“We don’t know that,” Tenzi said.
Balidor could hear the other man’s voice jarring slightly as he walked.
Staircase, then, his mind catalogued.
“…Not for certain,” Declan added, also slightly out of breath. “We’re guessing Chan hasn’t been in touch with him, though, sir.”
“But she’s been talking to someone in our group,” Tenzi broke in. “We’re trying to pinpoint who now. It’s possible she’s been tapped by Ditrini and his pals, or someone else working for Shadow. Maybe they spotted the trace and are trying to find a way around that now.”
Balidor nodded, firming his mouth.
“Yarli?” he said, hearing the tension in his voice, even through the sub-vocals. “Is she with them still? Do you know?”
Balidor heard Tenzi exhale, as if he’d made a short jump. He landed on something wet with a soft splash of his boots. The younger seer’s voice grew reassuring.
“We haven’t heard otherwise, sir. We’re assuming it’s the same group we sent after Ditrini initially. Chan, Varlan, Stanley, Yarli, Rig, Damon. Chan hadn’t lost anyone, as far as we know. Varlan’s been training them to stay out of Ditrini’s light, I guess.”
Balidor nodded, more to himself that time.
He finished with the last screw and pulled it carefully out of the hole, holding the metal cover in one hand. Pocketing the screws to keep them from making noise, he reached up with his freed hand, grasping the cover in his fingers.
He began to pull it––carefully––off the opening.
A few seconds later, he’d removed it completely. Climbing back down the hand-holds, he set it slowly and soundlessly on the floor.
He straightened, giving a last glance at the metal hatch directly above him.
That would be Plan B, but he hoped he wouldn’t need it. If he walked out on that roof, he knew it was highly probable he’d die there.
“Well,” he said, exhaling soundlessly. “Keep me informed, would you?”
“Of course, sir.”
Tenzi ventured, “Are you still going up there, sir?”
“I am,” Balidor confirmed.
He didn’t bother to tell them he was already there.
Instead, he looked at the opening he’d created in the wall, hands on his hips.
Measuring the space with his eyes, he pulled the M-4 down from where he’d had it slung around his chest before turning it over in his hands. He checked the scope briefly. Re-checking the magazine, as well as the bullets already in the chamber to make sure it wouldn’t jam, he re-looped the leather strap around his neck and shoulder.
“…I shouldn’t be long,” he added through the sub-vocals. “But don’t wait for me. I’ll meet you downstairs when I’ve finished here.”
Neither of the two answered before Balidor terminated the connection.
Climbing back up the hand-holds, he reached out, testing his grip on the edge of the opening to the shaft. Once he was sure he had it, he pulled himself up sideways, supporting his body on his hands before landing softly on his stomach and chest.
Once he had his balance right, he began to pull himself though the organic-rimmed opening, moving achingly slowly.
He knew where he was going. He had the blueprints of the hotel memorized, too.
Inching down the tunnel, he breathed silently, controlling the airflow in and out of his lungs down to the millimeter it might dent the tunnel under him. Sliding down carefully on his palms and torso, he cranked up the sound-dulling setting on his boots, vest and armored pants via the headset, even as he held his light tightly around his body.
A few minutes later, he reached another vent.
This one aimed outwards, pulling fresh air in from the protected area of the roof.
Balidor knew the same duct fed into the air scrubbers just above the top floor, and the filters below that, prior to the air reaching any of the suites or rooms.
Shifting carefully to his side, he pulled the rifle back around him, careful not to let it touch any of the walls.
Still lying on his side, he positioned his body, wedging his knees against the side of the vent and resting the gun against his shoulder and hand, above where he’d propped his elbow on the floor of the duct.
Only then did he aim the gun through the narrow opening in the wall.
Arranging his body in tiny increments, Balidor settled himself in to wait.
THE WAIT FELT interminable.
Even so, he knew less than an hour had passed.
Given what he could feel going on downstairs, those minutes and seconds stretched into a thrumming clock in his head, beating a drum that lessened his chances for survival––and, more importantly, for success––with every passing beat.
He thought of Yarli briefly, then pushed her from his mind, too.
They both knew, especially after those cakes at the Bridge and Sword’s wedding, that things could go either way for them in this fight, once it really got started.
He was still working to clear his mind of her, and his memory of her light, when he realized he could hear them.
Ditrini popped into his physical sight abruptly, without warning.
Balidor nearly flinched at the other man’s nearness on the other side of the vent.
He managed not to react beyond the small shield he’d erected for himself, keeping his light deathly still. Staring through the metal slats to the visible portion of the roof, he lined up his sights on the silver-eyed seer’s head.
He had him perfectly aligned within the crosshairs of his scope when, just as abruptly, another seer moved into the space between Balidor and his target.
After barely a second, Balidor realized he recognized her, too.
It was that female Rebel, Ute.
He’d only seen her once before, over two years ago. She’d been in the crowd in Hong Kong during that initial “demonstration” of Shadow’s human-killing disease, C2-77. She’d fired at Balidor’s head, narrowly missing him. Ironically, she’d come close to hitting Cass, who Balidor had been protecting at the time.
Trying to, anyway.
Fighting back and forth for a few seconds as he tried to decide if he should risk taking her out first, in the end, he decided to wait.
He wanted Ditrini.
He knew part of his reasons for that decision lay in irrationality. He hated the other seer, and feared him, more because of his psychopathic personality than his sight ranking, although both weighed in the balance. He rationalized his choice by telling himself Ute remained a mostly unknown quantity, whereas Ditrini was known.
He needed Ditrini out of the picture.
Now.
If he could do nothing else for the Bridge after her death, he could do this.
Gripping the gun tighter, he kept it aimed at where he could see the top of Ditrini’s head, although Balidor’s lower angle meant that Ute managed to cover the larger seer’s form almost entirely with hers. Balidor had no clear shot, not without hitting her, which had no guarantee of hitting him, since she would inevitably divert the bullet.
So he lay there, perfectly still.
He still hadn’t moved when their voices abruptly rose, presumably because they’d switched from speaking in their minds to speaking Old Prexci.
“They’ve made us,” Ditrini said, his voice hostile. “They fucking made us. That’s why they’re not coming up.”
“We need to crack the fields, find a way inside.” Ute’s voice caught in the wind, but Balidor heard the impatience in her tone. “They’ll have the Bridge on a lower floor.”
Balidor flinched, then frowned.
Suddenly he was listening with all of his might, forgetting about firing for the moment.
“We need to move before they can finish the evacuation,” Ute added, her voice still carrying that forced patience. “They’ll be gone if we don’t go soon, Ditrini. We can’t afford to stay up here any longer. Clearly, their plans have changed!”
“You are certain the Sword has
left the hotel?”
“Yes,” Ute said, her voice leaking impatience openly that time. “I am sure. We heard from Salinse that the Sword entered the Tower over an hour ago. There’s no possible way he could be back here. Salinse said that they’d more or less neutralized him for now.”
“For now?” Ditrini frowned. “They did not kill him?”
“No,” Ute said, her voice harder. “Why the fuck would they kill him?”
Ditrini didn’t seem to be listening, though.
Balidor saw the barest hint of his profile as the male seer turned to the side. His mouth puckered in what must have been a frown.
“Would he have brought her body with him, I wonder?” Ditrini said. “Did your Salinse say anything about the Sword having the Bridge’s body there?”
“No! Gods!” Ute snapped, openly angry that time. “Why would they tell us to collect it, if they had the damned thing already? And why in the gods would he do that?” Her voice grew even angrier. “Why would anyone bring a corpse on a military op? Do you think the boss is so stupid? Or simply that he is as fucking crazy as you are, tiger man?”
From the position of his arms, Ditrini had put his hands on his hips.
Balidor didn’t get the sense Ute’s words troubled him particularly.
“The boss?” the Lao Hu seer sneered. His voice held humor, despite the underlying edge of contempt. “Are you sure you know who it is you are working for, sister Ute?”
“He should be the boss,” Ute snapped. “He would be the boss still, if it wasn’t for that crazy bitch he married. Maybe with her gone, he’ll come to his damned senses!”
“No, dear one.” Ditrini clicked at her softly, his voice holding more humor. “No, sister… no. He will not come to his senses. He will be dead.”
“Maybe,” she shot back. “Salinse seemed less sure.”
“Did he?” Ditrini mused, hands still on his hips. “He, like so many other arrogant despots over the years, believes he can break the life-bond, without establishing any connection prior to the mate’s death?”
“Salinse isn’t the one doing it,” Ute muttered. “It’s that other one. Shadow.”
“And how does he plan to do this, precisely?” Ditrini’s voice soured. “Does he really believe it? Or is this just more mythological ranting from our mysterious man in black? More of his mystical prophesying about our glorious end of days…?”
“He claims he can do it because the Sword is one of the Four,” Ute said. “He says as long as the rest of the Four live, he won’t die. He claims that being one of the Four makes him exempt from the life bond.”
“Yet, our Illustrious Sword almost died once before, did he not? When he was separated from his mate? Or is our glorious prophet unaware of this?”
Ute frowned.
Balidor saw her profile in full. He tightened his grip on the gun when he realized it gave him a view of half of Ditrini’s face. He backed down when the female turned back in Ditrini’s direction, once more blocking Balidor’s line of sight.
She folded her arms, widening her stance.
“He did almost die,” Ute acknowledged. She made a vague gesture with one hand, but Balidor could practically see the conflict in her light, and her body. “I do not know how they plan to do it, old man. Perhaps it is different now, with War activated. Perhaps there is some other reason. I only know that Salinse seemed sure it could be done… and that it had to do with the other two members of the Four.”
“You are hoping he is right?” Ditrini said, his voice a smile.
“Of course I’m hoping he’s right! As should any loyalist to the race!”
“Loyal, yes.” Ditrini’s chuckle was distorted by wind. “Yes. I imagine you would like to be very loyal to our brother, the Illustrious Sword.”
The Lao Hu seer’s voice grew openly mocking.
“I imagine you would like to crawl to him on your hands and knees, sister… am I right? Perhaps you hope to be there when your master explains to the Sword his options vis a vis the female seers who once more fall under his command. After all, a man’s got to eat, does he not? Even after his bitch of a worm-loving wife succumbs to the maggots and crows?”
Balidor saw the woman’s ears turn red.
He imagined her face must be the same color, even before he saw her gloved fingers tighten around her ribs where they wrapped her upper body. She shifted her weight on her feet, tilting her chin up defiantly.
“What of it?” she said. “Did you not wish for the same, old man? With his wife?”
The Lao Hu seer gave a low chuckle, laying a hand on the female’s shoulder.
“I did, yes,” Ditrini acknowledged. “I very much did, my young sister… and still do, if only it were possible. I wish it more than I can express to you in words.”
That low chuckle returned, crawling up Balidor’s spine.
“…At least, not without making you blush even harder, my beautiful sister.” His voice changed, turning bitter, despite that more melodramatic-sounding sorrow Balidor could hear in his words. “I have my own reasons for wanting to see the Sword alive again, dear sister… but I’m afraid ‘loyalty’ has very little to do with it. I, too, would enjoy seeing him beg, but perhaps not quite in the manner you envision.”
Balidor felt his jaw harden more.
The self-pity that lived in the older seer’s words, the complete and utter self-absorption behind them, brought a kind of heat to Balidor’s chest.
Ditrini let out a long-suffering sigh.
“I cannot describe to you the regret I feel at my precious girl’s passing,” he said to Ute, gripping her shoulder tighter. “My life is bereft without her. I do not yet know what I will do. Although… I confess, I look forward to meeting her beautiful daughter. I saw her image, and it filled my heart with such joy, to see my precious girl in that lovely, innocent face.”
Balidor felt his teeth clench, even as nausea touched his gut.
He remembering the Lao Hu seer’s words about Allie, the visuals he’d subjected all of them to when they had him under interrogation. He’d gone out of his way to sexualize the Bridge in the most degrading ways possible, and he’d done it with that same, sickly tone of voice.
The son of a bastard would lay hands on Allie’s daughter over Balidor’s dead body.
Just then, Ute moved out from under the older seer’s hand.
The moment stretched, a strange sort of silence taking over Balidor’s mind as the female stepped fluidly to one side. Only the sound of the wind over the roof broke the physical silence. Even that felt far away, scarcely real at all.
Balidor had time to see the disgusted look on Ute’s face, the faint curl of her lip, right before she gave him the opening he’d been looking for, waiting for, maybe for months now, ever since that first interview with Ditrini in the basement of the hotel.
Focusing his eye down the sight, Balidor adjusted his aim a hair’s breadth, centering it on the elongated face of the seer with the silver eyes and the long, braided, iron-gray hair.
Then, squeezing the stock of the gun more tightly against his shoulder––
Balidor fired.
48
SHE’S NOT THERE
“WHAT IS WRONG with her?” the male seer muttered. “The Bridge?”
He kept glancing backwards, Chandre noticed, at Allie.
His bare forearms and neck tensed as he hunched over the open organic circuits. Chandre could see the hair standing up on the back of the seer’s neck. She couldn’t tell if anxiety or cold caused the physical reaction, but she really hated the way he kept looking at the Bridge.
It was too familiar. Too familiar by half.
Frowning, she glanced back at the vehicle where the old woman sat, holding the Bridge’s head in her lap.
“She’s dead,” Chandre said, blunt.
“What?” Surli’s eyes jerked up, his dark pupils narrowing to pinpricks. The calico hazel of his irises grew wider and brighter-seeming. “What the di’lantente a’gue
te is that supposed to mean? Dead? How can she be dead? The Bridge?”
Fear had risen in the male’s eyes.
“She can’t be dead,” he said more firmly, as if daring her to argue. He turned back to the console. “It must be a trick… by that fucker Shadow. Why else would the old woman have her body?”
Chandre clicked softly, gripping the gun she held in her hand.
She glanced at Anale, the female seer who’d come from the hotel with the old woman and the human girl, then at Damon, a seer from her own team. Anale’s green and blue eyes looked harder in the darkness of the street. Chandre watched them flicker up and down the unlit row between buildings, searching for threats, seemingly oblivious to the three of them by the Tower’s back doors. Even so, Chandre could tell Surli’s words had affected Anale, too, even if they hadn’t lessened the alertness of her light as she stood guard.
Whatever Surli’s issues with the Bridge, he wouldn’t be the only one to react this way to the news of her death. If it got out the Bridge had been killed, they’d have a full-scale panic on their hands. Not only would seers grieve over the loss of their intermediary, many would assume the war to be over.
They would assume the Dreng had won.
Chandre wondered how many even in their own camp would jump sides when that occurred, looking for protection from Shadow. She wondered how many would rationalize such a thing by claiming to follow Shadow’s new pet, the Formidable War.
Thinking about Cass brought a pain to her heart, though, sharp enough to clench her jaw.
Looking away from Surli, she remained silent until she managed to shake it off.
“Get back to work, brother,” she muttered, flicking her fingers at him. “Your cousin is making more progress than you are.”
“Because she’s some kind of mutant,” Surli muttered.
“I had heard you were good at this, brother… with the machines,” Chandre mocked. “Even the Bridge seemed to think so. You foiled comp-attacks in China, did you not? Single-handedly? Or was that simply boasting? An attempt to impress her?”
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