by Ian Whates
The bitterness in his voice alarmed her all the more, and she felt the need to speak, to offer something in the face of this apparent despair. "Perhaps," she said, "those cultures which revered age were the more enlightened ones. I'm not so sure it was age itself they valued so much as the experience and insight which a longer life can grant a person."
He smiled, an expression containing a suggestion of warmth this time. "A nice thought. Thank you, Kethi."
"We can't stop now, Nyles. If we just slip away and sneak back to the habitat we will have failed. Not just us but the whole community. The alien threat predicted by William Anderson has finally arrived. We can't let that go unchallenged. If we go back now without doing anything at all then what's it all been for?
"People are already restless, Nyles. They'll leave, and that will be the end of it. Our whole lives will have been a complete waste of time."
"I know, Kethi, I know. But what can we do? As you say, the dreaded aliens have arrived and they're being hailed as heroes, which pulls the ground away from beneath our feet and leaves us with nowhere to go."
"I've been thinking about that, and I might have come up with an idea, a Plan B as it were."
He looked at her sharply now, a spark of hope showing in his eyes. "Go on."
"While going through the last batch of data our mole sent us, I stumbled across something which intrigued me. I followed it up and the implications offer us an opportunity."
"Is this something tangible, or are you making connections and intuiting possibilities?"
"The latter," she admitted.
Nyles shook his head. "Kethi, we can't afford to take a chance on something like that, especially not now."
She probably shouldn't have been surprised by such a response but she was. "For pity's sake, Nyles, this is what I do! You know that." Surely the man could see that now more than ever they needed to be bold. "Why did you have me second guess Morkel's recommendation of where The Noise Within would strike next? Why do you consult me on every damned decision that involves analysis and extrapolation?"
He sighed. "Because of your talent for reading between the lines and constructing hidden meaning from the flimsiest of clues and apparently unrelated facts. But it's hardly an exact science, Kethi, and right now, after this fiasco, we can't afford to have anything else blow up in our faces."
"It's precisely because of this fiasco that we have to take the chance, Nyles. We need to produce something out of the hat or the habitat fails. You know it as well as I do."
"Granted, but that doesn't mean we put our faith into the first harebrained scheme that occurs to us just for the sake of doing something!"
"Harebrained? Thanks. Why do you bother having me around at all then?"
"You know I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry. Blame it on fatigue."
"Look, Nyles, do you really think I would have even bothered mentioning this to you without first checking and double checking my conclusions? I'm fully confident that the logic construct holds. At least hear me out and take a look at what I've uncovered before you dismiss the idea out of hand, will you?"
"Very well." He visibly gathered himself, favouring her with a wry smile which seemed to suggest there was still some fight left in his aging body after all.
"Sorry, Kethi, of course," said the old Nyles, the Nyles she knew so well. "Let's see what you've got."
As he hurried from the restaurant Leyton made the time to call Benson, who was in a meeting and couldn't be disturbed. He was put through to Beck, which struck him as a disturbing development, but simply left a message for Benson to call him back. Next he contacted the new mayor. "I need you to close the docks," he said, not having the time to be anything other than blunt.
"Not a chance," Sam replied. "We've got traffic in and out constantly, more than we've ever seen before. If I tried to shut that down there'd be a riot."
"Not if you have a good enough reason. Someone's just tried to assassinate Philip Kaufman, and they'll be making for the docks."
There was no question in his mind that Kaufman had been poisoned, nor did he doubt who was responsible. The two of them were eating and drinking at the restaurant with no ill effects at all before that reporter, Julia Cirese, appeared, so he had ruled out the idea of anything being poisoned in the kitchen or slipped into the food by a nimble-fingered waiter. It could only have been the reporter. The one thing Kaufman had touched after she'd gone was the glass of water, and she hadn't gone anywhere near that, so it had to have been the kiss. A toxin smeared on her lips - something she'd been immunised against or perhaps one genetically tailored to become active only when it entered a specific target. The mechanism didn't matter; the act itself did.
"What? Is Kaufman all right?" Sam sounded shocked.
"Still in the balance. I've left him in good hands."
Fortunately he hadn't needed to call for a doctor; there was one on hand almost before Kaufman collapsed - an off-duty ULAW medical officer dining at a nearby table who had noticed the man's distress. Leyton had briefed him as best he could, rattling off the few details he knew: "Poison, ingested through the mouth, probably not in any of the food or drink. Check his lips for residue." Then he left the doctor to do what he did best while he went to do the same.
"You say the assassin will be heading for the docks?"
"Bound to. She'll be wanting to get off the station as quickly as possible." After attempting such an audacious assassination, where else could she go?
"She?"
"Oh yes, definitely a she."
"Where are you now?"
"Going after her."
"I can send you a security detail as backup..."
"No, I'll take care of this. They wouldn't know who to look for. Just close down the docks in case I don't catch up with her."
"I'll see what I can do but I can't promise anything. The dock owners have been raking it in over the past few days. They've never had it this good and won't appreciate me interfering."
"Do what you can."
"I will, and I'll have security waiting at the docks just in case."
He was outside now, trying to orientate himself, and felt compelled to call upon an old friend he had been hoping to live without. "Gun, what's the quickest route to the docks?"
"Straight on, then take the first left-branching corridor." No recrimination at his recent silence, but why would there be from a machine, a tool?
Leyton had managed to replace the visor abandoned on Frysworld but hadn't bothered wearing it for lunch; after all, who needs a high-tech visor in order to eat a steak? The gun he carried with him everywhere, despite their recent rift.
The left branch which the gun had told him to take proved to be one of the station's arterial thoroughfares. Wide, high-ceilinged, and boasting a mezzanine level on either side courtesy of raised walkways - the highwalks - which were interlinked at regular intervals by gauze-floored bridges spanning the thoroughfare. Both sides, on two levels, were bordered by shops. Identical units fitted out by their individual owners to display all manner of goods, from foodstuffs to clothing, leisure goods to essential equipment. This was the retail heart of New Paris and was probably the single busiest corridor on the whole station. Naturally this was the route along which Leyton was going to have to pursue a fleeing assassin; how could it possibly have been any other?
The way ahead was an endless sea of bobbing heads and moving forms, a haphazard mix of military, ULAW and civil uniforms interspersed with the various fashion choices of New Parisian citizens.
Somebody tugged at Leyton's arm. He broke the grip, seized the wrist of whoever it was and span around, knife at the ready, to find himself facing a terrified youth clutching a dozen Byrzaen facemasks in his free hand. The boy's eyes were as wide as his abruptly gaping mouth. The thin plastiform masks proceeded to slip from his uncertain grasp, sliding to the ground one by one.
"I j... just wanted to ask if you'd like to buy a mask," the boy said, holding out the last one left to him an
d looking to be on the verge of tears.
Leyton scowled, let go of the lad's wrist and hurried on, leaving the kid to scrabble around on his knees, trying to reclaim his fallen goods.
Full marks for spotting a developing market and moving quickly to supply it, but Byrzaen facemasks? What next, for goodness sake?
The woman was nowhere in sight, but she had to be making for the docks. Leyton checked his own logic as he went, to ensure he hadn't overlooked something. New Paris was not that big. If she stayed here she would inevitably be caught. Getting off the station as soon as possible was her only chance. No, it was definitely the docks.
He started to jog, constantly having to pause in order to sidestep and shuffle through the crowd. Progress was patchy, but he took comfort from the thought that his quarry would be suffering similar problems. The highwalk to his right looked to be the best bet - fewer people - so at the first opportunity he raced up a flight of steps and went that way.
He was able to pick up speed here, running rather than stop-start jogging. He scanned the street ahead and below, trying to visualise what Julia Cirese had been wearing and pick anyone from the crowd dressed in similar fashion. The bitter truth was that while the woman herself might be striking, her clothes were anything but, presumably chosen for that very reason. A plain white top, sleeveless, and navy blue full-length trousers, and her hair had been tied back. Any one of those details could have changed, of course - smart trousers would adjust their length in a second and a hair band could easily be removed - but he had to start somewhere.
The one thing in his favour was that Julia Cirese would not want to draw attention to herself, whereas he didn't care. She'd be hurrying, no doubt, but not running, not charging recklessly as he could. Her head start ought to be vanishing with every stride.
Speaking of reckless, he began to have a suspicion as to why there were so few people on this highwalk, as he hurdled a chain slung across his path holding a red sign on which white lettering declared 'keep out, men at work'.
There was now nobody ahead of him and he was able to pile on some real speed.
The corridors throughout much of New Paris were arranged in grid fashion, as any dirtside town might be, which meant that the central thoroughfare Leyton was charging down had intersections. Normally, not an issue; the highwalks bridged the gap in similar fashion to the mesh footbridges linking opposite walkways, continuing on the far side. This time, however, the highwalk ended abruptly at the edge of the bisecting passageway, and, although it continued on the far side, the only thing in between was empty space. At least Leyton now knew what the 'men' were working on, though he'd yet to see anyone actually doing so.
He didn't want to lose time by going all the way back to the last flight of stairs, and it wasn't as if the passage was that wide. Without pausing to think things through beyond this, he pushed even harder, arms pumping as he attacked the last few steps with everything he had. His right foot came down immediately before the gap - a low-heel landing which flowed instantly into a flat-footed plant, providing the platform he needed to launch himself across the empty passageway. He punched his left elbow backward while thrusting the left knee and his chin and shoulders upward, and then he was in the air. He fought to keep his body upright, cycling his legs to prevent himself from flipping forwards, and tried to focus beyond the far edge of the passageway. Suddenly the other side of the highwalk came racing towards him.
He brought his legs up so that his feet took the brunt of the impact on landing, momentum carrying him forward onto his knees and then into a roll, all the while bleeding momentum. He skidded to a halt on the seat of his pants, with feet and hands helping to stop him, palms stinging where they'd been grazed as they dragged across the floor.
From behind he could hear a few cheers and whistles, presumably from those in the passageway below who had unexpectedly seen a figure hurtling over their heads. The eyegee sprang to his feet and resumed running, hurdling the 'keep out' chain this side of the gap so that he was among people again and forced to slow down.
Still he scanned the crowds below.
Even so, he almost missed her.
Her hair was now worn loose and a powder blue top had been pulled on over the white one. His gaze slid past her at first but something made him look again. Afterwards, Leyton could not have said specifically what raised his suspicions, whether it was the hurried gait or some feature which matched with subconscious memory and snagged his attention, but his observational training paid off in some manner. He had her.
She was still a little ahead but he drew level in no time, and she hadn't spotted him. His first instinct was to mount the highwalk's handrail and leap on top of her before she even knew he was there, but she was towards the middle of the passage and there were people constantly around her. He was bound to floor and potentially hurt a few passersby as well as his target if he tried that. Besides, people were likely to react as he climbed the handrail, if only in puzzlement, which would warn the assassin and give her every chance of dodging him.
So he hung back a little, staying just behind her, no longer running but matching her still fairly rapid pace as he waited for the next stairway.
When it arrived, he trotted down the steps arriving at the floor of the corridor with the girl slightly ahead.
"Gun, how long until we reach the docks?"
"Given this current rate of progress, a little over five minutes."
He worked his way through the crowds towards the still oblivious Cirese, knowing that he could simply hang back, wait until they arrived at the docks and then summon security, but he had no intention of doing so. This was personal. She had stood there, smiled at him, and then blithely poisoned the person he was having lunch with.
He approached as quickly as the circumstances allowed, coming in at an angle from behind her right shoulder. Yet something alerted her, some reaction from the people around them. The woman glanced back at the last moment, saw him, recognised him, knew why he was there.
She ducked, spun, and evaded his grasp. She was fast, he'd grant her that much. Her foot struck against his ribs with bruising force, and was gone before he could react.
Another kick, this one higher, aimed at his head; but he was ready for her this time. He ducked, blocked, grasped her ankle before she could withdraw, and twisted. Either her whole body had to twist as well or her ankle or knee would pop and most likely break. She went with the twist and landed face down but kicked out viciously with her free foot as she fell, connecting with his left forearm, and managed to pull her trapped ankle free.
Leyton lunged forward, intending to pin her down. But again she was too quick, rolling out of the way and springing back up. He followed, to grapple with her as she came to her feet. Julia Cirese might have been comparatively slight but she knew how to fight, punching him twice in the kidneys in rapid succession and bringing her knee up hard - which, had he not blocked it, would have landed in his groin.
Losing patience, he punched her in her oh-so-pretty face.
She crumpled, to lie there for a second with a seemingly dazed expression before hauling herself to her knees. There was a hint of movement and something appeared in her hand - a sonic knife. He had no idea of its specific blade length and didn't intend to find out.
Displaying comparable deftness, the gun appeared in his own hand, pointing directly ather.
"It's over, Julia. Put down the knife."
"Get away from me, you bastard!" She suddenly looked terrified, vulnerable, and as beautiful as ever, despite the already swelling bruise. "Help, somebody, please; he's going to kill me!"
Leyton had to admit that she played the damsel in distress to perfection. A crude circle had formed around them while they fought, as others cleared out of their way but stayed to watch. Leyton felt like some unwitting performer within a ring of morbidly curious onlookers. Except that some of those onlookers now chose to encroach. He couldn't blame them. If he hadn't just watched this woman poison his friend, he
might have been tempted to help her himself.
"Stay back!" he warned two men who had started to come towards him from his left. "I'm a ULAW officer and this is not a helpless girl but a very clever assassin."
"How can you say such things?" the vulnerable, wronged girl that Cirese had transformed into sobbed. "Don't listen to him, please."
Yet the two men stopped, looking at each other for guidance. He knew they were no longer a threat. Almost too late he sensed someone rushing him from behind. He sidestepped, half turned, and kicked, his foot connecting with a burly man in military greens; then he stepped back in to punch the surprised soldier, who went down.
From the corner of his eye he saw Julia Cirese smile.
Something struck him on the back of the head; an object thrown from the crowd, solid enough to hurt though not to draw blood. Distracted, he let them get too close. A surge this time, not just one person but four or five, all in army uniform - the fallen soldier's friends, presumably. They were on him, not attempting to punch but to grapple. He went down under the assault.
So far, Leyton had been holding back, even when he punched Julia, but he'd had more than enough of this and abruptly all thought of constraint vanished. With a roar of anger, he punched upwards with everything he had, feeling the blow connect cleanly. He kicked, bucked, grasped a handful of uniform with one hand and flung somebody away. Then he was free enough to roll and spring to his feet. He'd lost the gun in the melee but could reclaim it later. He stood just in time to meet the charge of one of the soldiers. The eyegee sidestepped but left his arm in the way, which became a hay-making upward punch, his balled fist sinking into the man's midriff. His bicep tensed, absorbing the soldier's forward momentum and holding steady, while the recipient let out an 'oomph' of surprise and pain before sliding from Leyton's arm to crumple to the floor.
One of the others, who had been moving in behind his colleague, hesitated at the sight of this; only for a fraction of a second, but it was enough. As he went to move forward again, Leyton danced towards him, pivoting on his right foot, bending the knee and leaning away to counterbalance his left leg, which he lashed out with, putting into that kick all the frustration and anger he felt at this distraction, no matter how nobly motivated it might be.