by T. F. Grant
“So you saw some unidentified kronacs carrying some sealed sacks that look like the sacks that Haggard found the books in,” Bookworm said. “Unique, are they? These sacks?”
“No,” Haggard said. “They’re very common on Haven.”
“So you have nothing that ties us to the books, then,” Bookworm said. He was twitching again. Sara willed him to maintain his equilibrium. Because there was only one way this could end.
“We know it was you,” Sweet-Sap said. “Who else could it be?”
“And you call that proof?” Sara spoke for the first time. She had to. Bookworm was not capable of doing what was needed. He was going against the grain of his personality. His love of books, of reading. She would deal with him later, the crazy idiot. “You created the laws of this station”—she deliberately used the words she had heard Sweet-Sap use in the secret subvocal language of the Drifts—“and you must abide by them or it will be anarchy.”
“Be very careful, Sara Lorelle,” Sweet-Sap said.
“Oh, I know,” Sara replied. “I should be very careful on a station infested with a freaking space dragon that eats minds and flesh and creates zombie guards. On a station where gen-modded vuls hunt in screeching packs. On a station where deals and avarice are the only arbiters of the law. On a station where that law is nothing but the plaything of immortal plants without the common decency to abide by their own rulings.”
“Gen-modded vuls?” Haggard snapped. “Where?”
“In the dark levels,” Tooize whistled. “I thought you knew. You said you had found a corpse.”
“It looked rather large, but there wasn’t much of it left.” Haggard’s shoulders slumped. “The Blackmarks?”
“Probably,” Tai said. “Biggest damn things I ever saw, and fast, and very freaking hard to kill.”
“Yeah.” Haggard shook his head. “You can go.”
“Go?” Sharp-Thorn snapped.
“There is nothing except the circumstantial evidence of the gun cases and the dubious evidence of this”—he gestured at Aleatra—“person. You have the books, Drift, what more do you want?”
Silence, but only for a moment.
Bookworm exploded. “Wait a frecking second,” he snarled. “What do you mean ‘they have the books’? Those are my frecking books, you jumped-up tin-pot piece of shit.”
Tai rubbed a hand over his eyes. “And it was all going so well.”
“He admits it,” Sharp-Thorn exulted.
Haggard’s mouth opened and closed in disbelief.
“He admits it,” the Drift repeated.
“Yeah, I… I know,” Haggard said. He lifted his hands. “Why?”
Bookworm realized what he had done. He shuffled his feet, glanced at Tai, and looked away.
“Because he’s freaking crazy,” Sara said. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He pleads insanity, insecurity, and blind frecking stupidity.”
“Are they your books?” Sweet-Sap asked gently. “If they are, we can make a deal.”
Bookworm said, “Yes,” before Tai or Sara had a chance to yell, “No!”
***
Kina knew she had to reach Miriam before they spaced her son. Before they threw him out an airlock without a spacesuit to die and bounce around Haven as a frozen corpse until some scavenger went out there, picked him up, and delivered his flesh to the reclamation decks.
Tai had been caught in a crime beyond any ever seen on the station before. What the hell had he been thinking? How did he ever think he could hide that many books? Paper, information, data—things the Drifts craved above all else.
She had to get to Miriam. The Red Cauder could get a stay of execution; then Kina and the others could work out a way to save Tai. Would Sara help? She must. It was Tai.
Five guards in red leather protected the door to the elevator. Kina allowed them to take her weapons and frisk her. A female guard did this, because Miriam didn’t like to let men cop a feel in the name of her security. She had standards, did Miriam. She might run whores, but they were people who had chosen that life and were protected and given health care. She might run fences and thieves, but she did not break deals or skim credits just because she could. She might have someone killed, but that was just business, and she generally didn’t elongate the pain of that death.
Unless an example needed to be made. Then Hela was unleashed.
The Cauder gang had been just like the Blackmarks and the Iron Council before Miriam assassinated her way to the top. But once she was there, she made it a place where deals were kept and honor among thieves had an actual meaning.
She would not let Tai die.
She couldn’t.
“Why, Kina,” Miriam drawled when she was brought into the Red Cauder’s presence, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”
Kina delivered the news and hoped she had found Miriam on a good day.
***
Sara looked down at the stasis pod—one of the fifty-three that had been recovered by the Markesians. Those damned creatures. She shuddered at the thought of them. Tai had been led away in chains. Bookworm had left with the Drifts, to no doubt caress his damn books and hug himself to sleep.
What an idiot. They had been home free. Nobody could prove the books were his. All the evidence pointed to him and Tai, everybody knew they were responsible, but nobody could prove anything—until he opened his mouth.
Not his fault, Sara realized. Books and reading were the only things that had kept him sane in the twisted world of Crown Central, where freedom was tyranny, truths were lies, and everybody kept their mouths shut and their minds empty for fear of what the pacifiers would do.
Aleatra stepped forward out of the shadows. “Open the pod, traitor, and let us see if the person inside will join your little rebellion or return to the bosom of the republic.”
Tooize stood beside her, massive and unflinching, but Sara wished Kina were here. Kina had taken Sara to the healer, then rushed off to help Tai. Which was what she should do. She would not be Kina if she did not. Still, Sara wished for her presence when they returned these poor people to wakefulness in a place as upside-down as Haven.
“Open it, Sara,” Margo said. “I am here. We”—she gestured to Murlowe—“are here. Open it, and let them breathe again.”
“Breathe free air,” Murlowe said, his voice quiet.
Aleatra gave him a sharp glance.
“They are your people,” Chitaan said.
“You can leave now,” Sara snapped. “You will only frighten them with your presence, Markesian.”
“He stays,” Aleatra said. “He is their savior.”
“Is that what you call it?” Sara replied. How she wished that Bookworm were here. His cynical edge would slice Aleatra’s lies apart.
What if the people in the pods all joined Aleatra? What then? What would she do alone and unprotected?
She wished Kina was here.
Even Telo was gone. Sweet-Sap had said that the Drifts might be able to reawaken him. He had given Sara a chit with the deal etched in glowing green enzymes. Telo was a sentient being. He was in Sara’s keeping. She was his guardian. The Drifts were merely acting as doctors, as midwives, to bring him back to life again. The chit was signed by Old-Leaf.
She trusted Old-Leaf. She trusted Sivither. She trusted Tooize and Bookworm and—God help her—even Tai, if trust could be defined by wary respect.
But she wanted Kina to be here, now, when she did something as irrevocable as opening the stasis pods.
What would the people inside decide?
Sara knelt beside the pod. The protocols to open it were simple, and she had done it many times in the past. Her fingers moved across the keys. The pod hissed, drawing in air from the outside, warming under her touch.
She leaned back on her heels and waited, the ache of the loss of so many others in the Markesian attack uppermost in her mind. Something to cling to, to give her the edge she would need when the eyes within the pod opened and looked out upon this new
world.
The person in the pod was a man, tall, bearded. The tag said his name was Rojer Farn, but all the data on who or what he was had been erased by the effects of Hollow Space. Was he a good man? Was he a brave man? Was he a member of the Crowner aristocracy or military, or was he a freethinker who would leap at the chance of freedom within Haven?
A click echoed in the darkness of Tai’s lockup, and the pod opened.
Rojer Farn’s eyes did not open. His chest did not rise or fall.
“Margo,” Sara snapped.
The Hentian healer leapt forward and placed her hands upon Rojer’s chest. Her eyes closed, her breathing stilled, her hands slipped from place to place upon his inert body. Finally she touched his head, caressed his wet hair, and her hand slid behind to touch the base of his skull, where his brainstem lay.
Tears leaked from Margo’s eyes. “He is dead.”
“Dead?” Aleatra snarled. “How can he be dead?”
“I do not know,” Margo said. “He has not been dead long. Hours only. Maybe even a single hour, but he is dead.”
“Open the rest,” Sara yelled. “Open them now. Hurry.” Had she been sidetracked by so many other things that she had waited too long?
She had. She knew it.
They were all dead. Not a single person in the pods could be revived.
It was the children that hurt most of all.
***
Jhang brooded in the darkness. The human female knew how to find his way home. And yet she had escaped him and ran away with that knowledge still locked in her mind.
She had taken away the bauble. The AI. Such a pretty treasure.
She knew his way home.
How could he find her again? Her mind should be his. Her knowledge should be his. But he had to be careful; they would find a way to kill him. Sentries. Yes, his sentries could hunt for her, but they were obvious, clumsy things, their minds eaten and their bodies decaying.
A rustle of leaves in the darkness caught his attention. It sounded like one of those Drift creatures flowing across the deck plates.
Was this his death finally come to him?
Did he care, so far away from his home, from his family?
The Drift spoke in a rustle of leaves. “We have common purpose, Jhangeloshkoshvosheksich. We will come to an arrangement.” A thorn flew from the Drift’s body. A tiny thing. It hit Jhang’s eye and burrowed inward.
The dragon screamed.
“The pain will fade, but the thorn will remain. It contains within it a neurotoxin I have designed just for you. I can release it whenever I want, and you will die a horrible, painful death.”
“Why?” Jhang whimpered.
“A new day will dawn,” the Drift whispered in reply.
TWENTY-SIX
Two loud knocks echoed around the tiny cell. Tai yawned and gazed at his six-foot-square tomb. The cracks of steel on steel as somebody smashed at the door with the butt of a gun resounded around inside his aching skull. Haggard had tapped him into acquiescence with a shock-stick, which was nice of him. Tai’s back throbbed with pain as though a kronac had performed agricultural chiropractic on his spine. The ‘bed’ they provided in this clink barely constituted a flat surface, let alone anything with padding or springs.
A Ten-Thousand AirPocket mattress it was not. Swing legs off, lean forward, groan with pain, and wait for the hatch on the door to slam back, to reveal the ugly bastard face of Haggard grinning at him with the sum smugness of the universe—Tairon Cauder had spent more days in these piss-stained cells than he had in his own apartment. He knew the routine.
Only this morning, despite getting barely four hours’ sleep, he already knew things were… off. It was not Haggard’s face at the hatch. And there was no smile.
“Who the hell are you?” Tai said, enjoying the directness of that particular welcome—one he always reserved for Haggard’s guards. Leaning closer, he realized he did, in fact, recognize the face. But she didn’t belong here.
“Well, well. Bronwyn,” Tai said. “Got out of the Iron Council and threw your lot in with the feds, eh? Haggard pay you much, does he?”
“Going wage. Things in the IC aren’t going so well. Blackmarks making big moves. Thought I better haul ass onto a winning side.”
“Loyalty, huh? I can see why the IC is frecked.”
She scowled. Her cruel dark eyes under a wide brow squinted at him. “You want some help or what?”
Tai shrugged, leaned his sore back against the wall, and feigned disinterest. An act that came easy to him, having grown up around Miriam. “Depends on what you’re after, Bronny.”
“I’ve got a proposition for you, Cauder scum,” Bronwyn said as she shot a quick glance behind her before pressing her face to the hatch again. “You sign the Mary-May over to me, and I’ll make sure when you get spaced later today, I’ll have some Out-of-Sighters waiting to scoop you up before your lungs explode or you have to take a breath or your eyes are flash-frozen, keep you all nice and safe-like.”
“No deal.”
“What? You really think you can survive being spaced with no one to come collect you? You’ll be In-Sight, Tairon. Even your mother wouldn’t be stupid enough to bring you back.”
“She wouldn’t want to, anyway. Why’d she want to be associated with the biggest heist in Haven history?”
“Bullshit, you’re proud of it. And so is she. Your mother ain’t one to ignore an opportunity to add notoriety to your family’s reputation. Besides, I ain’t got time to hang around here. The deal is legit, Tai. The Out-of-Sighters could use a good pilot like you.”
“If it’s so good, why don’t you go in my place?” Despite Tai’s reluctance to take the deal, he had spent many of the previous night’s long, dark hours considering the very thing she offered. Once out of sight of Haven, the usual laws didn’t apply. Hundreds, if not thousands of pirates and mavericks existed out there on the fringe, living in hulks, salvaging anything that floated beyond Haven’s field of view.
It was better than drifting out into space to die horribly in the frozen vacuum hell.
The truth was, he couldn’t give up the Mary-May so easily. He’d worked all his life to be in a position to have that independence. A ship meant mobility, a chance to get off the station for good one day. Giving it up meant giving in. And regardless of his current plight, the offer given failed to make up for that loss of the dream.
“I don’t intend on leaving the station,” Bronwyn added. “Got too much to benefit from. It’s a take it or leave it offer, Tai.”
“I’ll leave it.”
Bronwyn spat into the cell. “You’re a fool, Cauder.”
“To the last, sweet Bronny. Now why don’t you freck off and leave me be.”
She slammed the hatch shut and stormed off, footsteps echoing off the metal walls of the clink’s corridors. Tai cricked his neck until it satisfyingly popped, releasing the tension in his spine. Standing, he stretched, scraping his knuckles on the low ceiling. He considered picking the lock. He’d done it once before, using a fragment of steel wire from the bed, but what was the point now? He’d made himself a target with the Drifts, and his escape would only lead to a manhunt through the dark levels.
And with Jhang on the warpath, he’d only be inviting a grisly end.
He was about to sit back down when he heard more than one set of footsteps approach. A key turned in the lock. The door swung open. Standing before him: Haggard and his dearest mother. Behind those two, he saw Sara and Kina, both wearing tense and dour expressions.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Tai said. “One more lecture before I have my carcass launched out into open space? Well, let me save you the trouble, Mother, I—”
“Tairon, for once in your Godforsaken life will you just shut your trap and listen to what I’ve got to say.” Miriam stepped forward, her stilettos clacking sharply against the floor tiles. Haggard smirked from behind her, reminding Tai of his regret for not killing the bastard when he had the ch
ance, back when Haggard was just a B-list thug.
Sara and Kina remained outside in the passageway, looking like someone important had just died. Tai studied his mother; a slick queasy feeling squirmed in his guts. “What is it?”
Miriam folded her arms across her considerable bust with a smug expression upon her face. “I’ve negotiated for your release. You will not be spaced—today.”
Tai knew she wouldn’t have done this just out of love for him. He turned to look at Kina, who wouldn’t hold his gaze. “You went to her?” Tai said to Kina. “You asked her for help? By Gods, woman, what did you trade?”
Kina refused to answer. It was Sara who spoke up. As she stepped forward, Tai noticed the swollen and sore eyes. She’d been crying, he realized, her skin pallid and her shoulders hunched as though she carried a great and terrible burden. “Sara?”
She sighed and closed her eyes, reliving some moment of horror before she finally answered. “The Venture. I traded the Venture, gave it whole to Miriam, cancelling out the debt and buying your freedom.”
“Which means, Tairon,” Miriam added, “your repair bill for the Mary-May is indebted to me, and you’re the sole owner of that debt. You were so close in clearing your debt to me too, such a shame.” Her eyes glittered in the lights. “It’s time to return—”
“Haggard, just space me now,” Tai cut across his mother’s words. He sat on the edge of the bed. “I’d prefer that than be indebted to my mother for a moment longer.” It’d taken him half of his life to be almost free of the woman. He had paid off the purchase of the Mary-May and only had a few minor debts to clear, setting himself up for a life of independence. Now, in one fell swoop, he was right back in the prison of his mother’s influence.
He shook his head and gazed at Sara. “Why would you do this?”
She balked at his tone.
“I’m sorry, I just mean, why give up the Venture so easily? It was worth way more on the open market.”
Sara shrugged and wiped her eyes.
Tai, ignoring Miriam and Haggard, leapt up from the bed and placed his hands on Sara’s shoulders, catching her attention. “What’s happened? Sara, speak to me?”