mess.”
CHAPTER 25
Hell’s Cross, Outpost Fisher Four
ANNOS MARTIS 238. 4. 0. 00:00
An alarm sounds. A moment later Áine appears at the door. She beckons for the old woman to follow her in. “It’s the Draeu,” she says. “They want to confab.”
“With me?” I ask.
“With Maeve,” Áine says. “Nobody else.”
We all jog to the Cross, where Vienne is directing the miners to take their positions on the redoubt. As my Regulators wait for orders, Maeve looks to me. I can read the question in her eyes: What should we do?
No choice here. I tell her to meet with the Draeu. “You do the talking. We’ll provide a show of force.”
“Should you be letting the animals know you’re here?”
“Too late for that,” I say. “They already know you’ve got Regulators on board. They just don’t know how many. Let’s not let them find out.”
“What about me and my children? I have no desire to meet with that filth,” Dame Bramimonde calls out to me. She is standing with Ebi near the exit that leads to the Zhao Zhou Bridge. So much for needing a rest, no?
I look to Maeve. “Can you hide them?”
“Mother can hide,” Ebi says, and pulls her armalite. “I will go with you.”
“Guess that settles the question,” I say. “You can join us, but you have to follow my orders.”
“Yes, chief.”
“The most important of which is to stick with Vienne and do only what she tells you to. Got that?”
“Yes, chief.”
“You say that, but it’s only fair to warn you that Vienne breaks bones when folk don’t do what she says.” I give the order to go and we all began to file out, except for Jenkins, who remains on near the exit, unmoving.
I elbow Jenkins as I pass. “Snap to it, Regulator.”
“But—but where is everybody going?” He reluctantly pulls his armalite. “I heard the word treasure. I thought there’d be treasure.”
“Sorry, Jenkins,” I say. “No treasure this time. Just one old lady fussbucket.”
“How about we just feed the fussbucket to the Draeu?” Fuse says as we move down the stairs to the path that leads to the
Zhao Zhou Bridge
“Right. It would solve two problems. Get rid of her and poison the Draeu that ate her.” Fuse laughs.
But I don’t feel like joining in on the joke. There’s something wrong here. Back in New Eden, Dame Bramimonde didn’t give a rip about her son’s life. She wanted to leave him with the kidnappers, so why would she travel to the end of the world to rescue him?
I don’t believe her story about Ebi wanting to rescue her brother, either. The girl may love her brother as dearly as she says, but I doubt seriously that she holds that much sway over her mother. There has to be another reason.
“Chief?” Vienne points to a phalanx of Draeu crossing the Zhao Zhou Bridge. They carry a white banner tied to the barrel tip of a rifle.
In formation, we move forward to meet them. Maeve walks a meter ahead of us. Áine is directly behind her, and I’m after her. A few meters ahead, a man steps out from the phalanx and walks toward us. He wears long, flowing robes. His head is shaven, and his Buddaesque belly precedes him. He could pass for a monk if not for the sidearm holstered to his waist on a black leather belt that creaks when he walks. When he’s close enough, I can smell perfume oils, sweat, and underneath it, the uniquely spicy odor of Rapture. It’s in his pores, on his breath, and in his ruddy face like a perpetual blush.
“You!” Ebi shouts at the man.
“Him?” Vienne asks me. “Chief, what is going on here?”
“I have the same question,” I say.
Fuse turns back to me. “Who is that man?”
“His name is Postule. He specializes in kidnapping children and squealing like a stuck pig. Used to work for Dame Bramimonde—”
A high-pitched scream fills the hall. Jean-Paul rushes out from nowhere, wielding a miner’s wrench like a club. “I’ll kill you, Postule!”
“—then he kidnapped her children and tried to ransom them.”
Before we can make a grab for him, the boy races past us. Jumps onto the wall. Moving faster than a neutron particle. Ebi starts to follow, but Vienne snags her by the wrist and pulls her back into ranks.
“Wait for orders. Chief?” she says, asking if we should do anything about the boy.
“Let him go,” I say. There’s nothing we can do about him, anyway, unless we want to start a firefight.
Jean-Paul covers the distance quickly. Then takes one final leap and raises the wrench high. Postule lifts his arms to cover his face, and the boy takes the chance to land a thumping blow to the fat man’s belly.
The wallop knocks Postule backward, but as the boy is raising the wrench to attack again, one of the Draeu grabs the weapon and lifts Jean-Paul into the air. He continues to fight and scratch, using his heels to draw blood on the Draeu’s shins.
“What happened to the children that Postule kidnapped?” Fuse says.
“We rescued them.”
Fuse smirks. “But the kidnapper got away, no?”
“Affirmative. He beat me in a footrace.”
“Tch! Thought you were lighter on your feet than that, chief. The fossicker’s just a couple biscuits short of a half kilo.”
“Fuse?”
“Yeah?”
“I was having a laugh.”
“Oy!” he says. “Give a jack a hint or summit, if you’re going to give his nose a yank, no? Thought you were serious, what with them Draeu but a few meters off.”
“And now,” I continue, “Postule is apparently working for the Draeu.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t eat him,” Fuse says. “He’s fat enough to feed their lot for a fortnight.”
“I’m sure he’s useful in some ways,” I say. “Or they realized he’d taste like guanite.”
Fuse laughs. “See, chief. That time, I knew what you was up to, and it tickled the funny. See what happens when you soften up the audience.”
“Call off your dog,” Postule yells. “This is a diplomatic visit.”
“Acolyte,” I call to the boy. “Stand down.”
Instantly Jean-Paul stops fighting. His body goes rigid, and the Draeu has trouble holding his dead weight off the ground.
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Postule barks at his escorts. “Let him go.”
A line of drool run from the Draeu’s mouth and down his neck, but he reluctantly obeys. Jean-Paul sprints back to us. “Master, my first skirmish!”
Maeve steps forward to meet Postule. “We see your flag, so you’ve got protection as long as you raise no weapon. What is it you want?”
Postule offers a practiced bow. “The queen of the Draeu wishes to negotiate terms.”
“What terms would that be?” Maeve says warily.
“Terms of your surrender.”
The miners laugh, and Maeve cocks her head. “I’ll humor you. What are the terms?”
“Simple. Turn over the treasure, and she’ll only kill the Regulators. You may keep your children.”
The old lady laughs again. “Treasure? We’ve not got enough food to eat, and you’ve come here asking for treasure. You’re mad.”
Postule blanches. Behind him, the Draeu are growing restless. Standing at attention obviously isn’t their nature, and I can tell that their hinky mood worries the fat man. How did they travel here, I wonder. Postule is too fat to walk far. That means that their camp has to be close by.
“Don’t play games with me, ruster,” Postule says.
“Speaking of games,” I say, “how’d you come to work for the Draeu, Postule? Last time we looked, you were spread-eagled begging for your life.”
“The last time you saw me,” he sneers, “I was escaping from a piddle-poor excuse for a Regulator. I wondered when you would open your mouth, dalit.”
Vienne cocks her armalite.
“Is that a threat?” Postule says. “Just for that, I’m going to ask the queen to kill you myself.”
“Ask away,” Vienne says.
“You didn’t answer the question,” I say. “How’d a high-class kidnapper like you end up with the Draeu? Or is it all thieving to you?”
The fat man puffs up. “I have always worked for the Draeu. Did you think they’re just a bunch of wild animals living the end of the wilderness? There is more to the Draeu than you ever thought of, dalit. But let’s consider your situation: a thousand kilometers from civilization. No food, no water, no communication. Only a few Regulators and a handful of malnourished miners against a ravenous horde. Who would be stupid enough to accept a job like that?”
“Here.” Ebi tosses a ring to Postule, who cups it in his puffy hands. “You want treasure to leave these people alone, take this and go.”
Postule sizes up the ring. It’s yellow gold with a four blue diamond setting. Since there’s no gold mined on Mars and the metal is embargoed, the ring is obviously imported from Earth. It is, I think to myself, worth a fortune.
“That ring will bring enough on the black market for a long retirement,” Ebi says.
Or several years’ worth of easy prison time for my imprisoned father. What would it be like to have so much that I could toss a fortune into the air like it’s nothing? Even when Father was a CEO, we never had that much coin. Ebi is a very different kind of Regulator from me.
“You’re very different kind of Regulator, too,” Mimi says.
“Not so different. Maybe from Fuse and Jenkins, but not from Vienne.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Of course,” I think, watching Postule.
He examines the stone in the light. “Very pretty, missy.” He pockets it. “But it’s not the treasure. Is it, miners? You know what my queen is looking for.”
“Give me back the ring if you are not going to leave!” Ebi shouts.
Postule laughs and pushes her away. “You can ask the queen for it.”
“Thief!”
“Stupid, spoiled brat.”
Furious, Ebi lifts her armalite. Only a quick swat from Vienne keeps her from putting a slug into Postule’s gut.
This is getting us nowhere. I walk straight u
p to Postule. “You’ve wasted your breath and our time. There’s no treasure here, just megatons of guanite and a whole lot of Regulator bullets. Which is what you’re going to find between those beady black eyes of yours next time you show your face in Hell’s Cross.”
Behind Postule, the Draeu start laughing.
“Shut up!” Postule screams at the Draeu, then turns back to Maeve. “Ruster, you had your opportunity. The queen offered you good terms, and you spit in her face. Personally, I knew you were too stupid to do anything but lie. There is treasure here, and the Draeu will find it. Makes no difference to her how long it takes or how much flesh she’s got to flail to get it.”
“You’ve got five seconds to get off our land.” Maeve spits in his face.
“Witch!” Postule backhands her. As she falls, he draws back his hand to deliver another blow. Vienne snaps her armalite out and blows a hole through his meaty palm.
“My hand! She shot me!”
“Nice aim,” I tell Vienne. Then I point to the opposite side of the bridge. “Go! Before my Regulators fill you full of chigoe holes.”
On cue, the Regulators bring their weapons to bear. The Draeu, realizing that it isn’t an idle threat, grab Postule by the shoulders and steer him away. He stumbles, holding the bloodied hand against his chest.
“My hand, my hand, my hand.”
They kick his rear end to keep him moving. One Draeu covers their retreat, lobbing a smoke grenade for cover. When they reach the safety of the other side of the bridge, he roars out of frustration and fires off a few rounds of plasma into the billowing smoke. The shots carry a hundred meters, then drop impotently into the chasm below.
“So much for negotiations,” I say a minute later, when the Draeu have gone. “Let’s get back to the Cross, we’ve got—”
“Chief,” Ebi calls. “Jean-Paul. I cannot find him anywhere.”
“He was just here,” I say as we all start to look around for him. “Mimi, locate Jean-Paul’s biorhythm signature.”
“Negative,” she responds. “No biorhythms can be located within a half-kilometer radius.”
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