by Jaine Fenn
BRINGER
OF LIGHT
JAINE FENN
GOLLANCZ
LONDON
To everyone in the Tripod writers’ group, past, present and future – especially Jim, for asking so many awkward questions.
‘Touch the divine
As we fall in line’
‘City of Delusion’, Muse
‘Who can in reason then or right assume
Monarchy over such as live by right
His equals, if in power and splendour less,
In freedom equal?’
Paradise Lost, John Milton
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
CHAPTER ONE
This was no way to save the universe. Taro fiddled with the sauce dispenser on the table and tried to look inconspicuous. Business like this should be going down in a dingy bar, with a scowling barkeep and shadowy booths where trigger-happy space-dogs were striking smoky deals. And here was he, in a family diner full of grizzling brats, wipe-clean surfaces and eye-searing ceiling lights. So much for the glamorous freetrader lifestyle.
His attempt to act casual was rewarded by a trickle of yellowish goo from the dispenser. He snatched his hand back, resisting the instinct to lick the sauce off his fingers. He’d made that mistake once already. Instead he wiped it on the edge of the table, warily eyeing the garish menu emblazoned across the tabletop. Now he’d finished his bowl of crunchy-deep-fried-whatever he expected he’d be asked to order more food or shove off. He probably shouldn’t have eaten so fast, but even the local junk was a pleasant change from his usual diet. No matter how good a ship’s reclamation unit was, shit was still shit.
When the menu display didn’t light up and try to sell him more food he risked a glance at the nearest diner, who was tucking into a plate of orange rice-type-stuff using one of the oversized spoons that passed for cutlery around here. Nual had arrived a few minutes after Taro, because they didn’t want anyone getting the idea she was with him – which, of course, she was, in every way. She must have sensed him watching her because a warm spark blossomed briefly inside his head. He looked away reluctantly. Mustn’t let himself get distracted.
Taro checked the door for what had to be the twentieth time. Still no sign of the contact.
The only reason they’d agreed to this meeting was credit – or rather, lack of it. Perhaps they should’ve refused the request from a local freight service asking if they could transport a box of ‘biological samples’ – but whilst they’d got themselves a paying passenger for the trip back to the shipping lanes, they had a half-empty cargo-hold, and half-empty cargo-holds made customs officers suspicious. Plus, the freight company had offered nearly as much as ‘Apian Lamark’ (almost certainly not his real name) was paying for his ride. Freetrading might be just what they did as cover for their real mission – the important, secret one – but if they didn’t score some heavy credit soon, they wouldn’t have a ship with which to carry out that mission. Jarek had still been sorting their ongoing cargo when Taro had commed him, but he’d agreed it was worth following up the request.
Rather than watch the animated woodland critters on happy drugs dancing around the walls, Taro looked out of the diner’s picture window; the view was filled with flying people, locals and tourists alike in neon-bright wing-suits, swooping and gliding through whirling vortexes of multi-coloured petals against the pale mauve sky. The imaginatively named Star City sprawled up and along a ridge of pink-grey rock of the sort that was apparently common in this particular region of this particular continent on this particular world. (The world was called Hetarey, he remembered that much; he’d looked it up on the way here, but the details hadn’t stuck. They didn’t need to. It wasn’t like they planned to be here more than a few hours.) The starport itself was on the flat top of the ridge; the other flat land, at the bottom, was for the rich coves who liked houses with flat floors and big rooms. In between, built into a slope that varied from inconvenient to impossible, were the houses of the average folks, plus all the diversions and entertainments that went with being the only place on this backwater planet where the universe came to call. The slope was extra-steep just here, and heavy-duty grav-units and massive fans had been installed at the bottom to give those without Nual and Taro’s unnatural advantages a chance to fly.
When he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, Taro turned his head quickly enough to blow any pretence of being a casual customer. That had to be his contact. The locals had a thing about hair – everyone wore theirs long, and shaving was against their religion or something – and while that wasn’t such a prime look on the men, especially combined with their preference for short trousers and stupid hats, on a good-looking woman waist-length red curls were pure blade. And this was a good-looking woman.
Even if he wasn’t currently gawking at her, she’d have no trouble spotting him. Hetarey didn’t see many offworlders – in a busy week, they might get two whole shiftships landing. Taro was unfeasibly tall and thin, and dressed the way he knew he looked good – big boots, tight leggings, vest top and black jacket – he had already attracted the attention of the other diners (‘Eat your greens darling or you’ll grow up like that’ – not in this gravity you won’t, kid). Nual had also drawn looks, though for a different reason: she was beautiful, probably the most beautiful woman they’d ever set eyes on – though Taro was biased. People looked at her like they wanted or admired her, and the same people looked at him like he was an alien who shouldn’t be allowed. Which was funny, really, given he was the human one, and she was the alien.
The woman smiled and headed straight over. She had a sense of style most of the locals lacked, and she moved well. Her body wasn’t bad, either, from what he could see of it under that flouncy top.
He felt a tickle of amusement in the back of his mind. He resisted the temptation to look in Nual’s direction. Instead he smiled at the newcomer, and gestured to the chair opposite. She ignored the offer and instead took the seat at the end of the tabl
e, which put her immediately to Taro’s right. More annoyingly, it meant she had her back to Nual.
‘Thank you for coming, Medame Klirin,’ he said. ‘Did you, uh, want anything to drink? Or eat?’
‘No. Thank you.’ She tapped a dark spot on the table – so that was how you turned the damn thing off – then leant forward and gave him a sideways look. ‘La, not meaning any offence, but why do we need to meet in person? Can you take the shipment? Or not?
‘We – I – just like to meet potential customers.’ The gappy-sounding question thing was just how they spoke around here, so he added, ‘Right?’
‘Sirrah sanMalia, are you actually the captain of the Heart of Glass?’
Taro didn’t need Nual to tell him what she was thinking: she was wondering why someone who’d yet to survive his second decade was making deals on interstellar cargo. ‘No, I’m the junior partner. The captain is tied up elsewhere.’ He spread his hands. ‘If you’d got in contact sooner, I’m sure he could have met you, but at this short notice, I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with me. All right?’
In the brief pause while she digested his apology he sent a silent query in Nual’s direction. Her reply came through at once:
‘Sorry,’ Medame Klirin was saying, ‘No offence taken, right?’
‘Er, right. Really, we just wanna know more about this cargo you want us to ship. And why the sudden rush?’
She brushed back a stray strand of hair, and Taro tried not to be distracted. ‘It’s a matter of commercial confidentiality, see?’ she said quietly. ‘A delicate and perishable product which we need to get to a company in Perilat. All sealed and safe; and we’ll provide the permits and specs to keep customs sweet, la. We’ve been watching the listings for a ship heading out to Perilat, haven’t we? So when you registered that as your next destination we got in contact.’
Before Taro could query Nual her comment arrived in his head:
Which was, Taro had to admit, somewhat freaky. Oops, Nual would pick that thought up too, of course.
‘Are you all right?’
He realised Medame Klirin was staring at him. ‘Yeah, I’m— Let’s just say you were right to avoid the food here. Um, when you say “we”, who d’you represent?’
‘A corporate interest.’
‘That’s a bit vague,’ said Taro. ‘Can I have some details?’
‘I can provide them, la.’ She held up a hand to show her com; like his it was a slap-com on the back of her hand, not an implant. Jarek had advised them against getting implanted coms – not that he could afford one right now – because they could cause issues with their not-entirely-accurate-and-subject-to-future-change IDs; that she also hadn’t an implant was another point against Medame Klirin. Then again, what did he know? He was pretty new to this whole freetrading lark. Madam Klirin continued, ‘Did you want details of the company at Perilat who’ll eventually receive the goods? Given the confidential nature of our research, we’d rather you just dealt with their agents, you know?’
Taro projected,
He realised Madame Klirin was frowning at him. ‘Listen,’ said Taro, with what he hoped was a sympathetic smile, ‘I don’t think we can take your cargo. Sorry.’
‘What?’ She looked understandably confused.
‘It’s just . . . maybe if the captain was here, he might think differently, but like I said, I’m the junior partner, and I really don’t wanna make a bad call.’
‘But he trusted you to meet me, surely he trusts your judgment . . . he does know you’re here? Or are you acting alone?’
Taro had been in enough shit in his life to read the worst into that question. ‘Yes, Captain Reen knows I’m here; in fact, he’s expecting me back at the ship soon. And he trusts my judgment, but I’ve decided to play it safe. Sorry to screw you around and all, but we’ve got a rep to maintain.’
‘What are you implying here, la?’ Medame Klirin said coldly.
Taro cursed his loose tongue. It wasn’t like she’d actually said or done anything smoky. Then again, pissing her off – just a bit – might make her let down her guard. ‘I ain’t implying anything, and I ain’t saying you and your people aren’t prime and lovely. I’ve just decided not to take this job.’ He made sure he had eye contact when he added, ‘We can’t risk potentially dangerous or dubious cargo.’
‘Fine,’ she said, and stood up. Her unspoken response was strong enough that he heard it in Medame Klirin’s voice even though her words arrived via Nual:
As she turned to go he began to stand, nerves thrumming. Nual’s mental voice froze him in place:
He read what ‘this’ was and forced himself to sit back down. Even so, he felt the Angel reflexes kick in: body calm but ready for action, mind alert to danger without being impaired by fear.
Medame Klirin was making her way to the door. Nual, apparently oblivious, grabbed her tray, stood up and turned—
—and ran straight into the other woman. The tray went flying.
Taro heard Nual’s embarrassed apology: ‘So sorry!’
Medame Klirin tried to step back, and hit a table with her hip. Nual was fussing, trying to brush rice off the woman’s top. Taro watched the woman’s hands; one grasped the edge of the table she’d fallen against, the other was flailing; she wasn’t going for a weapon. Around him, people were looking up, but no one was making a move.
Medame Klirin edged away from Nual slowly, like she was slightly stunned. Finally Nual stepped back. ‘I’ve got the worst off; are you sure you don’t want a contribution towards your cleaning bill? That’s such a lovely top, la, I’d hate to have ruined it.’ She’d even managed to get the local speech patterns down pat, noted Taro admiringly.
‘No . . .’ Klirin shook her head, then seemed to remember herself. ‘I’m fine. Really. La, I— I should go now.’
Nual stepped aside, and at the same time projected to Taro:
CHAPTER TWO
Jarek’s old partner used to have a saying: ‘If a deal sounds too good to be true, that’s because it is.’ He’d agreed to let his companions meet the contact because they couldn’t afford to turn down that much credit without good reason, and though Nual and Taro lacked his years of experience, her unique talents should give them the chance to find out if there was a good reason. She’d have been a better negotiator than Taro, but her looks made her too memorable, and she preferred to stay in the background.
The cargo they had arrived here with – dyestuffs and low-volume specialist fabrics for the apparently taste-free Hetarey fashion industry, plus a selection of licensed games, shows and films that local distributors weren’t willing to pay premium prices to get beeveed in – hadn’t fetched as much as he’d hoped, and nothing available here would turn much profit in the main interstellar markets, so it had been looking like he’d barely cover his costs on this run. The lucrative contract to transport a rich local had been a stroke of much-needed luck; the man was happy to pay starliner prices for no-frills – and no-questions-asked – transport out-of-system. Jarek didn’t habitually take passengers, and he reall
y didn’t have the space since his solo outfit had tripled in size a couple of months back, but he was unwilling to turn down such a fat fee, not with his creditors snapping at his heels.
Getting paid as much again to ship the mystery box would have been a lucky break too far.
He was overseeing the delivery of the local crafts and overpriced wines he was shipping out when Nual called, and as soon as she signed off he commed ‘Sirrah Lamark’ to tell him that their departure was being brought forward. Once the cargo was stowed, he went up to the Heart of Glass’s bridge, where he divided his attention between pre-flight checks and watching the external cameras.
A man looking uncannily like ‘Apian Lamark’ was apparently on the run after a bloody coup that brought down a brutal junta on Hetarey’s southern continent. According to the local newsnets, the few generals at the top who had escaped the popular uprising had bought their freedom with the blood of their comrades. Still, he didn’t have to like the man; he just had to get him offworld. But now Jarek knew the lengths those seeking justice for Apian Lamark’s alleged crimes would go to, he had no intention of hanging around on Hetarey any longer than necessary.
His com chimed: it was Taro. ‘Where are you?’
‘Just coming out of customs.’
‘Any sign of our guest?’
‘Not yet. How d’you want to play this?’
Jarek saw movement on his cameras. The starport was a shallow bowl cut into the rock, shadow-filled in the early evening sun; two people had just emerged from the passenger departure lounge. He exhaled as they stepped into the light: yes, it was Nual and Taro. ‘Get yourselves on board, but leave the ’lock open and be prepared for trouble.’
‘How prepared?’ asked Taro.
‘Just tranq pistols. Let’s not go overboard.’
‘Got you.’
Nual’s peek inside Medame Klirin’s mind had uncovered her true affiliation: she was an agent for one of the groups who wanted Lamark dead. They called themselves ‘the Hand of Truth’ and they’d got hold of a comabox – which they must have disguised somehow, given anyone who travelled the stars knew what one looked like. Their plan was to put their top assassin into stasis inside it, primed to wake up while the ship was on its way out to the beacon, when he would overpower the crew and kill Lamark. If the ship in question hadn’t been his, Jarek might have admired their ingenuity.
