Odd Girl Out q-3

by Timothy Zahn

  For a long minute Bhatami locked gazes with me. Then, stirring, he turned back to Rebekah. "Rebekah, will you tell me what's in the boxes?"

  A slightly pained look flicked across Rebekah's face. "Siris brandy," she said.

  Bhatami blinked. "Brandy?"

  "Yes," she said, looking even more pained. "Three hundred bottles of it."

  He pursed his lips. "I'm afraid that's way beyond personal use limits," he said regretfully. "You need an exporter's license to deal in that much alcohol."

  "No problem," I put in. "I have a license. We can take it out under my name."

  Bhatami frowned at me. "I thought you worked security for Hardin Industries."

  "My duties are flexible."

  He gave me a long, speculative look, then turned back to Rebekah. "What's the brandy for, Rebekah?"

  She lowered her gaze. "Mr. Karim gave it to me. I was hoping I could sell it for enough money to buy my Quadrail ticket to Earth."

  Carefully, I suppressed a frown. A fine story, as far as it went. Certainly New Tigris's home-grown alcoholic beverages had become popular among the galaxy's rich and tipsy. Sold to the right dealer, three hundred bottles of Siris might well have brought in enough for a third-class Quadrail ticket.

  The only problem was that there was no reason why the Modhri would knock himself out this way, not to mention murder three people, just to get his hands on a stash of Human liquor.

  Which meant Rebekah was lying through her teeth.

  The Modhri knew it, too. "Ridiculous," Comet Nose spat. "She carries Modhran coral. I insist you impound it as evidence."

  "You can look for yourself," Rebekah offered.

  Bhatami looked at Comet Nose. "Thank you, I will," he said. "Perhaps you'd care to join us, Isantra Golovek?"

  Taking Rebekah's arm again, Bhatami walked her back toward the rear of the car. With only a brief hesitation, Comet Nose followed. I got two steps of my own before the cop on guard-dog duty hauled me to a sharp halt. "Lieutenant?" I called.

  "Yes, bring him, too," Bhatami ordered over his shoulder.

  The cop and I reached the rear of the car just as Rebekah popped open the trunk. I picked myself a spot where I had a view of the boxes and was also within quick-kick range of Comet Nose, just in case. "You have the keys?" Bhatami asked.

  Silently, Rebekah handed them over. Bhatami looked over the boxes a moment, then inserted the key into the rightmost box on the top layer.

  There was a teeth-aching screech of metal on metal. "They're a little rusty," Rebekah said apologetically. "Sorry."

  "That's all right." With careful effort Bhatami managed to turn the key without breaking it, and with a final squeak the lock popped. Removing the key, he lifted the lid.

  There, glinting in the soft glow of the trunk light, were eighteen bottles of Siris brandy.

  No one spoke. For once, even the Modhri seemed to be at a loss for words. Silently, Bhatami closed the lid and relocked the box. Brushing past Comet Nose, he went to the other end of the trunk and inserted the key into the box one in from the left. With more of the same effort, and more of the metal-on-metal screeching, he got it open.

  Inside was another collection of brandy bottles. "Well?" Bhatami asked, looking at Comet Nose.

  "It is there," Comet Nose insisted.

  "Yes, I can tell," Bhatami said with only a touch of sarcasm. Closing and sealing the box, he moved the middle box of the top layer aside and opened the box directly beneath it. Still more brandy. "Thank you, Rebekah," he said, closing and sealing the box and replacing the one he'd moved. "Were you wanting to leave right now?"

  "Yes, as soon as I can," Rebekah said. "What about Mr. Donaldson?"

  "I'm afraid Mr. Donaldson will have to stay with us for a little longer," Bhatami said. "But you and Bayta can go ahead and load your things aboard her torchyacht if you'd like."

  "No!" Comet Nose barked. All the work he'd gone to in order to get his coral and Rebekah's boxes together, and now here they were about to slip out of his grasp. "I protest! You must not allow her to leave."

  "Hussin, go get a cart from the port building, will you?" Bhatami ordered one of the cops, ignoring the Filly's outburst.

  The cop nodded and headed for the building. He might as well not have bothered. The Customs official had been standing by the open door, clearly eavesdropping on the unfolding drama, and as Officer Hussin detached himself from the group of cops, the younger man ducked back inside and snared one of the three transport carts lined up against the wall. He met Hussin halfway to our group, and as they moved the cart together toward the car I could swear they were actually vying with each other as to which of them was doing the better job. Everyone on New Tigris, apparently, was Rebekah's friend.

  Almost everyone, anyway. "Officer Bhatami, I protest," Comet Nose said again as the two men maneuvered the cart to the rear of the car and started loading the boxes onto it. He was right in Bhatami's face now, his voice rising in pitch and increasing in volume. "I intend to lodge a formal complaint with the Filiaelian Assembly—"

  And then, one of the cops standing near the front of the van gave a little choke and collapsed onto the ground.

  THIRTEEN :

  "Incoming!" I barked as the cop next to him also dropped into a heap. The other cops were already on it, snatching out their own guns, their heads jerking back and forth as they searched for the shooter. Beside me, Comet Nose slammed the back of one hand across Bhatami's face as he made a grab for the lieutenant's holstered gun with the other.

  Bhatami got there first, and for a second the two of them struggled for the weapon before my double kick into the Filly's knee and low ribs sent him sprawling to the pavement. "Get out of here!" I snapped at the Customs official, crouched frozen at the rear of the car, his eyes wide. "Get them inside."

  The official shifted his goggle eyes toward me as a barrage of gunfire erupted from the remaining cops, concentrated on the two autocabs in the shelter fifty meters ahead of us. "I said move!" I ordered again.

  "You heard him," Bayta urged, taking the Customs man's arm. The kwi, I saw, was already in place on her other hand.

  "Come on, Mr. Elfol," Rebekah said encouragingly, getting a grip on the cart's bar. "I'll help you push."

  The man seemed to snap out of his stunned trance. "Okay," he managed. With Rebekah beside him, he shoved off from the car, pushing for all he was worth.

  "Wait a second," I called as Bayta started to follow. "Where's Karim?"

  "I don't know," she said. "He said he was going to go find a flanking position. He hadn't returned when Rebekah said we needed to come stop them from arresting you."

  I swore under my breath. If I'd known Rebekah was going to go all noble that way, I would never have left my phone on for them to listen to.

  On the other hand, if she hadn't insisted on coming to my rescue, all the cops would probably have left when they arrested me, leaving her, Bayta, and Karim to face the Filly shooter alone. "Just get her into the ship and seal up," I told Bayta. "They'll need something stronger than handguns to get through a torchyacht hull."

  She nodded and headed off after the other two, sweeping the autocab shelter with the kwi as she ran. The shooter was almost certainly out of the kwi's limited range, I knew, but it couldn't hurt to try.

  I returned my attention to the main event, to find that two more cops had gone down for the count. So far, fortunately, the shooter seemed to be sticking with snoozers. I wondered if and when that would change.

  "Hold still," Bhatami growled in my ear, his voice barely audible over the chattering of the gunfire. I felt his hands at my wrists, and a second later I was free. "Here," he added, pressing my Beretta into my hand.

  "Thanks," I said, peering around the side of the car. Three of the five cops still standing had taken refuge behind the van and were pouring a controlled stream of thudwumpers at the autocab shelter. The two cops who weren't busy laying down suppression fire were on the move, running hunched over toward the shelter
, veering wide to both sides to keep out of their comrades' line of fire.

  I held my breath, waiting for the shooter at the shelter to notice the flankers and open fire on them. But either he'd completely missed their approach, or else the cops' fire had him too thoroughly pinned down. Either way, fifteen more seconds and they would have him.

  An unpleasant tingle went up my back. This was too easy. It was way too easy. "Call them back," I urged, grabbing Bhatami's shoulder. "It's a trap."

  "What kind of trap?" he demanded, throwing a frown at me.

  Before I could answer, a car with no lights shot suddenly into view from the parking area to our left, gunning straight for the two running cops.

  "Look out!" I shouted. But it was too late. The car slammed into the first cop, probably before he was even aware of its presence, hurling him through the air to skid to a broken halt almost at the feet of his comrade. The second cop had just enough time to brake to a halt and try to get out of the way before he too was run down. The impact threw him into the tall chain-link fence at the spaceport's perimeter. He bounced off the fence and lay still.

  The police gunfire had faltered during the attack. Now, with a snarled curse from someone, the barrage began again, this time targeting the car.

  Ignoring the hail of thudwumpers hammering his vehicle, the driver backed the car up a few meters. Braking to a halt, he opened his door, reached out to snatch the first dead cop's gun from the pavement, and lobbed it to the Filly hidden at the autocab shelter. With the kind of perfect coordination only the Modhri could achieve, the shooter's hand darted out at exactly the right time to the right spot to catch the weapon. Even before the pass was complete, the car lurched forward again, headed for the other dead cop's gun.

  But the brief respite was all the rest of the cops needed to get the range. As the car surged toward the fence, I saw the driver jerk like a broken marionette as multiple rounds hammered his head and torso. He slumped over the wheel as the car rolled to a stop.

  And then the driver's-side back door opened, and from my crouching position I saw a hand dart down from the rear passenger seat. It grabbed the remaining gun off the pavement, swiveled it around, and began shooting under the car at us.

  "What the hell?" Bhatami gasped as one of the three remaining cops gave a choked gasp and sprawled onto the pavement. "He can't shoot that way."

  "Tell him that," I retorted. Of course the Modhri could shoot blind that way—he had both the other shooter and Comet Nose to triangulate his aim for him.

  I frowned as the thought suddenly brought Comet Nose to mind. I looked over at the pavement where I'd dropped him a minute ago.

  He was gone.

  "Watch it!" I warned, looking around. There was no sign of him. Had he faded into the night to our rear, heading away from the battle on some other errand? Or had he curved back around to follow Bayta and Rebekah? I looked through the glassed-in front of the spaceport building, but there was no one visible.

  And then, with a lurch, Veldrick's van pulled away from the curb. Cutting hard around the group of parked police cars, it roared off across the parking area, leaving the two cops who'd been crouched behind it completely exposed to the two Filly shooters. The cops reacted instantly, scrambling for new defensive positions behind the police cars. But once again the Modhri's group-mind coordination was faster. Before they'd made it even halfway, both of them dropped to the ground.

  And our side was now down to two: Bhatami and me. "I think it's time to call in some backup," I told Bhatami.

  His reply was lost in a sudden thunder of gunfire from the two Fillies' positions. Real gunfire this time, not just snoozers. I ducked lower behind the car, wincing as the thudwumpers slammed into the engine compartment and shattered the windows, showering the two of us with bits of glass. "—the hell are they doing?" I heard Bhatami snarl over the racket.

  "Keeping us busy," I shouted back, silently cursing my own lack of anticipation. Of course the Modhri had restricted himself to snoozers up until now—with the cops crouched behind the van, his precious crateloads of coral had been in his line of fire. With the van now out of the way, his walkers were free to switch to thudwumpers and do their best to put us out of his way permanently. I glanced at the van, bouncing at full speed across and through the modest landscaping around the spaceport parking area as Comet Nose whisked the coral out of the battle zone.

  I caught my breath. No—Comet Nose wasn't driving away from anything. He was driving toward something. Specifically, toward a shadowy figure running stealthily across the parking area. Was McMicking finally joining the party?

  And then the headlights brushed across the figure, and I saw that it wasn't McMicking, but Karim.

  The cacophony of shots from the two Fillies was joined by the distinctive bark of Karim's RusFed P11 as he opened fire at the vehicle heading toward him. But for all the effect the shots had he might as well have been throwing confetti. With no need for Comet Nose himself to see where he was going, he could crouch low behind the dashboard with the whole engine compartment to block Karim's shots.

  I swiveled my Beretta around, resting it across my left wrist, and opened fire on the van's cargo compartment. If I could put a couple of thudwumpers into the coral, maybe the walkers would go catatonic long enough for Karim to get out of the way.

  I was still firing when the van caught Karim a glancing blow, throwing him sideways to the ground and sending his gun spinning off into the night.

  I winced with sympathetic pain. The impact had been relatively light, and there was a fair chance Karim had survived it. But that state of affairs wouldn't last long. All the Modhri had to do was pull the van around in a quick circle and roll over him to finish the job.

  I peered helplessly out into the darkness surrounding the spaceport. McMicking had to be here—he was too good to have missed out on the probability that the Modhri would have set up for a full-fledged attack. Not Larry Hardin's top troubleshooter. He had to be lurking somewhere on the fringes of the battle, maybe with a homemade mortar and lob bomb, maybe with a cozy sniper's position and a hypersonic rifle. He was the surprise, last-minute flanking move that the Modhri wouldn't be expecting and would have no way of blocking.

  Only our last minutes were rapidly running down, and Karim's absolute last minute was nearly here.

  Where the hell was he?

  The van shifted direction, and I waited tensely for it to circle around and finish off Karim. But instead the vehicle veered in the opposite direction, curving around and heading back toward the spaceport proper. "Looks like he's coming back for his friends," Bhatami said. "We've got one last chance to nail him." Rising from his crouch a few centimeters, he braced his gun hand on the car's trunk, pointing it toward the shelter.

  And with a sudden snarl of pain, he lunged forward, slamming his chest against the car's rear bumper, and fell heavily to the ground.

  I dropped to one knee beside him. To my surprise, it was his ankle, not his chest, that was busy spurting blood onto the pavement. The Filly in the car had managed to land a shot under not only his own vehicle but also under ours as well.

  "Never mind me," Bhatami gritted out between clenched teeth as he clutched at his wound. "Nail the haramzas."

  "In a second," I said, shoving my gun back into its holster and gingerly pulling back the blood-soaked pant leg. There was a pulsing rhythm to the flow, which meant the shot had nicked an artery. If I went charging off after the Fillies now, Bhatami would bleed to death where he lay. "Where do you keep your med kits?"

  "You hear me?" Bhatami snapped. "I said—"

  "Never mind—I'll find it," I cut him off, eyeing the nearest police car. It was about four meters away, across the business end of the Modhran shooting gallery. Setting my teeth, I gathered my feet under me and sprinted to the car.

  No shots rang out. With my skin crawling in gruesome anticipation, I wrenched the door open and ducked down into its limited protection. "Under the front passenger seat," Bhatami call
ed, his voice already sounding weaker.

  I reached under the seat and pulled out the shiny white box. Tucking it under my arm, I turned around and braced myself for the return run across the shooting gallery.

  And as I did so, there was a horrendous crash from the spaceport fence.

  I looked through the car window. Comet Nose had driven the van through the fence and was now bouncing across the landing area. Behind him, running for all they were worth, were the two remaining Fillies from the shelter and the car.

  Suppressing another curse, I ran back to Bhatami's side and popped open the medical kit. The all-purpose emergency bandage was right on top; ripping it out of its sterile plastic envelope, I wrapped it around Bhatami's ankle and squeezed the activation disk. The tiny red lights went on as the catalytic reaction inside the bandage began swelling the material, sealing off the entire area around the wound. "Go," Bhatami breathed. "Maybe you can still stop them."

  "Right." Away to the south, I could see the faint flickers of red and blue light that marked the approach of the backup forces that I wished had been here three minutes ago. Pressing a pain-med hypo into Bhatami's palm, I headed for the hole in the fence.

  I had just reached it and started through when there was a flat crack from somewhere in front of me and a bullet whizzed past my head.

  I threw myself down and to the side, landing painfully on a tangled flap of the fencing that Comet Nose's impact had torn free. Another shot ricocheted off the pavement beside me. This time I spotted the shooter crouched at the corner of the spaceport building. I fired three shots, and had the satisfaction of seeing him jerk violently and then fall to the ground.

  But my sense of accomplishment was short-lived. I'd made it to his position and confirmed he was dead when, across the field, one of the torchyachts rose into view on its Shorshic force thrusters. Still lifting, it swiveled ponderously around and headed across the sky.