Part 20 (2/2)

”I hope. On your way, babe.”

”Rrrr.”

The hum in my ear broke off. I dropped into a squat, my back against the chimney. The s.h.i.+p continued to turn, slowly, ponderously, so huge it obscured a quarter of the sky.

A whistle in my ear. ”Gotcha.” I eased to my feet, set the launch tube against a box. Glancing repeatedly at the s.h.i.+p, I edged around the chimney and walked slow as a weary sloth from junk pile to pile of junk, staying in the deepest shadows as long as I could, breaking my motion at irregular intervals, using everything I knew to avoid alerting a watcher, whether that watcher was a program or a man. The wind swept over the roof, carrying past me the stench of burnt meat, faint cries from the wounded, hoa.r.s.e yells from the hunters in the streets below me. The air was cleared of fliers, but the ground fight was going on, more deadly than before, there were no yipyips, no more coup games, these were rats slas.h.i.+ng at rats. I crept a few steps, stopped, went on, until I was crouching beneath the skip below the toolbox. The Warmaster was still turning, dark, silent, ma.s.sive, no more lightblades though. I eased out, got the box open and dug around for the spare handset. For a cold moment I thought I'd gone off without it this time, the ready-check was so automatic I could have been careless, then my hand closed on the padded case.

Pels must have moved it when he got the buzbugs. I lifted it out, slipped thestrap over my shoulder, pulled the box shut. I looked up. Still turning, measurably closer.

I patted the skip, shook my head and started rambling back toward the chimney.

When I got there, I picked up the launcher, looked from it to the Warmaster and had to grin.

A moment later I lost all desire to laugh, the light blades were out and rotating, wider beams this time, cauterizing the city; where they pa.s.sed, the crowded tenements and warehouses exploded into ash and steam. One minute, two, three, four. The barrage stopped, the Warmaster continued drifting south.

For a breath of two there was a hush. Nothing was happening, in the air or in the streets. Then, as if it were a kind of joke, a last giggle after the great guffaw of the slum clearance, a skinny little light needle about as big around as my thumb came stabbing down close enough I could feel the heat leaking off it. It hit the skip, melted her into slag that ate rapidly through the roof and dropped in a congealing cascade through the floors below, starting more fires as it fell.

The Warmaster began to rise, lifting so fast it sucked air after it, creating a semi-vacuum and then a firestorm as air from outside rushed in. Fire roared up out of the hole in the roof beside me. I had to get out of there. I slung the tube's strap over my shoulder and ran for the rope ladder coiled near the front parapet. I flipped it over and went down in something close to a free fall. I had a moment's regret for the slaves still chained in there, but there wasn't anything I could do, the place was a furnace by the time I hit ground.

Besides, with all the death in this city tonight, it was hard to feel horror or anything else over a few more corpses, however grisly their end.

Stunner in my hand, I ran through the dark streets. No one tried to stop me.

The few Hordar who saw me, looking from windows or crouching in doorways, were shocked into inertia, too afraid, too horrified to do anything but gape. In a section with taverns and small shops I rounded a corner and came face to face with a Ta.s.salgan who was hunting inklins or anyone else he suspected of treachery, which seemed to be just about everyone not Ta.s.salgan. I stunned him as soon as I saw his dark wool uniform, blessing the amnesia effect of the charge; I was clearly not Huvved or Hordar and I didn't look all that much like an escaped slave. I glanced back before I went round another corner and saw ragged children swarming over the downed guard. A wiry boy drew a knife across the Ta.s.salgan's throat and howled as blood spurted over him; he and the other children fought over the blood, wiped their hands in it, licked it off their palms, off his neck. Off the pavement. Hanifa, Hanifa, how are you going to civilize little animals like that? The boy looked up and saw me. I took off. I avoid weasels and all such vermin; they can kill you because they don't know when to give up.

It took me almost an hour to work my way out of the city; it was a big place, bigger than it looked from the skip, and I had to move more warily once I got into the suburbs; there were guards on the walls and they were trigger happy.

I picked up some shot in a shoulder, a hole in my leg that missed bone and most of the muscle but hurt like h.e.l.l and a new part over my left ear, bullet whizzing by entirely too close. By the time I made the park south of town, I was losing blood from my shoulder and my leg and feeling not so good.

The park was on the edge of a forest preserve that spread over the hills south and west of the city on both sides of the river that emptied into the bay. It was open and gra.s.sy with rides winding through huge ancient trees, past banks of flowers and fern, glittering with dew whenever the canopy let through light from late-rising Ruya, the silence broken by a rising wind, hot and dry, blowing off the city, punctuated by s.n.a.t.c.hes of sleepy birdsong; dawn was already reddening the east. I found a bench made from rough-cut planks, eased myself down, not sure I should because my leg was getting stiff and I wasn't all that convinced I could get up again, but I had to locate Pels and I couldn't do that traveling. I pried the mike off, used the nail on my little finger toturn the screw, then started the beeper. I waited with some anxiety but not too much; I knew Pels and I expected him to be curled up somewhere, warm and comfortable and enjoying himself.

The earplug beeped. I turned the screw back and stuck on the mike. ”Gotcha, Pels. Glad you made it.”

I found out why Pels had turned down his mike. Looking a bit sheepish, as well he might, he showed me what he'd done. In the hollow thicket where he'd found shelter he had the four targets and around twenty more fugitives, the rest of the slaves housed in that barracks. He was as sentimental as a daydreaming dowager, but I couldn't complain too much because I was. . . well, call it pleased to see they weren't roasted after all. He knew it too, blasted teddybear.

I gave k.u.mari a call. She wasn't happy with us. You forget that tap? she said.

What am I supposed to think when Adelaar tells me the Grand Sech is ordering the Warmaster to gul Samlikkan? I tried to reach you. Flashed the call light.

No answer. I couldn't use the buzzer, I didn't know who or what might be listening. What took you so long? I've been sitting here eating an ulcer in my belly wondering if the two of you were alive or dead. Stay there. I'll send Adelaar to fetch you. How many did you say?

Adelaar got to us late the next night, brought both akips, the second droned behind. The Warmaster was back in orbit over Gilisim Gillin, she said, just sitting there like it was brooding over what to erase next. According to the tap we didn't have to worry about its scanners; the crew was too busy putting its insides back in order. And gul Samlikkan was still burning and the locals were concentrating their attention on containing the destruction and restoring order and they weren't worrying about what was going on in the hills.

We packed half the fugitives in the skips, Pels and Adelaar flew them out. I stayed behind with the leftovers. There was some argument about that, Pels was determined I should go back and get some sacktime in the tub's autodoc, but I didn't want to face that long flight the way I was feeling; I could easily pa.s.s out somewhere along the way and I wasn't about to trust any of those ex-slaves with the com. The autopilot could handle a lot, but things come up no flakehead can cope with. Adelaar didn't go maternal over anyone but Aslan, she didn't care what I did. She told Pels he could do what he wanted, but she was going now. And she went. Pels worked over me until I was as sore as he was satisfied, then he slapped bandages on my punctures and lacerations, shot me full of antipyretics, blood-builders and painkillers, left the kip's medkit beside me and took off.

One of the ex-slaves who volunteered to stay behind was a Froska named Jair, an officious little male, precise and self-contained, stoic to the point of insanity like a lot of his species. Pels warned me about him, said he was sure to be a nuisance, he didn't obey orders, he'd do what he wanted no matter how irritating that was to the rest. When the bunch of them got settled in the brush hollow to wait for me, Jair decided to go off on his own hunting water.

Without bothering to tell anyone what he was up to, he peeled off from the group and went exploring. Being nocturnal and forest bred, he was the best suited for night walking in strange places, so it was a reasonably sensible thing to do; what wasn't sensible was sneaking off. Self-contained was one thing, Pels said, carried that far, it was crazy. There wasn't any need to ooze away like that, what could we do? Sit on him? Thing is, he's been here over fifteen years; I suppose his natural tendencies were warped all to h.e.l.l by that. Hard to argue with success, though. He found a small stream about half a kilometer deeper in the forest, rooted around till he located some large seedpods, cleaned two of them out and filled them with water. When he got back, I was furious with him, Pels said, but apart from some growling I couldn't say much because several of the others were suffering from water loss and on the point of collapse. While they finished off the water, I wasted some time trying to get him to see where he went wrong; he listened, blinking those frog eyes at me, nodding like a good little Froska. Like he heard and agreed with everything Isaid. Hmm. Not a hope. Swar, if you lose the little b.a.s.t.a.r.d, don't bother hunt-ing, him or waiting for him, it's his own fault. The moment Pels took off, Jair tapped two Kouri on their fore-shoulders and slipped away into the dark-ness with them. I saw that, but what with the painkill-ers and general exhaustion I didn't feel like starting an argument I was sure to lose. The three of them were back soon enough, hauling more water and a load of empty pods. I hadn't thought to ask k.u.mari, but she sent empacs with Adelaar, two tea bricks and a self-heating thermos. Jair trotted briskly over to a female Svigger and stirred her out of her sleep to make tea for us and convert some of the meatflakes into a thick soup that tasted like empac rations always taste, no one not starving could get them down without gag-ging. The tea helped, woke up appet.i.tes; besides, the food the Huvved had been giving them the past months wasn't all that much better so they were hungry and got the soup down without complaining. I stuck to tea and some CVP wafers. The next night Pels came earlier than I expected. He'd lifted off before sundown, taking a chance on being spotted before he plunged into night. He just grinned when I snarled at him. Adelaar was plugged into the Warmaster, ready to warn him if it moved, he said, and as for ocean traffic, there was one whingding of a storm blowing through the strait, no seagoer would be out in weather like that. No droned skip either, I said, but he just shrugged. I made it, he said.

By the time we got back, it should be blown out, so that was all right.

The AP's had killed my fever and this body heals fast, so I was in better shape than yesterday; the trip back to Base was no problem, just tedious. I let Pels take the lead in his skip and do most of the watching and my autopilot did most of the work for me, so I spent the greater part of that miserable night sleeping, 'cramped, cold, drifting from one nightmare to another. And swearing for the umteenth time I would never again commit us to anything like this.

23 days after the meeting at Gerbek.

Aslan put the Ridaar down, looked at her chron. Am hour till noon. She had time for another interview, maybe two, before she met her mother for lunch, which was set for midafternoon when Adelaar turned over the Tap feed to k.u.mari and took a short break to eat and exercise a little. She rubbed at her temples, feeling drugged by talk, hammered at by talk, exhausted by the need to listen attentively and ask the right questions to get the story down in all its aspects of feeling and event. One thing you had to say for this experience, she was going back to University with an enormous pile of data; scholars from a dozen disciplines would be excavating it for the next decade, maybe longer. It could hoist her higher on the tenure list, dearie dai, ooh-yeha.

She looked up, saw Parnalee standing in the doorway of his work station, watching her. Hastily she got to her feet, looked around for something that would give her an excuse to go somewhere else. The Jajes were starting up the path to the lake, small dark figures like wingless black bats. She hadn't interviewed them yet, they were shy creatures and self-absorbed, they allowed very few intruders into their yiuriu. They probably wouldn't talk to her, but they were the draw she needed. She started after them.

When she reached the plateau, they were nowhere in sight, but she saw k.u.mari stretched out in the shade of a broad squat tree, a pitcher of fruitade beside her, a book on her stomach.

Aslan chewed on her lip, looked over her shoulder. She was alone, she couldn't see the tug or the shelters, which meant anyone down there couldn't see her.

She moved hesitantly nearer the figure under the tree, she'd rather talk with Quale (nothing to do with her l.u.s.t for his body) or Pels, they shared enough of her background to make her comfortable with them, she didn't even know k.u.mari's species, let alone the basic a.s.sumptions of her culture. But during the day Quale and Pels were sleeping or conferring with Parnalee and at night they were gone. She walked forward feeling decidedly unwelcome. k.u.mari continued toread, no sign she even knew Aslan was there. More than that, there was a strong indication that anyone who came by should keep on walking.

”Despina k.u.mari,” Aslan said, ”It's important I talk with you.”

k.u.mari turned a page. ”Second hour after noon, your mother's work station.”

”No. I'm sorry. That's not possible. I don't want Parnalee Proggerd aware I've spoken to you.”

”Sit there.” k.u.mari closed the book, pushed up; she checked to see that the panicb.u.t.ton was in reach, then scowled at Aslan. ”Why?”

Aslan dropped to the gra.s.s, sat cross-legged, her hands on her thighs. ”I don't want him putting his mind to killing me. I have a feeling he'd manage it no matter how I squirmed.”

”Your reasons?” k.u.mari sounded skeptical but not wholly unconvinced. Aslan felt herself trembling, fooled with her breathing until she was calm enough to go on. The past two weeks had been more of a strain on her than she'd realized.

”He said it, don't screw me up, he said, I'll twist the neck of the one who tries it. He was talking about something else at the time, but I doubt he's changed his mind. He's crazy, you know. Not just a little warped. I'm talking about seriously bent. It's not my field, I don't know the technical terms for what he is, but he's focusing all his energies on one thing, making Huvved dead. Some little Huvved snot had his Ta.s.salgans hold Parnalee down while he beat on him with his czadeg, you know, those gray whips they use on anyone who annoys them, cut his back and b.u.t.tocks into dogmeat. I was there while he was healing, I saw it eating on him. He's not the kind of man who enjoys a little bondage now and then, no, and there was something from when he was a boy, some sort of trouble, he dreams about it when he's under stress, nightmares, very noisy. I woke him once, tried to get him to talk about it. He punched me around a bit, broke a couple of ribs, gave me enough bruises to decorate an SM sanctum and kicked me out, made me finish the night on a garden lounge, which I preferred to his company, believe me. If he gets a chance at the Warmaster's armory, he'll boil Tairanna down to bedrock. As long as he gets the Huvved, he doesn't care who else he ashes.”

”How do you know?”

”Nothing tangible. Watching him. Stripping down those productions he did for Tra Yarta, you know, the Grand Sech. Some things he's said, awake and asleep.

Body language more than anything, though he's very good at hiding what he's thinking, that's part of his professional training, isn't it.”

”No proof?”

”None.”

”Not even in the Ridaar?”

”He wouldn't let the Ridaar anywhere near him. Made me stow it while I was living with him.”

”Elmas Ofka wants him with us at Lift-Off. Without proof. ...”

”Oh.”

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