Part 51 (2/2)

”Do'wan'drink,” he said.

”Look at the tray,” she said. ”You sot.”

Stung at being called a sot, Dana stared at the tray. It steadied -- or his vision steadied -- enough for him to locate on it two small red pills.

”Wazzat?”

”Sobitrex.” she said. ”Clear your head. Better take them. They're from Tori.”

Dana's stomach heaved at the a.s.sumption that he could put anything more - - even small red pills -- inside it. But after a long, long time, his brain told him that it might not be such a bad idea to get sober. He reached for the pills and, after a hazy minute, managed to scoop them into his right palm.

”Thanks,” he said.

She laughed at him and went away. The room swayed. The parts of his body seemed to be flying off in all directions and he was afraid he was about to be sick.... Cramming the pills in his mouth, he gulped them down without water.

”Won't be sick,” he muttered into his hands.

”Hey, man, how ya' doin'?” a voice boomed. At first he thought it was Juno come to feed him more drinks, but as he focused, more or less, on the face, he realized this was a stranger.

He said, trying to speak clearly, ”Do I know you?”

”No,” said the stranger. ”Want a drink?”

”No.”

”Want to take a walk? You look like you could use one.”

Dana doubted he could stand. ”Too cold,” he objected.

”Hey, it's not cold at all out there,” said the man. Somehow he had drawn his chair quite close to Dana's. Now he stood, and Dana felt an arm go around his shoulders and draw him irresistibly to his feet.

Blinking, he tried to see the man who was holding him, but all he could see was a swirling cloak, the kind that Zed Yago wore to parties.... The thought of Zed brought a rush of memories to his head -- twisted, blackened hands and the smell of burned flesh -- and with them a rush of blood. Dizzy, he leaned on his new friend's shoulders and was enveloped by the cloak. It smelled musty, as he tried to tell the man in the cloak how sick he was of Chabad, the heat, the smells, the people. He fumbled for a chair back to steady himself and found that he was holding a wall. Light puddled on the street beside him. His companion said, ”Just a little bit more now.”

Dana dug in his heels. The cold air burned his nostrils, but it also cleared his head -- or maybe that was the Sobitrex. ”I don't want to go to bed with you,” he warned.

The man laughed. ”I don't think I asked you.”

”Where the h.e.l.l are we going?” Dana said. He grabbed at the stranger's cloak. ”Just stand still.” The man stopped. Dana looked around. The Landingport, with its corona of light, was behind them. ”This isn't where I'm staying,” Dana said, though he had no idea where he was going to stay that night. He had hoped to sleep on some drinking companion's floor. But this sudden excursion was making him uneasy. He turned in a circle, trying to place himself. The street looked familiar. He thought perhaps the Abanat Police Station was nearby, two or three blocks to the north. ”Are you a cop?” he said.

The man grinned. He wore a black pearl earring in his left ear. ”You just said the pa.s.sword, Starcaptain.” He clapped Dana on the side of the neck with one hand. It stung.

”Hey!” Dana took a step away from him. ”You -- ” The street reeled. His breath streamed away in front of him in a plume of smoke, infinitely long....

I'm falling, he thought. The stranger caught him and slung him over his back with contemptuous ease.

”Relax, man, and don't skop it, it'll wear off soon.” His steps jolted Dana's belt against his stomach. He spoke to the air. ”One fish, caught. No trouble. It'd be nice if someone could meet me at the corner and help me bring him in.”

They carried Dana into a house and dumped him on a bed. They strapped him to it: he fought them, feeling the drug they had given him fading and the Sobitrex taking hold. He got in several effective strikes before the big man who'd carried him to the house punched him in the stomach. As he was struggling not to be sick, they pulled the straps tight, opened the window over his head, and left him alone. As he sobered, Dana realized that he did know the man who'd carried him in -- he had been wearing a black-and-silver uniform, and had been standing at Michel A-Rae's right shoulder the day of the Auction.

That told him where he was. A sour taste filled his throat; without volition, he leaned as far as he could over the side of the bed -- it was a cot, really -- and vomited. What the h.e.l.l did they want from him? he thought. That they had deliberately sought him out in the bar, he had no doubt. Information?

Revenge? He had saved Zed Yago's life; he wondered if they knew that he had killed Darien Riis. He had not, really -- Zed's hand had held the laser -- but it was his laser. The wind blew through the window, chilling him so that he shook, and the foul scent of the mess he'd made filled the little s.p.a.ce.

It was near dawn when they finally returned to the room. The wind had lessened, and though it was still cold, the night had paled to a deep, hard- edged blue. The door banged open and two men and a woman walked in. Dana knew the woman at once; he had kicked a broken bottle out of her hand. She was carrying a stun gun. The two men were the man who had tricked him in the bar and Michel A-Rae. The big man -- he was very dark, with hair that stood out from his head in great coiled springs -- yanked the straps loose and pulled Dana to his feet in one fluid motion. ”Pig,” he said.

”Pig yourself,” Dana answered. The dark man hit him, a slap that reeled him off his feet. He landed in a heap against the opposite wall.

”Get that out of here,” A-Rae said, pointing his chin toward the cot. The big man walked to it, folded the soiled mattress in two, and carried it through the door. When he returned he held a mop. He pointed the mop at the crusted vomit and turned it on: it coughed and then sucked the dried stuff up, leaving no trace except a stain. The big man held the mop in one hand and the cot frame in the other and edged out.

Michel A-Rae sauntered to Dana's corner. His black-and-silver uniform was soiled, and his eyes looked wild. Dana tensed. ”Better not,” the woman with the gun said tersely. Dana glanced at her; she was pointing the gun directly at him.

”It's set on lethal,” she warned.

Dana opened his hands. Slowly he tried to ease himself to a more comfortable position on the floor.

”Look at me,” said Michel A-Rae.

Startled, Dana looked. A-Rae took a step forward, swung his right foot, and kicked Dana hard in the side.

Dana gasped and bent over. ”What the h.e.l.l was that for?” he said. He breathed shallowly. His ribs ached with each breath. He tried to gather his feet together.

”Better not,” said the woman with the gun. She was watching him, lips parted, and there was no mercy in her eyes.

”Every move I made on this world,” A-Rae said, ”you've been in my way.”

”Bulls.h.i.+t,” Dana said. And twisted, not soon enough. A-Rae's kick slammed into his ribs. He bent over, hugging himself. d.a.m.n it, he thought, that's the wrong answer, it's always the wrong answer, you fool.... He wondered if any answer was the right answer. He had the terrible feeling that what Michel A-Rae most wanted to do in the world was to kick him slowly to death.

Maybe not. If he does it again I'll go for him, gun or no gun, Dana thought. ”Why do you say that?” he whispered, because his ribs ached too much for him speak normally.

”The bomb,” said A-Rae. ”You were there. The attack in the street, you were there. The house -- ” he paused. ”You had nothing to do with that,” he said grudgingly. ”But on the Net -- ” his eyes gleamed hotly. ”You killed Darien. I could kill you, just for that.”

”Don't kill me,” Dana whispered.

It was begging, of course. But honor no longer troubled him: if it seemed expedient, he would beg. He watched A-Rae's righteous fury increase, like fuel- fed fire. ”You're disgusting,” he said. Fine, Dana thought, lecture me. Don't kick me.

”Tell me what happened on the Net.”

Dana said, ”I didn't kill Darien Riis. I didn't know she was a cop until she told me, after I boarded the Net. Rhani Yago sent me there to find out what was wrong. When I arrived, Jo Leiakanawa was dead and Zed Yago was out cold.

Darien told me that the net was going to blow up. I thought she was going to kill me and I grappled with her. Zed Yago woke from stun and shot her with my cutting laser, which she had told me to throw to the floor.”

”You carried him out of there,” Michel A-Rae said.

”That's right.”

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