I snarled back over my shoulder, “Don’t be cheap. You’re bought and paid for. He works for a living. Pay hi…”
The man behind me brought the butt of his gun down on the back of my neck, dropping me to my knees. A shove to the back bounced my face off the vehicle’s door, and I slumped to the pavement. My nose hadn’t broken, but it was leaking. I could feel the detective winding up for a kick that would drive a kidney up through my throat, but the rear door on the unit opened and two big boots hit the pavement.
“No need for that, Oates. Mr. Donelly is our guest.”
I rolled onto my back and looked up at Teyte Germayne. While his voice had been pleasant, his expression was anything but. “Make sure he tips the driver. I’m a big tipper.”
Teyte leaned down and smiled coldly. “No, Donelly, you’re not a big anything. You’re nothing, should have remembered you were nothing, and should not have tried to defy Bernard. If you’re lucky, it’s a lesson you’ll learn from. If not,” the man shrugged, “hope that reincarnation is true.”
36
As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods;
They kill us for their sport.
—Shakespeare
Manville, Capital District
Basalt
Prefecture IV, Republic of the Sphere
25 February 3133
Teyte’s exposing himself in public as my captor would really seem, on the surface, to be one of those stupid things done by Tri-Vid villains. They capture the hero, place him in a death trap and, before he dies, they tell him everything he needs to know to thwart them when he escapes, as he always does. How much better evil would function if the boss or his chief minion just put a gun to the hero’s head and stroked the trigger.
Not only do dead men tell no tales, they really don’t often thwart plans.
Teyte clearly saw it all differently. First, from his point of view, he was the hero and I was just a pawn being removed from play. As things developed over the next several days, there never was any question of Teyte’s killing me; the questions were when to do it and who would have the privilege. Bernard, I gathered, really wanted to do the job himself but events, as they unfolded, kept him far too busy.
Teyte’s presence on the scene was only a minor risk, since he was in the company of legitimate Public Safety officers. While he had no official standing with the department, it mattered not at all. He was a Germayne, and that was really all that counted. While most citizens would have disagreed with the idea that the Germayne cousins could do anything they wanted and get away with it, the Germaynes themselves swam counter to the conventional wisdom. In short, no one had told them they had to abide by the law. While their transgressions in the past might have been forgiven as minor and “youthful indiscretions,” treason and the stakes being played for here elevated and intensified things.
My captors allowed me to sit in the hovercar’s backseat instead of the trunk this time, though Teyte moved to the front so I’d not bleed on him. En route to the little apartment where they decided to stash me they stopped only once, to smash both my squawker and noteputer and dump them into garbage bins. Destroying those devices was a tactical error, since they could have learned a few things from them, but they wanted to get rid of evidence. They did keep my identification, which, I assumed, they would leave with my body at some point.
A bullet to the back of the head can sometimes make the sort of exit wound that renders quick identification difficult.
From the very start I knew they would kill me and I was wondering why. I mean, there was no reason for them to let me live, but there was even less reason to want me dead. I’d been marginalized in FfW. Short of an all-out war, when Gypsy would sit my butt in a ’Mech, I was pretty much useless. My removal from the FfW command structure would have been a minor inconvenience, and actually would make Catford happy since Siwek would get my command.
It did dawn on me slowly that Bernard had yanked me in, at least in part, because he really wanted to avenge himself for both my interfering at Number 8 and, more importantly, for my having showed I was smarter than he was. I’d brutalized him and Teyte at poker, I’d helped the family’s black sheep, and I’d even provided him with the plan that he was using to fight back against Emblyn. As much as Bernard wanted to win the game, he wanted even more to be seen as the architect of it all, and I could expose him rather easily as a treasonous fraud.
Teyte, judging by the fare we had to watch on the Tri-Vid unit, was well versed in the ways of stereotypical villains and heroes. While the apartment I’d been brought to was small, it had been lavishly appointed with a big display unit and a full entertainment package. The Tri-Vid dramas were all old, but full of action and adventure. There were a couple based on Victor Steiner-Davion’s trip to the Clan Homeworlds and his slaying of their leader. Teyte did cheer for Victor, which might have been endearing save for the way he sat in his recliner as if it were a ’Mech command couch, moving his hands on the arms as if he was fighting the battles.
They kept me restrained at all times, with a short hobble that stopped me from running. No one bothered to change the bandages on my legs, and I kept waiting to get a whiff of gangrene. My hands were kept cuffed behind the back of a stout wooden chair or to a bedpost when they let me sleep. I always had at least one person other than Teyte watching me, even when I relieved myself.
I pretty much remained quiet during the whole time and caused no trouble. In part this was because I hoped they would let their guard down at some point. They did, to a certain extent, allowing me to do little things like pull out a lock of hair and scatter it around so some forensic investigator could find it and know I’d been there. I even managed to scratch open one of my leg cuts and dab some blood around. I wiped it up quickly, but I knew the application of chemicals and an ultraviolet light would make it show up easily.
Mostly I kept quiet because events going on in the outside world got worse than I’d imagined they could. In between films we watched the local news stations. Count Germayne had activated the Basalt Militia and allowed them to deploy armored troops and vehicles all over the planet, not just down in the Capital District. Reports came in about protests that were put down hard and order being restored. Unless Gypsy had been a lot more active than I imagined, the demonstrations were spontaneous and their repression painted the government in a bad light. A few protesters were killed in one clash on the northern continent, and the government blamed the trouble on FfW, as one would expect.
Bernard did emerge as a hero. No mention was made of his second salvo and how badly it hurt people. The media, looking for a convenient face to put on the government, lionized Bernard, and he took to it like a cat to cream. I could see that this made Teyte a bit uneasy at points, but I suspected he was looking to let Bernard be the stalking horse for trouble. He would play the loyal lieutenant until Bernard stumbled, then he could step in.
This actually wasn’t a bad plan. While the media suppressed the stories of antigovernment activity, the public safety folks who wandered in let slip a few things. FfW or copycats were petrol-bombing a variety of targets to make trouble. Nothing was as coordinated or devastating as a real FfW attack, but chaos is chaos and the government lost when too much chaos flared.
To oppose chaos, Bernard imposed more order and, at least in the Capital District, Basalt Militia called up its MechWarriors and authorized patrols. The locals got great imagery of ’Mechs striding through the streets. Their torsos swung left and right, weapon muzzles tracked up and down. It was the first time in decades Basalt had seen such a sight.
Bernard must have hired an image consultant because some of the scenes were silly. I half-expected shots of a ’Mech on the outskirts of town helping tug a stuck hovercar back onto the road or something, but these displays went further. In probably the most ridiculous of all, a pilot emerged from the cockpit of a Hatchetman to provide a tourist with directions. She looked great, the tourists thankful, but the whole thing was rather farcical.
>
Things began a slow escalation and likely would have taken two weeks or more to reach the flashpoint save for an event that was broadcast live. Count Germayne appeared at one of the Basalt Foundation kitchens—doubtless sent there to reap the benefit of association with Bianca, who was quite popular. The Count donned an apron and was on the serving line dishing up soup. He’d hand a bowl to his daughter who would then place it on a patron’s tray. People would smile and nod and the Count almost looked as if he was enjoying himself.
Then one young man named Gavin Prin—as Davion a specimen as Bernard or Teyte—produced a small holdout laser and lit the Count up from point-blank range. The red beam burned in halfway between right nipple and breastbone. The Count looked down at the black hole in his apron, then staggered back while the youth shifted for another shot. Bianca interposed herself between the assassin and her father and the man hesitated just long enough for other patrons to tackle him.
The shot put the Count in critical condition in the hospital. I caught flashes of the same folks who had worked on me laboring hard to save his life. Bianca traveled to the hospital and was there, with Quam using his considerable bulk and Snookums’ growl to keep the media at a respectful distance. Still, the long shots showed her sobbing, then looking up tearfully as a doctor came to give her the Count’s prognosis.
Bernard got nowhere near the hospital. Within fifteen minutes he was live on Tri-Vid, having assumed his father’s authority. He looked shaken, so I dismissed any possibility that he had tried to have his father assassinated. He put the planet under martial law, declared the would-be assassin to be an agent of FfW and then dropped a huge bombshell.
He stared right out at the viewers and said, “I have been given secret but incontrovertible evidence that Freedom from Want is funded entirely by Aldrington Emblyn. I have ordered his immediate arrest. He will be tried for treason and attempted murder, in accord with our law, with all penalties allowed to be applied.”
Almost immediately the view cut to a live shot of Public Safety officers taking Emblyn into custody. He, too, was shaken, though that quickly flowed into outrage. “I am innocent of any and all charges of treason. All I have ever wanted for Basalt is the best, and you all know I have given it to you. Once everything is sorted out, the people of Basalt will see this for what it is: a purge of those Bernard Germayne hates. Beware, my fellow citizens, for as I am now, soon you shall be, unless you dare to be free.”
Teyte, ashen-faced, looked away from the Tri-Vid unit as Oates’ squawker rang. The man unclipped it from his belt and went into the back bedroom to speak in private. Teyte blinked twice and, just for a moment, seemed very vulnerable.
I saw a chance and I took it. “I hope you’re certain of Bernard. If he plays this wrong, it all goes away. He can ruin this.”
“Shut up!”
I let surprise fit like a mask over my face. “You don’t actually think he had his father murdered, do you?”
Teyte shook his head quickly. “No, he couldn’t have.”
“You better hope not.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Think about it. The only evidence he has that Emblyn is involved in things is me. He doesn’t want me able to contradict him: I know too much to be allowed to live.” I jerked my head at the back room. “That call. That could be Bernard telling Oates that he has to kill us both, make it look like you came to capture me and I shot you, Oates shot me. It’s perfect. He eulogizes you, since he can’t eulogize his father quite yet, and he gets rid of a popular rival to power.”
“No, he wouldn’t do that.”
“No?” I shook my head. “Call him. See if he’s talking on his squawker.”
Teyte took the bait. He pulled his communications device and dialed. “Bernard, this is Teyte. Donelly’s saying you had your father attacked and that you’re going to kill us because he can’t be left alive!” What he said was actually a bit more hysterical than that, and referred to me with a sobriquet that most JumpShippers would hesitate to use.
What he said really didn’t matter, however. Bernard spoke and Teyte started nodding. He said, “Yes, yes, of course, never doubted it. Yes, I will. I’ll tell him.” He then lowered the squawker and smiled calmly in my direction.
“He said to tell you that you were right. You can’t be left alive.” Teyte slipped his right hand to the small of his back and drew out a squat black needle pistol. They shoot slivers carved from a block of weapons’-grade polymer. My previous comments about exit wounds don’t really apply, save that a shot to my chest or throat would kill me, and a postmortem shot to the face would make me look like a bowl full of soggy shredded wheat.
With lots of blood splashed around, just for fun.
He reached over with his left hand to cock the weapon, then the squawker rang. Teyte turned it over, looked at the small screen and got a puzzled expression on his face. “What the…?”
The apartment door crashed inward, half torn from the hinges. A Public Safety officer in Hauberk armor burst into the room. Teyte came around, the pistol tracking the lead target. He snapped off a shot, but the needles just skipped off the armor like toothpicks hurled against a wall. The armored figure’s right arm came up. Scarlet bolts of cohesive light burned through the air. The heat flashed against my face, and vaporized both Teyte’s chest and bits of the wall behind him. He dropped to the floor with a trio of smoking holes in his chest.
Oates came from the back room, with a pistol in one hand and identification in the other. “Police!” he yelled, but his pistol came up and swept toward me.
Before it could accidentally misfire, Niemeyer raised his right hand and fired from the doorway. The laser bolt sizzled past my head, singeing a bit of hair. The lead officer cut to the back room and pronounced it clear.
The visor on Niemeyer’s armor came up. “We’re even now, Donelly.”
I nodded, stunned. “What are you doing here?”
“Saving your ass.”
“Why?”
Niemeyer snorted. “Some people think you’re worth saving.” He stepped into the room, then waved toward the hall. “You have powerful friends, Donelly.”
I looked up and Janella strode into the room.
37
It is a silly little game where nobody wins.
—Thomas Fuller
Manville, Capital District
Basalt
Prefecture IV, Republic of the Sphere
27 February 3133
I looked at her and held my smile back. “Do I know you?”
Lady Janella Lakewood nodded rather regally. “Yes, Sam, you do. Colonel Niemeyer knows we have worked together before.”
I nodded. Janella had gone with option one, which was to depict me as an informant who had been useful to her in the past. Niemeyer still wouldn’t like me, but he’d trust me a bit more. He’d trust her a whole lot. In many ways this was the best choice of cover, since it minimized my notoriety and let my current files stand. He’d imagine that I worked with Janella to get some of the charges against me reduced to nothing.
One of the Public Safety officers undid my cuffs and I rubbed at my wrists. “Oates, Teyte and another officer nabbed me after I left the hospital. They brought me here and were just holding me until Bernard could squeeze some time into his schedule for making me very dead. Even if you caught the last call and can decrypt it, he’ll deny everything.”
I looked up. “How did you find me, anyway?”
Niemeyer smiled. “The taxi driver you had is a chronic complainer. He got roughed up resisting arrest once—we wanted to take his taxi out of service to look for evidence and he objected. He’s always in and out complaining about something. When they grabbed you, he came immediately to headquarters and started filling forms out. He recognized Teyte and Carlson—the other officer. We got authorization from a magistrate to look for the location data for their squawkers. We narrowed it down to this sector, brought in special equipment and triangulated. We found you.”
“What took you so long?”
Janella frowned at me. “We had to find a magistrate who could authorize the squawker monitoring and yet would not spill his guts to the Germaynes.” She looked at Niemeyer. “Colonel, I would suggest your report on this incident concerns the wiping out of an FfW cell. There were casualties, with identities withheld, pending notification of next of kin. Sam would be the only person identified as being dead.”
The big man frowned. “That will make Bernard think he is safe, which might free him to do more.”
I stood, then reached back and supported myself on the chair. “He’ll know he hasn’t heard from Teyte, and this Carlson will likely let him know he’s not heard from Oates. He’ll know something is up. He’s going to feel pressure no matter what we do.”
“Well, Carlson’s on ice, so that’s not a problem.” Niemeyer pointed at Teyte’s squawker. “If you want to grab that and turn it off, people will leave messages, which will buy us some time. He won’t know Teyte is gone for a bit yet.”
I did as he suggested, killing the squawker. “Okay, so this pulls a little bit of pressure off him, but not enough because bigger trouble is going to come rolling down the line and fast. Bernard has Emblyn, and Emblyn isn’t going to stand for that.”
Niemeyer lifted the helmet from his armor and tucked it under his right arm. “He’s limited in what he can do, though. Lawyers will wrangle, but treason isn’t an offense that will allow him to get out of jail. He’s stuck.”
“With him, it’s going to be less actually being in jail than it will be his being in Bernard’s power. I imagine he’ll have his people unleash waves of terror attacks, and the real deal this time. Lots of people will die, and I’d not put it past him to have Catford spring him from jail.”
The colonel looked past me toward the apartment’s window. In the distance somewhere was the Capital District holding facility. “A battle to get him free would cause so much damage…”
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