Liege-Killer

by Christopher Hinz

  Nick shook his head. “Haddad looks like he’s going to be real stubborn about this. I don’t think he’ll give us permission to go beyond E-Tech.”

  Gillian’s feet pumped steadily. “Rome has the final say, doesn’t he? Maybe you could use your charm to plead our case.” He wanted to add: Either that or we think about doing this on our own. He did not dare. Haddad probably had the gym bugged. Besides, Nick understood what was left unsaid.

  “Yeah, maybe I could convince Rome. And maybe not. It’s just that we gotta play by their rules here. We could kill this Paratwa and end up doing more harm than good to E-Tech.”

  Sweat began to break out on Gillian’s forehead. “Do you think the Paratwa’s going to play by their rules?”

  “Don’t feed me that crap!” Nick growled. “I know that a Termi’s no pushover.”

  “If it is a Termi.”

  Nick paused. “Are you holding something back?”

  He began to breathe deeply. “Two murder scenes and three witnesses! Even Termis weren’t that sloppy.”

  “Yeah, I thought about that. But think of the ego trip this assassin must be on. He comes out of stasis and sees that he’s the baddest creature alive—he’s a walking nightmare in a world of daydreamers. He’s bound to feel reckless.”

  “Maybe. And maybe he’s leaving witnesses for a reason.”

  “Self-exalting arrogance,” Nick said. “He wants the attention. Even Termis weren’t modest.”

  “Or maybe he’s more calculating than that. More deliberate.” Gillian was beginning to heat up. He could not jog in place for much longer. Soon he would have to run.

  Nick looked gloomy. “I suppose it’s possible. But unless we can talk to those witnesses, we’re not going to learn anything further ... until the bastard strikes again.”

  Gillian gave a sharp nod. Tiny lesions of sweat broke through the thin fabric of his pullover. “Tomorrow I want to go to Lamalan, the site of the first killing.”

  “Haddad’s people have been over that whole area—quite thoroughly, judging by the reports I’ve seen.”

  “We’ll go anyway.” Gillian broke into a sprint and began to circle the gym before Nick could think of an argument. Legs pumped furiously and his chest heaved, sucking oxygen in controlled gulps; cadences learned long ago. His thoughts drifted.

  I move—I am. I want—I take. I see—I learn. I grow—I make. Odd, the things that came back to you from childhood. It was an old nursery rhyme.

  He ran with the abandon of the short sprinter; twice around the gym, knowing that he had not even approached his limits. It felt good: his mind, fully locked into the rhythms of the hunt, ages away from pain and loss; his body a hard shield against the past. He experienced that curious feeling of invulnerability that came to him on rare occasions, a physiological high that even the best drugs could not emulate. Nothing could stop him.

  I am ready to hunt a Paratwa.

  O}o{O

  In terror, Paula awoke; aching, enveloped by dry heat, her head pounding from the steady shriek of nearby machinery. She could see nothing, could not tell if she was right side up or upside down. Something across her mouth prevented her from screaming. A wail threatened to rise within her and she knew she would go mad if she allowed that to happen.

  I must not give in. The thought calmed her. The events in Moat’s shop came back. The pirates! They injected us with some sort of knockout drug ...

  Us! Where was Jerem?

  She shuddered as a host of unpleasant possibilities blossomed. Jerem could be dead!

  No! He is not dead. My son is alive! I know this. He cannot be dead. He is alive and he may need my help.

  The thought restored calm. All right. First I must help myself. Where am I?

  The shrieking noise was suddenly familiar. Paula had heard it before, though never this loudly. Rocket engines! I’m in a shuttle!

  Probably she was in one of the darkened storage bays, directly beside the powerful motors. That would explain the heat. And her lack of a sense of direction ... We’re in space—there’s no gravity! And I can’t move my lips because there’s a gag across my mouth.

  She felt calmer. And angry.

  Jerem could be in here with her. Most storage bays were fairly large. She stretched out her arms to explore. The movement disturbed her delicate tension with the deck. She floated away, gently bumping into a warm flat object with her nose. A quick grab at the new surface proved unwise. She slid away and floated in another direction. Moments passed. Then she felt her bottom pressing against a series of bars.

  A ladder! This time she moved her hands very carefully. Her left palm tightened on a rung. Movement stopped.

  With her free hand, she tried to peel away whatever was covering her mouth. The gag would not come loose. It felt like a wide band of supple leather, somehow clasped at the back of her neck. She yanked at it several times before giving up.

  She turned to face the ladder and began climbing, head first. She had no idea if she was going in the right direction but it was a moot point. If this way did not lead to an exit, the other would.

  The ladder ended at a steel hatch. She felt around its rim, located the snaplocks, flipped them back. Brightness blinded her as the hatch motored itself open.

  She squinted. A shadow moved, blocking the light. Strong hands grabbed her wrists, hauled her out of the storage bay.

  The hands released her. Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the brightness.

  She was in the midcompartment of a shuttle. The Costeau with the scarlet penis tattooed on his cheek stood before her. Piercing green eyes regarded her with an almost polite grin. She sneered at him. The pirate grabbed a pair of friction boots from a rack, shoved them to the deck in front of her.

  “Put ’em on.” The boots touched the serrated floor, stuck fast. The pirate reached behind Paula and pinched something at the back of the leather gag. It loosened, floated away.

  “Where’s my son?” she demanded.

  “Same place you were.” He turned, keyed open an air-seal, and disappeared into the forward part of the vessel.

  Bastard! She hooked a leg around a sidebar to stay in position while she exchanged her shoes for the friction boots.

  Enough light shone through the open hatch to illuminate the storage bay. Jerem floated near the center, kicking and flailing at the air, trying to propel himself toward a wall.

  Paula used her hands to walk down the ladder. Jerem calmed down when he saw that she was reaching for him. Their palms locked. A minute later she had him out of the bay and into the midcompartment.

  She released his gag. His face was red, wet with tears.

  “Oh, Jerem!” She hugged him.

  “Mom! I’m all right!” He pulled away from her. “It’s just that for a while I didn’t know where I was or what happened to you.” His voice sounded brittle, controlled. “I thought maybe the pirates left us to die out in space or somethin’.”

  “We’re on their ship,” Paula soothed. “I don’t think they mean to hurt us.” Rage welled up inside of her. No one has the right to terrify my son!

  The rack of friction boots hung beside the compartment’s miniature galley. Paula found a pair that fit Jerem. She held him in place while he put them on.

  “What do we do now?” he asked.

  “Come on.” She stepped carefully, making sure that at least one foot was in contact with the deck at all times. Jerem followed her toward the forward part of the shuttle, to the air-seal that the pirate had disappeared through.

  Her son suddenly pushed off the deck, somersaulted, and landed feet first on the ceiling.

  “Stop it!” Paula snapped, then realized she was being insensitive. Jerem had been badly scared and now he was being a boy again and she should be thankful. “I’m sorry.”

  He grinned. “That’s okay. Watch this.”

  He launched himself more forcefully and performed two midair twists before his feet touched the deck beside her. “I learned that in freefall class last
month!”

  “That’s good.” Paula stopped at the air-seal, twisted the snaplocks, drew a deep breath as it opened.

  Three men sat at a small table in what was obviously a rec compartment of some sort. They were playing a game—poker, she thought—with a deck of laminated plastic slabs. Piles of cash cards sat before each man. Two of the pirates she did not recognize, but the third was the lanky black from Moat’s shop.

  Twangy music, threaded with deep bass notes, filled the background, made their low conversation nearly inaudible. The pirates wore no odorant bags, though Paula could still detect the faint smell of spoiled fish.

  The Costeau with the tattoo dropped down from the flight deck above. He landed in front of them. “You hungry?”

  Paula glared, wanting to hit him. “Kidnapping is an Intercolonial crime.”

  The three men at the table looked up from their game and laughed. Penis Tattoo grinned at the black man. “Hey, Santiago—looks like we’re in trouble again.”

  Santiago hooked his palms under his suspenders. He sneered at Paula. “I’m just plain fuckin’ frightened.”

  His companions threw back their heads and howled. One of them shouted: “Tell us more, woman!”

  Paula spun to face the tattooed pirate. “You’re a bastard!” The only thing that kept her from slugging this Costeau was Jerem. If she angered these people, they might take it out on her son.

  Piercing green eyes regarded her with amusement. “Yes, I’m a bastard. Now, are you hungry or not?”

  “Mom, I’m hungry.”

  “What do you want with us?” Paula demanded.

  The tattoo wiggled as he spoke. “It’s a clan affair. You’ll find out soon enough.”

  “Where are you taking us?”

  The pirate motioned for them to follow. He pushed off the deck and shot through the open hatch above.

  “Jerem, I want you to follow right behind me. And be careful.”

  Paula launched herself and missed the opening. She had to crawl several inches along the ceiling and pull herself through the hole. Jerem arrowed up to the flight deck in one easy motion.

  “Wow!” he shouted.

  Visible through the flight deck’s narrow band of windows was an incredible sight—two or three hundred shuttles, crisply shining against the blackness of space. The vessels seemed to be orbiting an immense conglomeration of patchwork metal. The scarred object was cylindrical and, judging by the size of the shuttles, looked to be several miles long and about a half mile in diameter. Paula had never been to such a place—Costeaus did not encourage visitors.

  “It’s a pirate colony, isn’t it, Mom?”

  Paula nodded.

  A woman sat in the command chair. The tattooed pirate stood by her side. The woman swiveled an instrument panel from her lap and eased it back into the larger framework of control boards.

  Black hair was braided into a triplet of ponytails. Narrow lips and heavy eyebrows, both accented in blue, made the oval face appear stern. She was a bit slimmer than Paula, and an inch or so taller. Her green jumpsuit fit like a tailored glove.

  She studied Paula’s anger for a moment. “We’re cruel, yes?”

  “You said it.”

  “My name is Grace. This is Aaron, my brother.”

  The tattooed pirate gave a gracious nod.

  “We are of the clan of Alexander,” said Grace. “What you see out there is one of our places.”

  Paula kept her anger in check. “What do you want of us? And don’t tell me again that it’s a clan affair.”

  “My brother and I were instructed to find you and bring you before the Lion of Alexander.”

  “Is that supposed to frighten us?” Paula snapped. “Like it frightened Moat?”

  Grace shrugged. “Moat Piloski once crossed the clan, cheated a shuttle crew out of what was rightfully theirs. The Lion showed him mercy on that occasion. Moat recognized the consequences of crossing us again.”

  “And what have my son and I done to you?”

  “You are to be brought before the Lion. That is all I may say.”

  “And did the Lion instruct you to terrorize us in the process? Gag us and imprison us in a dark bay!”

  Aaron smiled and directed his words at Jerem. “Guardians often board our vessels when we’re docked in the Colonies. Ostensibly, they search for contraband, but the real reason they harass us is that they do not want us in their worlds. They make our lives difficult whenever possible. On Lamalan, we put you in our storage bay for safekeeping, in case the Guardians boarded. Unless specifically instructed, Guardians generally won’t take the time for a complete search. The gags were used in the event you had awakened while they were aboard.”

  “How long were we asleep?” Jerem asked.

  “Almost twenty-four hours,” said Aaron. “You were given a minor stasis drug in Moat’s shop.”

  Paula’s anger swelled. “We’ve been in space for a whole day? You could have at least brought us out of storage. My son was petrified!”

  Aaron shrugged. “We had other stops to make before coming here. It was best that you remained asleep. We released you from the acceleration straps. You were free to emerge from the bay at any time.”

  Grace turned to Jerem. “Is it true? You were frightened?”

  Jerem responded with a rapid nod.

  “And what did you learn?”

  “Learn!” Paula exploded. “He’s not some test subject for a deep-space probe! He’s a twelve-year-old boy!”

  Aaron spoke proudly. “One of our children of his age would have taken the learning from such a situation.”

  It was the final straw—Paula could no longer contain herself. “Oh, yes, you people learn, don’t you! You’re the scum of the Colonies! There was a wrong done to you two centuries ago and you’ve made it a part of your damned lives! You wear foul odors when you walk among the outsiders to show your disdain for them, and you steal and smuggle and kill and who knows what else! I’ve got news for you—you could bathe from now until the next Apocalypse and you would still be just as rotten!”

  Grace muttered, “I could send you through the airlock for such talk, woman.”

  Aaron chuckled. “She’s gutsy, I’ll say that.”

  “Too bad she won’t allow her son the same privilege. She takes too much pleasure from the maternal leash.”

  “You bitch. What do you know about my son.”

  “I know,” Grace whispered, “that he doesn’t know who his father was.”

  Paula felt her guts begin to rise. My god. Moat must have told them. With an effort, she turned to Jerem, met a look of intense curiosity.

  No ... not like this. Not here.

  Jerem began carefully. “My father was a technician working at an Ecospheric Turnaround base on Earth. He was killed in an accident when I was real small.”

  Grace said, “Tell him, woman. Or I will.”

  Paula stared through the windows, wishing she could hide herself in the blackness between the shuttles. Jerem’s eyes were upon her—she could feel them without looking. He was waiting for confirmation, waiting for her to repeat the story that she had been telling him since he was first old enough to ask.

  “Mom?”

  She forced herself to meet his gaze. “Jerem, your father—I always told you that he was a technician...”

  Hurt came into his eyes. There was no getting around it, now. She should have told him the truth years ago.

  “I was ashamed of your real father, so I made up a story, about him being a technician...”

  Jerem waited. Grace broke into a faint grin.

  Bastards! Paula thought. She took a deep breath. “Jerem, your real father ... he was a Costeau.”

  Jerem winced, as if he had been slapped. She reached for him. He pulled away from her, violently. “You liar!”

  “Oh, Jerem! I didn’t want to tell you because I was afraid. I shouldn’t have been but I was. I thought it would be easier for you if you thought your father was ... someone
else. At school, if they knew about your real father, your friends, they might have made fun of you ... made your life difficult.”

  His face turned cold. He stared out the windows into space. “I don’t care.”

  “Jerem, I...”

  He grabbed the sidebar above the opening and propelled himself off the flight deck. Paula glared at the pirates.

  “Satisfied?”

  Grace shrugged. “You live with lies and blame us for truth.”

  “Typical of a Colonial,” Aaron added.

  Paula had a host of responses, but her mouth had gone suddenly dry. She could not speak. And all she could see was the hurt on Jerem’s face.

  O}o{O

  Rome arrived twenty minutes early for Wednesday’s Council meeting. The others were already in the chamber, seated around the polished table. Lady Bonneville doodled on a large scratchpad, creating doilies with a fiberjet pen. Nu-Lin and Artwhiler studied their monitor displays. Drake spooned beef broth from a huge bowl with such vigor that Rome wondered when he had last eaten.

  Lady Bonneville looked up from her doodling and blessed Rome with a pleasant smile. She was a plump matronly woman in her late fifties who served as liaison to the Irryan Senate. Her hair was dyed brown today.

  “Rome! How are you? How is dear Angela?”

  He flashed a quick smile. “Angela and I are quite well.”

  The Lady sighed. “Oh, dear, sometimes I wish I could trade places with Angela and simply be away from all this.”

  No, you don’t, thought Rome, as he took his seat at the table. Lady Bonneville had been mouthing that line for as long as he had known her.

  In addition to her Senate liaison duties, she voluntarily served as Councilor of the Arts. Rome suspected she considered that function more important than her official responsibilities.

  Drake shoved his empty bowl to one side and called the Council to order. The status of the Paratwa investigation was of foremost concern. Artwhiler was asked for a report.

  The Guardian commander stood up, keyed the controls of a hand terminal, glanced at his gooseneck screen, then broke into a confident smile. He looked like a freelancer about to go live.