While pretending to examine the mass-produced souvenirs cluttering a shop window, she kept alert at all times. But she didn’t see anyone who exhibited any particular interest in her. That didn’t mean she wasn’t being observed.
She noticed a number of locals sporting arm-scarves. In one of the less-expensive stores she bought a patterned lizard silk scarf that complemented the peach color of her blouse and exchanged it for the green one around her neck, tying that one around her upper arm.
She bought a bottle of a highly-advertised—and pungent—perfume and dabbed it on her throat. It was designed, she surmised, not so much for aesthetic pleasure as to dull the nasal smell receptors. That way, the air didn’t seem so bad.
Four or five hours later, after a quick snack of local fruit and muffin in the hotel’s restaurant, she returned to her room. She paused outside the door, unclipped an earring, and waved it over the entrance.
“Two people,” she mused, studying the readout on her visual implant. “With active weapons.” She returned the small scanner to its place. “Just cozy.”
She activated her transmitter.
The door opened to her spoken command, and she walked into her room.
“That’s far enough,” a male voice said.
The blunt nose of a handgun thrust itself into her mid back, grating against her spine.
Jade stifled her defensive instincts and stopped. Instead of turning to face the man, she studied a woman sprawled across the couch, snoring gently. Her head reclined on one armrest, her booted feet, crossed at the ankles, on the other.
Jade cleared her throat loudly. “Is this how you greet visitors to Southern Cross?”
The woman opened her eyes. She was young—Jade guessed late twenties—with long brown hair, a wide nose, spotty complexion, and heavily made-up eyes and lips. Her tan blouse, apparently worn without underclothing, splayed loosely at the neck, and struggled to retain a modicum of modesty. A faded pair of sand-colored trousers was tucked into russet-orange boots. An old version military-style side-arm was slung prominently low on the woman’s thigh, millimeters away from her relaxed fingertips.
“It’s how we greet strangers who bandy names about.” The woman swung her feet to the floor and gestured. The scarlet scarf tied around her upper left arm rustled.
Her companion started to frisk Jade. She brushed off his hand. He jammed his weapon harder into her back.
Jade spoke to the woman. “Either you do it, or it isn’t going to be done.”
A flicker of a smile crossed full lips. “Touchy.” The woman swaggered to her feet, crossed the room, and ran her hands lightly over Jade.
“She’s clean. Let her go, Jacko.”
The man grunted and stepped away, but remained with his back to the wall, legs planted, weapon in hand. Jade turned for a closer look at him. It was the white-bearded man she had spoken to on Varra’s Venture. He looked even more uncouth in person, his scarred cheeks and lumpy nose mottled by a network of fine veins.
The woman dropped back onto the couch. “Jacko tells me you’re looking for Trevarra.”
“That’s right. Are you she?”
“Maybe; maybe not. What’s it to you?”
“Do you mind?” Jade nodded towards a chair. The woman shook her head, and Jade sat. “The question is, what’s it worth to you?” she countered.
Brown hair shook. “Don’t play games. You’re looking to buy?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Jade took a deep breath. “I represent a collector of the unusual. We—he heard that you could procure items not normally found in human space.”
“Non-human, huh?” The woman scraped a front tooth with a fingernail. She shrugged. “Name?”
“He’d rather not be mentioned.”
The woman’s face darkened. “I—Trevarra doesn’t deal with nobodies. A name.”
“So you are Trevarra.”
Silence.
Jade said. “His name is Savannah Kent-Rogers.”
Trevarra jerked at a raucous guffaw from across the room. “Shut up, Jacko. Savannah Kent-Rogers?” She repeated, eyebrows arched.
“Yacht Starwind. You can check it if you like.”
“Yeah, we like.” Trevarra motioned to Jacko. “Do it.”
He moved across the room to the comm terminal, and began working. Trevarra waited in silence, running one hand up and down the side of her trousered leg.
“Registry confirms,” the man said. “Starwind registered to Savannah Kent-Rogers. Address on Finzi’s Landing checks out.” He stumbled over the name and whistled. “Unlimited credit line, according to the Interstellar Credit Bureau.”
Jade thought she detected a flicker of interest from Trevarra. But the BlackHoler was tough, no doubt about it.
Trevarra studied her fingernails. “You mentioned Nate Watford. You a friend of his?”
Now it really began. Jade told herself to be careful. She lapsed into the choppy vernacular that Trevarra used, common to a number of marginal worlds. “Know of him.”
Trevarra leaned forward, her face twisted. “That slime owes me. Owes me big.”
“He’s dead,” Jade said.
Trevarra scowled. “Serves him right. Goes off without paying. Too bad somebody else got to him first. I was hoping to meet him again. Settle up.”
Jade winced inwardly, but kept her face impassive.
The BlackHoler continued, as much to herself as to Jade. “Trevarra, she tries to be honest. Plays fair. She does something for someone, she expects to be paid for it. Not too much to ask, is it?”
“Not at all,” Jade agreed. “How much he owe you?”
“Hundred thousand.”
“I’d be madder’n a skysnake on a hot day.”
Trevarra nodded vigorously. “Tell me! I stick my neck out, and he jumps system without even saying thanks.”
“Rude,” Jade commiserated. Forgive me, Nate. “But hey, he was always like that. Wouldn’t pay his bar tab if he could get out of it.”
“Makes you wonder how he managed to live as long as he did.”
Jade paused, pretended to think. “Tell you what. How about if Mr. Kent-Rogers was to settle up?”
Trevarra’s eyes narrowed. “What’d he want to do that for?”
“As a gesture. Good faith.”
“That’s a lot of good faith.”
“Not to him. Hundred thousand’s like you and me having a coffee.”
The BlackHoler clasped her hands behind her neck and stretched out her legs. “Know something? Trevarra, she doesn’t like dealing with intermediaries. She likes to talk to whoever’s got the credits.”
Jade felt her insides tighten. It would have to come to this.
She said, “Between you and me, Mr. Kent-Rogers is a little strange, you know? Hates the public. That’s why he’s got me. Do his talking for him.”
“Me and Jacko got our quirks too. Fetch him.”
Trevarra wasn’t going to yield. Jade thought she’d better not fight further. She said, “He’s upstairs.”
Trevarra waved towards the comm console.
Conscious of Trevarra and her hired hand watching every move, Jade rose and crossed to the comm console. She entered Starwind's ID, hoping that Kuchera would answer and not Neilson. One glimpse of the naval officer’s uniform…
“LaMona, my dear,” Troy purred, his image taking shape. “I do hope this is important. I’m trying to reach agreement with a very hesitant collector to sell me a Boorman sculpture. It’s a positively gorgeous piece, but he seems to think it’s worth much more than current market value.”
Jade stifled a laugh. Dressed in the most unisex of Jade’s garments, he still appeared girlish in a high-neck ochre blouse and scarf. He’d brushed the remnants of his hair back in a windswept style, and curled the ends of his moustache until they pointed straight up. He appeared as if he’d fit right into society on exclusive, decadent Finzi’s Landing. He was in Starwind’s lounge, with one of the pieces
of artwork visible on the wall behind him—a nice touch, Jade considered.
“I’m in the hotel,” she said.
“Have you made contact?”
“Yes, Mr. Rogers,” Jade said. “The lady would like to talk to you herself.”
“Did you make it terribly clear how I hate doing business personally?”
“I tried.”
Trevarra jumped to her feet and moved into pickup range. “Name’s Trevarra.”
“Greetings, m’dear,” Kuchera drawled.
Trevarra planted her hands on her hips. “She say’s you’ll pay Nate Watford’s bills.”
“A good faith gesture,” Jade interjected.
Kuchera’s eyelids flickered. “I’ve always been a believer in good faith and fair dealing. Lubricates the wheels of commerce.”
Trevarra’s posture remained tense. “Trevarra doesn’t like people who come looking for her.”
“Hardly good business practice, my dear. I flatter myself that I know a thing or two in that regard. If somebody comes looking for me, the first thing I think is what can I get out of them.”
Trevarra hesitated.
Perfect, Troy. Jade was impressed by his hitherto unknown acting ability. Keep it up.
“I say we fry the woman and get out of here.” Jacko spoke from his place by the door.
Trevarra glanced towards him. “Watford cost me a heap of change. Like to make up for it.” She bit her lip.
We’ve got her hooked, Jade thought. Reel her in, Troy.
Trevarra spoke to Troy. “Collector, huh? What’s your fix? Got some real nice Bloodstone I just picked up. You want Expansion Primitive, I’ve got a coupla carvings from Zubern.”
Careful, Troy. Jade tried to will her thoughts to Troy. Ask for something easy first.
“I heard from a mutual friend that you sold Watford a computer wafer.”
Jade wanted to bury her head in her hands. Wrong move!
A flicker of expression showed that he realized his mistake as well.
Trevarra shrugged. With a movement that Jade doubted Kuchera could see, she played with the butt of her weapon. “So what if I did?”
“I’d like a copy.”
Trevarra shook her head. “Not for resale.”
“What’s the big deal, darling?”
Trevarra brushed her long hair back. “Why?”
“Didn’t LaMona tell you that I have a particular interest in the Gara’nesh? I got in touch with Watford and he told me that you’d sold him coded holographic artwork. Pretty unique, you know? We were on the verge of a deal. Then he ups and gets himself killed and who knows what happened to it?”
Nice try for a recovery, Jade thought. But Trevarra wasn’t buying into Troy’s improvisation.
The BlackHoler turned away. “Don’t have it anymore. Watford got the only copy.”
A surge of disappointment washed over Jade. To have been so close…
“I’ll pay well—” Kuchera offered, a hint of desperation entering his voice.
“I told you, I don’t have it.”
“Well then, can you at least tell me where it came from?”
“Tough luck.” Trevarra blanked the screen. She looked at Jade. “Sorry, LaMona—or whatever your name is. Looks like we can’t do business. Let’s go, Jacko.”
“What about her?” the man gestured towards Jade.
Trevarra shrugged. “We don’t need trouble. Let her go.”
“What if she’s police?”
Trevarra shrugged. “We’re clean.”
She took a single step towards the exit.
A deafening concussion blew the door in and hurled Jade to the floor amid a welter of debris. A bolt of laser fire seared through the ragged opening, caught Jacko as he turned, and flung him back like a rag doll to lie clutching the smoking ruin of his chest.
Further from the door, Trevarra remained on her feet. Her gun sprang to her hand. She sent a volley skimming in return. A figure pitched heavily onto its face and twitched and lay still. Jade caught a glimpse of a maroon uniform before more bolts seared through the doorway. Trevarra dived behind a mutilated piece of furniture for protection.
Jade coughed dust out of her throat. A figure loomed in the haze. She stuck out a leg. The man tripped and staggered. Jade hauled on his arm, pulled herself to her feet, and using his own weight against him, slammed the man face-first against the wall. She pivoted him and planted her fist in his solar plexus. He grunted and slumped.
She yanked the weapon from his inert grasp and spun around.
“Drop it or she dies.” The third person—a muscular man with shaggy black hair framing a flinty face—was pulling Trevarra to her feet, the business end of his weapon to her temple. His tunic bore the spiral and triangle emblem of the Political and Ideological Corps, as well as the twin stars of a lieutenant.
Trevarra snarled like a she-cat. Her eyes glinted, almost daring Jade to pull the trigger.
“Now,” the man said.
Jade let the weapon drop.
“Very good.” The man straightened. He shifted his grip to Trevarra’s arm, forcing it behind her back. “On your feet, Yang,” he called.
The man Jade had disabled groaned and pushed his way back up the wall. He leaned to one side, his face a peculiar shade of green. A trickle of blood ran from his nose. He looked fury at Jade.
The woman Trevarra had shot lay unmoving.
The first man grinned. “Looks like the end of the line for you, Lafrey. And our friend Trevarra, too. Long time, honey.”
“Klaus Maynard,” Trevarra sneered. “I should have guessed your ugly face would show up again. What’s chafing your butt this time?”
“Something that should have been done a long time ago.”
“You slime! We had a deal!”
Maynard snorted. “The deal ran out, honey. Too risky. You’re playing over your head this time.”
Trevarra twisted her neck and spat in his face. He wrenched her arm. She cried out and dropped to one knee.
Jade caught Trevarra’s glance, and the minuscule jerk of the BlackHoler’s head. She followed the direction of movement, spotted the handle of a knife protruding from the top of Trevarra’s boot, and looked away.
She took a step closer to Maynard.
Instantly, the man’s attention focused on her. His weapon left Trevarra’s temple to point at her.
"How do you know who I am?” Jade asked.
Maynard sneered, “You’re not as smart as you think you are, Lafrey. You traitors never are.”
Trevarra’s hand curled upon the handle of the knife. Slowly, millimeter by millimeter, the gleaming blade emerged from the sheath.
Jade took another step.
“Far enough!” the man barked.
“Klaus!” the third agent cried.
Too late.
Trevarra writhed. The knife disappeared into Maynard’s belly. He gasped. The color drained from his face, and he crumpled to the floor. Trevarra wrenched his gun away. Yang flung himself off the wall. Jade planted the edge of her hand in his throat, harder than she intended. She heard the crunch of cartilage. His eyes bulged. He made a queer squeak, and raised both hands to his neck.
Trevarra fired.
Yang’s corpse dropped across the body of the dead woman.
Trevarra abandoned Maynard, and kicked through the littered floor. She found her own weapon in the wreckage and slapped it back on her thigh.
Jade bent over the dying Maynard. His face was pale, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Blood soaked the lower half of his uniform. She grasped his collar.
“Who are you working for, Maynard? Who put you up to this?”
His face twisted in pain. His eyes crossed.
“Who?” Jade repeated. “Tell me!”
“I’ve—” Maynard gasped. “I’ve—” His eyes rolled upwards and he went limp. Jade lowered him and stood up.
Trevarra was frisking the other agent.
“What’d you do that for?” Jade
asked, staring at Yang’s inert corpse. “He wasn’t a threat.”
“Political,” Trevarra snarled. “Deserve it.”
“Even so—”
“My conscience is really hurting,” Trevarra gritted. “Look, spare me the ‘you’re no better than they are’ sermon, OK?”
Jade took a deep breath. “You can’t just go around killing Politicals! Girl, every Political in the sector’s gonna be after your hide.”
“Hey, I was just protecting myself.” Trevarra’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you, anyway?”
Jade pursed her lips. “Let’s just say that the Politicals and I don’t get along either.”
Trevarra sniffed. She picked her way across to Jacko, and bent over him. “Too bad, Jacko. You’re not going anywhere.” She straightened and faced Jade. “What are you still doing here? This place’ll be crawling in minutes.”
“We have business to do.”
“What? You crazy? I’m out of here.”
Jade caught her arm. “Business.”
Trevarra shrugged free. “I told you. Don’t have it.”
“I think you do. You’re too savvy not to have copied something potentially valuable.”
For a moment, Jade thought Trevarra was going to turn on her. Then the younger woman wheeled and said, “Talk on the way out.”
The hall was empty. Jade made as if to head for the main entrance.
“Not that way!” Trevarra snapped. She pointed to a smaller door along the corridor. “Service entrance.”
They jogged along the corridor and entered a maintenance lifter.
“Ground,” Trevarra said, and the lifter dropped roughly.
The door opened onto a service bay at the rear of the hotel. A small, two-person flyer sat in the space.
“Yours?” Jade asked.
“Yeah. You?”
“Took commercial from the spaceport.”
Trevarra popped the hatch and jumped in. Jade followed.
“Spaceport,” Trevarra directed the autopilot. The flyer whined into the air.
Trevarra turned to Jade. “What’s this about, Lafrey—that right? And it better be good. Jacko been with me a long time. Gonna miss him.” She sniffled, and wiped her nose on her arm scarf.
“I’m sorry,” Jade replied, trying to sound sincere. She was, in a sense.
“You must think Trevarra’s a real idiot. Holographic artwork, my—”
Wreaths of Empire Page 17
