Tangled Up in Blue

by Joan D. Vinge

  Gundhalinu was back in less than five minutes. “There’s nothing that fits. I checked clear back to—”

  “Son of a bitch…” Tree said.

  Gundhalinu peered past him as a conservatively dressed Winter woman left Azure Alley, and started up the Street toward the palace. “What?” he said. “Do you know that woman?”

  “Yeah,” Tree muttered. “Or at least I thought I did. It was just another mask.” He looked down. “You know her too. It’s Devony. She’s going to the palace, to tell Arienrhod everything she learned from us.”

  “Are you sure?” Gundhalinu turned back in disbelief. “How can you be certain?”

  “Gods, I know the way she moves.…” Tree looked away from Gundhalinu’s expression, blinking. “I hate this fucking city. Let’s go.”

  They went on into the Maze, more silent than strangers.

  “Here.” Tree nodded at last, and led the way down an alley. They stopped in front of a nondescript building entrance. “We can start asking questions in here.”

  Gundhalinu looked dubious. “What is this place?”

  “A diveshop.” Tree shrugged. “Sells any kind of mindbender that’s legal somewhere … eat in, take out.”

  “What about the gaming hells? They’re a lot bigger, with a lot more turnover than a place like this.”

  “And everything’s automated, everybody’s in their own private little world—it’s so goddamn noisy that nobody can hear anything anyway. So nobody gets to know anyone else, nobody gives a damn. The little places are where people talk … and in places like this, they talk too much.” He started for the door; turned back, putting a hand on Gundhalinu’s chest. “Just back me up, for now. Don’t say anything you don’t have to.… Oh, and don’t breathe too deeply.” Gundhalinu frowned, and nodded. They went inside.

  The small shop was cluttered with stools and tiny tables, most of them empty at this hour. It stank of incense trying to disguise too many less attractive smells. “Umthun—” Tree called, to the squat man stocking shelves and cases behind the counter at the back of the room. “I got an itch that needs scratching.”

  “What’ll it be—” The man broke off as he turned around and saw them. “LaisTree? I heard you got busted off the force.”

  “Nah.” Tree shook his head. “That’s all cleared up.” He leaned heavily on the counter, trying to make the motion look casual. “I need one of those favors you owe me for not shutting you down, when me and my partner found that stash of que’l in your stockroom.”

  “When do they end, eh—?” Umthun waved his hand in disgust. “And I still say somebody planted that que’l”

  “That’s what they all say,” Gundhalinu remarked.

  Tree glanced at him, wondering whether it was the man or the drugs talking now. “Give us some help on this one, Umthun, and I won’t ask you again.”

  “Ya, until next time.…” Umthun muttered. “I don’t know shit about what happened at that warehouse, LaisTree. I already told—”

  “We’re not here about that.” Tree cut him off. “We’re looking for somebody. Describe her, Sergeant.”

  “We want to find an Ondinean woman, around thirty standard years old,” Gundhalinu said. “Black hair, black skin, dark blue eyes, and dresses like a laborer or a dockhand, not in shadoubdt. Probably hasn’t been on Tiamat long, probably working with the Source.”

  Umthun shrugged. “Maybe you should ask a Kharemoughi named Herne. He knows people. I think he might know her.”

  “Where would we find him?”

  “Probably torturing cats,” Tree said. “Or setting fire to some old burnout, just for laughs. I know him.”

  “Ask around, The Rack,” Umthun said. “I hear he gets off on their new hunter-killer interactive.”

  “Great,” Tree said wearily. “That’s clear down by the Lower City.”

  “Do you have any stims?” Gundhalinu asked; Umthun nodded and pulled a sealed packet off the display wall. “And give me some iestas, too.”

  Umthun slid them across the counter at him. Gundhalinu put the pack of iestas into his pocket.

  “Let’s go,” Tree said, turning away. “Be seeing you, Umthun.”

  “Not for a long time, eh?” Umthun said.

  “Not till at least next week—” Glancing back, Tree saw Gundhalinu pay for the stims and iestas before following him out.

  Outside, Tree said, “You didn’t have to pay for those.”

  “Yes I did.” Gundhalinu gave him a look, applying a stim patch to his throat as they started back down the alley. “Did you plant the que’l you found in his shop?”

  “No!” Tree frowned. “Why?”

  Gundhalinu looked away, and didn’t answer.

  “You have a spare one of those…?”

  Gundhalinu passed him a patch, and he stuck it on. The mild buzz hit his brain within seconds, sharpening his perceptual and motor responses. He held up his hand; its telltale tremor said he was in no shape to be playing games with his nervous system. But the stimulant would give him the strength to keep moving—and he had to keep moving, had to keep thinking clearly. Because something was gaining on them.… He glanced at Gundhalinu’s hands, and looked away again.

  They continued their downward spiral until they reached the alley where The Rack was located. They stopped in front of the building entrance, and Tree looked up at its defiantly oppressive rusted-metal facade. “You ever been in one of these places?”

  “Of course,” Gundhalinu said impatiently.

  Tree shrugged. Bracing his senses for a full-on frontal assault, he led the way inside.

  Technically, The Rack was just another gaming hell, but it catered to a rough trade, one that took the term “hell” seriously. Tree approached the gamers loitering in the outer gallery, wearing their hearts on their sleeves—in some cases, maybe literally—as they waited for pickups with similar interests.

  Their tastes ran the gamut from fetishistic costumes to elaborate cicatrices and bioactive implanted body art, to basically nothing at all. When he and Staun were assigned this beat, he had been surprised by how quickly he reached the point where nothing he saw surprised him anymore. Behind him, he heard Gundhalinu’s sharp, indrawn breath, and controlled his urge to smile.

  Asking for Herne, he had to raise his voice over the indescribable sounds emanating from the bowels of the club. Someone gestured toward the dark sphincter of an access, and he went on through.

  Gundhalinu followed close behind, keeping his mouth shut—or more likely struck dumb, after a person of indeterminate sex spotted the binders on his equipment belt and propositioned him. From the look on the sergeant’s face, one was exactly how many of Carbuncle’s hells Gundhalinu had been in before today … and one where the gaming losses were restricted to credit only. Tree was glad the more serious action here was confined to the private stalls.

  “You looking for trouble, LaisTree?” Somebody the size of a transport, wearing full body armor, stepped into their path; his augmented voice boomed over the shrieks and sounds of destruction.

  “Not me.” Tree shook his head. “Already got more than I need.”

  “How ’bout him?” The bouncer indicated Gundhalinu.

  “You wish.” Tree grinned ferally. “We’re looking for Herne. Where is he?”

  “He was using a stall, but he left,” the bouncer said. “He usually goes to Sestas—”

  Tree nodded, struggling to control his gag reflex as he inhaled a stench like rotting meat. Gundhalinu recoiled as a random spray of something dark-red and viscous almost hit his chest. Tree caught Gundhalinu’s arm, unobtrusively urging him back toward the entrance.

  “Herne’s at Sestas. It’s an eatery down the block.” Tree spat to clear the taste out of his throat as they emerged into the relatively fresh air. “The action must give him an appetite. You all right—?”

  Gundhalinu shook his head. He leaned against the wall, pressing his mouth to his sleeve.

  “It’s virtual scenarios, intera
ctives,” Tree said harshly. “Most of what you see in there isn’t even real. You know that.”

  “The players in there are real.” Gundhalinu turned back, confronting Tree with his battered face and crippled hands.

  “Well … at least nobody’s in there who doesn’t want to be,” Tree muttered, looking down. “It’s not our place to judge them.”

  “I know that,” Gundhalinu said. “It just—” His eyes gleamed with sudden, unshed tears. “It reminded me of the warehouse.”

  Anguish drove into Tree’s gut like a knife. He stood motionless, strengthless, waiting, until at last Gundhalinu said, “I’m all right.… Let’s go.”

  * * *

  They went on along the alley until they reached Sestas. Tree peered in through its wide front window, and saw Herne.

  Herne looked up as if he could feel the pressure of their joint stare through the glass. Abruptly he got to his feet, and headed into the rear of the shop.

  “Come on.” Tree nudged Gundhalinu’s shoulder, and started for the shadowy gap between the eatery and the building next to it. They arrived at the back door just as it slammed shut behind Herne, trapping him between them and a solid wall.

  “Hey, Herne,” Tree said agreeably, as they blocked his path. “Time to cough up another hairball.”

  “Eat shit, LaisTree.” Herne looked him up and down. “You can’t ask me for the time of day. You’re busted, you vigilante cocksucker.”

  Tree shrugged, and indicated Gundhalinu. “He’s not.”

  Herne glanced at Gundhalinu and his mouth curled, distorting a face that would have been handsome if there had been any recognizable human emotion in the dark, long-lashed eyes. “Sergeant Gundhalinu,” Herne murmured. “What happened to you? Did PalaThion put you over her knee and spank you till your Technician butt was red, because you were a bad boy at court? I hear your mama leaves you home now, when she goes to see the Queen.…” He said something more, in a language that sounded like Sandhi, but not the way the Kharemoughis on the force spoke it.

  Tree felt more than saw Gundhalinu go rigid. But Gundhalinu didn’t respond, and Tree kept his eyes on Herne’s hands, which were resting casually on his hips near a concealed weapon.

  Herne’s gaze moved between them, assessing the obvious damage. He settled his weight as if he was considering whether to take them both out with his bare hands.

  Tree pulled the stunner from his belt. “Don’t even think about it. Drop the weapons.”

  Herne removed a stun pistol from inside his coat, dropped it on the ground and kicked it forward.

  “You’re not that glad to see us.” Tree pointed at the unsubtle bulge in Herne’s pants. “Lose the rest of the arsenal, or we’ll do a strip search.”

  Grudgingly, Herne produced another stunner, a knife, and a heat pencil, and tossed them out.

  “Sounds like you’re well-informed, as usual. Tell us about the Ondinean woman who’s working for the Source. What’s her involvement in the warehouse massacre?”

  “How would I know? What’s the matter, LaisTree, you can’t remember…?” Herne sneered. “How come you were the only survivor, huh? Did you sell them out? Or maybe you’re just a coward, maybe you let them down, and now you can’t live with yourself unless you—”

  “You son of a—”

  “No.” Gundhalinu caught Tree’s arm, holding him back. “Don’t. It’s just what he wants.”

  Tree eased off, taking a deep breath.

  Gundhalinu released him. Then he straightened his fingers, swearing under his breath. He fumbled with a pouch on his equipment belt, and brought out a small bottle. Holding it up, he said, “This is some of the drug the Ondinean gave me, to make me talk when she questioned me.”

  “How did you get that?” Tree asked, incredulous.

  “She left it behind at your apartment.” Gundhalinu smiled humorlessly. “Believe me, it works.” He looked back at Herne. “I’m a Hegemonic Police officer, mekru. I’m addressing you without an intermediary, and without consequence, as required in the performance of my duty.”

  Tree remembered abruptly that mekru meant the bottom rung of Kharemough’s rigid caste system; on his homeworld, a highborn like Gundhalinu was forbidden by law even to speak to a mekru. Gundhalinu opened the bottle with his teeth, and moved toward Herne. “Drink this.”

  Herne made a disgusted noise. “Make me, Tech.”

  “Oh, I will,” Gundhalinu said, cold-eyed. “One way or another. Drink it yourself, or LaisTree will stun you and I’ll pour it down your throat. Whether you talk to us or choke to death is of no real concern to me, or him.” He paused. “Actually, I hope you choke. You choose.” He held the bottle out again.

  Herne snatched it from his hand and swallowed the contents. His face contorted and he spat, hurling the bottle away.

  Gundhalinu came back to Tree’s side, cradling the hand that had held the bottle; Tree glimpsed the fractures in his resolve.

  “How long does this stuff take to work?” Tree asked.

  Gundhalinu glanced at his watch; his face was under control again as he turned back. “Well, when the Ondinean drugged me, I think it took about two minutes.…” He studied Herne. “Not only couldn’t I lie to save my life, I couldn’t even stop myself from answering. I didn’t know there was a drug that effective.”

  “The Police sure as hell don’t have anything that good,” Tree said, “or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  Gundhalinu grunted. He checked his watch again, looked back at Herne. “You’re sweating, mekru. Are you nervous, or do you just wish you could puke it up? I felt like I’d swallowed toxic waste when they gave it to me. But I expect you know all about what happened to me … you seem to know everything else.” He glanced at Tree. “You know, there might be other cases we could clear up while we’ve got him drugged. Hell, I could get another commendation out of this. You’d get back on the force, no question—”

  Tree stared; Gundhalinu gave him a brief, urgent look. “Yeah,” Tree said finally. “I like that. Sounds like a good idea.… So, where do we start, Herne? Who was the first person you ever killed? Or how do you know so much about the massacre … or about Arienrhod’s court, for that matter?”

  “I won’t tell you anything, you dogfuckers. Except that you’re dead men; they’ll kill you no matter what you do!”

  Gundhalinu glanced down at his watch. “Well, surprise.” He smirked. “It didn’t even take two minutes.”

  “Probably works faster on a small brain.” Tree grinned. “So who are ‘they,’ Herne? Who’s out to get us?”

  “Fuck you, LaisTree! Everybody! There’s nobody you can trust.” His eyes were like coals. “If they don’t get you, I will.”

  Tree glanced at Gundhalinu. “Of course, they did also beat the shit out of you, Sergeant. Maybe we need to shake his thoughts loose.”

  “That’s assault, LaisTree,” Gundhalinu said, frowning. “I can’t—”

  “What?” Tree demanded, turning to face him. “You want me to make it a fair fight—?”

  Herne lunged. Tree swung back, his fist and the gun in it already on a collision course with Herne’s skull. The force of the impact staggered him; Herne went down like he’d been pithed.

  “Saint Phimas wept!” Tree shook out his hand. “Damnation!… Is self-defense regulation enough for you, Gundhalinu—?” he gasped. “Fucker’s skull must be made of composite.…”

  “More like glass, I think,” Gundhalinu said, staring at Herne with a peculiar expression on his face.

  Herne rolled over, groaning.

  Tree put a boot on his chest. “Don’t get up.” He held out his hand to Gundhalinu. “Binders?” Gundhalinu passed them over; Tree dropped them on Herne’s stomach. “Put them on.” He pointed the gun at Herne’s bloody head. Herne obeyed. “So what do you think was the most effective thing they did to you, Sergeant? Breaking your fingers—?”

  Gundhalinu’s mouth thinned. “Yes, definitely.”

  “You—”
Herne snarled, raising his pinioned hands.

  Tree shifted more weight to the foot on Herne’s chest. “Should I immobilize the prisoner, Sergeant?” He nodded at the stunner.

  “He might not be able to answer our questions then,” Gundhalinu said.

  “Yeah. And I’d have to break all his fingers.” Tree shrugged. “I’d really hate that.… Why’d they only break four of yours, Gundhalinu?”

  Gundhalinu looked down at his hands. “I passed out.”

  Tree leaned over Herne, taking hold of the binders. “This is it, Herne; truth or dare. For the first finger … who’s the Ondinean?”

  “Fuck!” Herne gasped. “Her name’s Mundilfoere! She came here to get a piece of Old Empire tech from the Queen—”

  “You mean the Queen wanted to get a piece of stolen experimental tech from her,” Gundhalinu corrected gently. “And Arienrhod was willing to trade the water of life for it. Let’s get the details right, mekrittu.”

  Herne flopped like a fish. “Who fed you that pile of shit? You’ve got it backwards! The Queen has some kind of functioning Old Empire tech to trade. This isn’t about the water of life—”

  Tree looked a question at Gundhalinu.

  Gundhalinu shook his head; his eyes filled with sudden doubt. “What else?” he asked.

  “The Source wants it bad. They set up an exchange that night at the warehouse. But the Blues got past the extra security somehow, and got the drop on us. They knew about the tech, they were going after it. Then the vigilantes broke in and triggered the system, and all hell—”

  “‘Us’?”Tree swore under his breath. “You said ‘us’.… You were there?” He slid his foot up to Herne’s neck. “Were you, motherfucker? Were you—?”

  Herne made a retching noise. “Yes—”

  “How many Blues did you kill? You shoot any Blues?”

  “Nuh—no!” Herne gasped.