Part 20 (1/2)

Tsia stared at her. ”What does that have to do with anything?”

”Customs,” Nitpicker repeated. ”That's a useful trade. Lot of contact with aliens. Lot of credit in the

grayscale.”

”Not for her. She's as straight as they come.”

”No interesting stories? No small slip-bys for a little extra credit?”

Tsia eyed her warily. ”Traders tried it, but Shjams-she never bit.”

”Lot of inspectors go to the grayscale,” she remarked. ”They say hooking in with blackjack is a ticket to

Paradise. Information about a biochip s.h.i.+pment would pretty much pay your way to Paradise and back.”

Tsia felt a coldness spread throughout her middle. ”So through Shjams, I could be linked to the Ixia or blackjack. I could be a zek myself.”

”You'd do most anything for her, wouldn't you?”

”She's my sister, for Daya's sake-”

Nitpicker glanced at the valley floor. The shadows didn't lengthen; they merely darkened as the sky

stretched black fin-gers where once the clouds had been gray. ”It's two hours before dawn. We should

be moving on.”

Tsia didn't s.h.i.+ft. ”My gate, my resolution, my sister up at the docking hammers- If everything points to me, every accident, every death, why do you think I'd guide you rightly at all-to the freepick stake or anywhere else?”

”We have seven or eight kays left to go,” the pilot said coldly. ”If there is one more mishap-even a slip

in the mud- between here and the stake, I'll know then what to think of you.”

She motioned sharply, and the flesh tightened along Tsia's jaw. Without a word, Tsia turned and gestured to the other meres. They fell into line behind her. Kurvan, Doetzier, then Wren like a shadow.

Nitpicker with that cold, intelligent anger still tightening her field like a knot. Striker with her blunter sealed tight in the rain, and Bowdie at the end. They were a winding snake of suspicion that followed her down the trail. A line of tension that stretched like a trip wire waiting for her misstep.

IS.

Tsia moved down the trail, her eyes seeing automatically through Ruka's eyes, and her mind lost in the thoughts that circled like loose river wood in an eddy. ”I should be able to feel a circuit or feel a biochip...” Her voice was sarcastic, and she glanced back at the meres. ”Biochips at thirty paces...” A sweep of rain stung her face in points. Her eyes widened abruptly. Points of water. Points of light?

Slowly, then more deliberately, she began to jog through the mud, and behind her, Kurvan cursed and picked up his pace. Doetzier, then the others sped up, till their feet slipped and slid with their speed.

Tsia stretched her gate to feel them. It was easier when their pulses were up-as if the way they expended energy brightened the pattern of each biofield. Wren, in the back, was still the easiest for her to distinguish: cold and distant and quick as ice cracking across a pond. Nitpicker: cool, not cold, and wary and sharp, like chilled needles. Striker like sand, without form or shape, but fluid and moving each minute. Bowdie with his gallows humor riding his eager, light-spotted field, and the haunted gaze so hidden behind his darkeyes. He loved a challenge almost as much as she did, but the heat of his field was nothing compared to the hot sense of Kurvan's. Eager, hunting, watching... And then there was the last one: Doetzier, whose cold, watchful eyes were like daggers in her back. Whose field was p.r.i.c.ked with points of light. Like tiny stars. Like living things.

Tsia had to force herself to remain facing forward. She let herself be drawn through the biogate into Ruka's mind until the colors she saw seemed to s.h.i.+ft, and movement became more acute. The rhythmic pounding of the booted feet matched the pulse she felt in veins that were not her own. She could see them clearly now-the way they kept their distance from each other. She could watch from the corners of her double-vision eyes the way each fighter breathed. She could smell the scents of men and women, and reach out for the points of light.

She came almost blindly to the first of the three rocky drops that led to the freepick stake. She took a deep breath, then stepped out over the edge. When she hit the wide, flat top of the column, her ankles jarred, and shock traveled all the way up to her knees. A second jump, more reckless, s.h.i.+vered up through her thighs and renewed the throb of the claw marks beneath the graft on her leg.

The cougar did not hesitate to follow. His tawny shape flashed by so quickly that Tsia jerked and banged her knee against a protruding stone. She stifled her curse with a taut grimace. Should she not have admired his grace? he seemed to say. Tsia opened her mouth to retort, then stopped herself abruptly. She jumped the rest of the way with her knees tucked and bent for the shock of the ground. And Ruka, his golden eyes glaring at her figure, slunk to the side and disappeared in the brush.

His hunter eyes, which watched the meres, made her turn and watch them as warily as he. The meres- one of them was blackjack. And it was Doetzier, she swore to herself, who was the final key.

On the marine platform, there had been that presence-that sense of being watched when she checked the location of the cats. Someone had not wanted her here-or Tucker either.

Doetzier hit the ground while Kurvan made his way awkwardly down. As soon as Striker started her climb, Tsia turned to the trail. There was blackjack here. She would swear it. A killer. Not a mere anymore, but a murderer.

Tentatively, she imaged a command through her temple links and felt it echo away. The one ghost she maintained-she found its trace again. The image of the made-up man who went about his business. A man oblivious to the fact that his false world was no more than the webs of the node. Like tapping into a holo on a dreambar channel, or catching a thread of someone else's conversation, the ghost man was not solid, but he was active. Active on an ID dot that Tsia had given up more than ten years ago. An old ID dot and an image that clung to the node like honey to a spoon... She wondered for a moment, as she watched Bowdie descend, what would happen if she made the ghost an active trace. And if she did so, would her old ID become fully active once again? How long would it be before the guide guild caught on that Tsia of Giordan, not Feather of the meres, was still on the node and active? The rain thickened as if in answer, and Tsia closed down gently on the traceline and let it settle quietly in her mind.

The dawn did not lighten the sky with color, but only cracked it with a faint gray light at the edge of the black horizon. Tsia quickened her pace and urged Ruka to move faster and ahead where his shape would be less visible to the limited range of the darkeyes.

She reached the second rocky drop and caught sight of the freepick stake, half a kay away. The lights were on and visible in the squat, brown-gray huts that surrounded the skimmer tarmac. Like a diamond with slightly rounded edges, the stake was perhaps two hundred meters across and six hundred meters long. Down the middle, in a long, clear stretch of tarmac, were the landing pad and maintenance deck. The main freepick structure was a clumsy hub with short, stubby arms. To the northwest was a row of construction huts. Farther down were four vehicle cradles and three skimmers that squatted like flies on the deck. On the other side of the hub, three rows of cylindrical storage units looked like rows of checkers. The northwest end of the landing pad was bare and flooded with puddles.

Across the tarmac were two more rows of huts and a cl.u.s.ter of vats, larger than those on the marine station. Near the middle of the landing pad, behind one of the rows of huts, a ma.s.sive pit yawned like an open mouth in the ground: the reclamation area. When it was finished, it would be a maze of tunnels and pipelines and wells that would carry and process the tailings until they were completely biodegraded. And it would all work, Tsia thought, because of one set of chips. One piece of biotechnology for which someone would kill.

Half a kay, she thought soberly, and she would know for sure. Seven meres, shut off from the node...

The blackjack who walked among the meres could not let them reach the stake-the meres would never live to use the com inside the hub. Time and their footsteps pushed them forward while blackjack simply waited, like cats on a cliff, for the meres to step under their claws.

She paused at the top of the stony steps and glanced back along the line. Doetzier was still first behind her, then Kurvan just behind him. She waited for the first mere, and as he came abreast of her, he raised his eyebrows in question.

”I have to talk with you,” she murmured. He tilted his head to see her better through the steady rain, and she gestured at the rocks as if to give him directions down, but said as quickly as she could, ”You're carrying the biochips.”

He did not start. He gave no guilty glances or hard looks. It would have been fatuous, she supposed, if he had, but somehow, she expected something other than the blank response of silence.

”Did you hear me?” she demanded urgently. Kurvan moved up into hearing range, and she gave Doetzier an angry look before falling silent. The tall mere said nothing, but started down without her.

Kurvan waited while Doetzier climbed. His lean face looked almost gaunt in the darkness, as if his bones had become more prominent by the hour, and the handsomeness he once projected had retreated in exhaustion. ”My stabilizers are shot,” he said as Doetzier made it to the halfway mark. ”Give me a hand, will you?”

She nodded and extended her grip. He took it and leaned out to lever himself down to gain a purchase on the next slick boulder. With her feet braced and the wind steady, she felt no unbearable strain. Then his antigrav shut down. His weight and that of his pack came full on her arm. He slipped. His fingers wrenched at her hand. She was yanked off her feet-full-length at the edge. Her legs slipped sideways and back. Heavily, she fell with a brutal thud that smashed her ribs to the rock, and her flexor broke free of her harness. Kurvan's fingers slid from her rain-slick skin. She stared at his face as it fell away in the gloom. His eyes-black eyes-bored into hers; then he twisted away to fall.

”Falling!” she shouted.

Kurvan hit Doetzier like a sack of rock. He knocked the other mere off the stone, and both men tumbled to the bottom in a tangle of blunt shapes. Doetzier hit first, and the thud of his pack across stone was almost as loud as the cracking sound Tsia's flexor made as it struck the rock beside them. A hand flung out like a small white flag; the dark bulk of Kurvan's body crushed it almost instantly.

Tsia was already scrambling down. She leaped, then grabbed a hold; sh'thered across wet rock, then swung off her hands. Something tawny blurred her vision, and her hands were, for a second, yellow-gold and furred. She shook her head and jumped recklessly to the ground, staggering with her momentum before she found her feet. What stopped her then was the energy surge and instantaneous shaft of pain that hit her biogate like a flood wall. There was an outraged scream, then silence.

For a second only, she froze. She was not aware that she clutched her forearm as if to break it; only vaguely did she hear the shouting from above. Beside her, before he faded into the half-light of dawn, Ruka's eyes registered the figures that clambered down behind. Tsia's own gaze was glued to the two meres. Kurvan s.h.i.+fted, and as if she broke free of some invisible hold, she lunged forward and yanked him up. Someone cursed. Steel fingers seized her arm from behind.

She wrenched free. ”He's not hurt,” she snarled. ”It's Doetzier.”