by Eyal Kless
“No need for sharp teeth then,” Sergiu said. “Those things eat anything they can find.”
I turned to him. The power pistol was still poised, unwavering.
“Your intel was good. Emilija’s mother made contact with this Puorpan and aquired a tracker for the girl. I guess she wanted to make sure she could find her if things go wrong. I have the equipment to get us to the girl, but I am done waiting for answers. I want them now.”
Sergiu the Dying shook his head. “I’m just a messenger. There is only one who can give you answers: Mannes.”
“To hell with that. I am done working in the dark.” I pointed at the Lizard. “All of civilisation is wiped out and there are new types of species on this planet. Lizards, the Marked, fucking prophets and healers, not to mention Puzzlers. For me, that is an indication that the rules of the game might have changed.”
“My Master . . .” Sergiu stopped himself too late. Master was a telling noun. “He does not like insubordination.”
“Well, see us safely out of this city or you can tell Master Mannes to wake up another hibernating agent.”
“‘Us’? You mean . . . ?” He jerked his head at the Lizard. “You’re planning to carry that beast with us?”
I turned back to the Lizard. “Exactly.”
Sergiu was shaking his head. “Getting out of the city with a mule cart is easy, but a Lizard will certainly draw attention.”
“We can’t go through guard posts and tax check points,” I said, thinking of the Seven Swans. The proprietor must have given my full description by now, and I was not going to gamble my life on the inefficiency of the law enforcement force.
“Smuggling a mule cart through the way I know is close to impossible.”
“Close to impossible isn’t impossible.”
“You are forgetting your assignment.”
“At this point, I am beginning to not give a shit, Sergiu.”
I’d seen the look on Sergiu’s face on other operatives faced with difficult choices. I remember wearing that same expression more times than I cared to recall. It was a this is not what I signed up for face, mixed with but it needs to be done and someone is going to have to give me a raise when this is over. To Sergiu’s credit, it did not take him long to shove the power pistol back into his armpit holster.
“Fine,” he said, “we’ll do it the hard way.”
Chapter 50
Twinkle Eyes
“What happens if she doesn’t show up?” Galinak was fretting, constantly turning the deck of wooden cards in his hands. It was a crude deck by all accounts, but the establishment we were staying at was not the kind that could provide the expensive, pre-Catastrophe version.
“She’ll show up.” I downed my cup and felt my insides burn sweetly.
“Yeah? But what if she doesn’t?”
“Are you going to deal or not?” I grabbed the plastic bottle and poured a little more into my cup and then into Galinak’s as well, reminding myself to pace things.
Galinak shoved two cards towards me and dealt two for himself. He inspected his hand and raised a tower coin. I looked at the crude carvings in my own hand, slid a tower to the pot, and raised by another three. Galinak eyed the large coin pile on my side of the table.
“I know this is a friendly game, Twinkle,” he muttered, “but I have a feeling I’m being hustled here.”
“No hustling.” I eyed the empty hall behind him, filled with upturned stools and empty tables. The proprietor was behind the bar, cleaning the already gleaming surface and not paying attention to us. “You’re just rusting awful at cards.”
Galinak chuckled as he evened the pot. “That’s what got me into this mess in the first place, remember?” He flipped the first wooden card on the table. It was a Guildlord. Galinak raised by two towers, and I evened.
“What if Vincha doesn’t show up?” he asked again.
“She will. Puorpan was not lying.” This time . . .
“How sure are you?” he insisted.
I looked around. The place was perfect. Wheel of Fortune was a drive-in joint in an abandoned town, a drive from the Tarakan highway but not too far. It was where truckers, merchants, and even gang members used to stop to refuel and drink in peace. A few months ago, business must have been booming. Now, with the Oil Baron’s blockade on the Tarakan roads surrounding the City of Towers, it was all but deserted.
“She’ll come,” I said, and pointed at the next card.
Galinak flipped the second card. It was a 9-Troll.
“It’s been three days, and the owner is getting suspicious of us just sitting here all the time.”
I raised two towers. “That’s why I asked for the cards, and the bottle,” I said. “Our metal is solid enough.” As long as we still have some. But I kept that thought to myself.
“Okay, look.” Galinak absentmindedly slid his coins into the pot. His head obviously was not in the game. “If Vincha shows up, let me talk to her, in the beginning.”
I shook my head. “Absolutely not. You and diplomacy do not go hand in hand. I rather think you must have broken diplomacy’s hand and several ribs as well.”
“True.” Galinak chuckled. “I am not as good with words as you are, but this isn’t diplomacy. This is just us walking up to Vincha and letting her know it’s . . . well . . . us, just in different bodies. Now she and I, we were never in the same crew, but we are both Salvationists and we go a long way back. That stands for something. You, Twinkle Eyes”—he pointed at me—“how many times did Vincha try to kill you? I lost count.”
The image of Vincha sliding across the table in Margat’s Den and pinning a blade to my throat flashed in front of my eyes, replaced by her punching me in a tavern called the Blade, aiming a power pistol at me, and trying to choke me to death during our expedition to the Tarakan Valley. “You might have a point,” I conceded, “but I still don’t trust you on this. This is a delicate situation. You should just watch my back and intervene if things go south.”
The sudden rumble of an engine came from outside. I looked at the wall, concentrated, and it became transparent to me.
“What is it?”
“A shark.”
“Only one?” Galinak was right to question my sight, as the mercenaries and pirates roaming the Tarakan highways were known to drive in groups.
“Only one,” I said, “but it is weaponised. Has some kind of a folding cannon on its back, a rail gun at the front, and I think I see missile launcher tubes on the sides.”
“You said Vincha was a smuggler now,” Galinak remarked, cards still in hand. “Smugglers prefer cloaked sharks, not something with so many weapon heat signatures.”
I watched as the door to the shark slid upwards, but from where I was sitting I still couldn’t see who was driving, and I didn’t want to alert the man behind the bar.
“You are forgetting the Tarakan hardware Vincha is packing,” I said. “She left the City Within the Mountain with the best technology a Troll could augment, ever. I bet she can pack some heat and still elude most scans. Best of both worlds.”
The driver stepped out of the shark. I recognised the red curls, remembering the rejuvenation therapy we all went through right before most of us had gotten torn to pieces.
“Is it her?”
“Oh yeah, it’s her. Stay,” I warned just as Galinak was about to stand up. “Let her come to us.” For once . . .
“Let me talk to her.”
“No.”
Galinak pointed at the third card that was facedown on the table. “Let’s play for it.”
There was no way I could reason with the Troll. He was excited to reunite with an old friend, not to mention a secret flame. I looked back outside. Vincha was busy pulling a crate out of the vehicle. She was wearing LeatherFlex armour and had two hand blasters, one on each hip.
When I looked back, the third card had already been flipped—another nine, this one a Gadgetier. I looked at Galinak. His eyes were gleaming. He had better ca
rds, I could see it in his eyes—literally. My sight magnified the reflection of his pupils. “Fine,” I said. “We play for it, and the pot.”
We turned our cards. He had two Puzzlers and another Guildlord—a high pair—and he whooped just as Vincha walked in holding the crate in both hands. She paused and looked at us, tensing. My heart suddenly pounding, I made sure she saw me looking back at her, a natural response under these circumstances. Her eyes lingered, but I saw her relax. Vincha didn’t recognise me. She surveyed the rest of the empty bar, then tilted her head a little, her brow furrowing slightly as she concentrated. A lock of her hair moved as if it was a snake sliding in tall grass, and out of nowhere, loud music began to play.
Got ya again, Vincha! I thought to myself, hoping my face was not betraying the immense relief and satisfaction I felt right then.
“Play another hand.” I forced myself to turn my head back to Galinak, and added softly, “Let her settle in.”
He was already half turned away from the table. “What if she leaves?”
“She won’t. She’ll have a quiet drink or two,” I said.
“How do you know that for sure?” Galinak reluctantly dealt again as Vincha approached the bar and laid the wooden crate on it.
“I hunted the woman for over two years. I know.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Vincha exchanging fist bumps with the bar owner. The music masked her question, but he glanced at our direction and shrugged, then busied himself taking several plastic bottles out of the crate. He only stopped to pour a drink and hand the mug to Vincha together with a small coin bag. She grabbed the mug and her payment and moved to the farthest table, where she sat herself at an angle that let her see us and the entrance at the same time.
“Now?” Galinak asked.
I zoomed. “No. She’s counting metal. Let’s play another hand.”
I spent the time winning back Galinak’s coin, but he was too excited to care. When Vincha leaned back in her seat and sipped from her mug, I whispered, “Right. Get up but don’t walk straight at her. Walk first to the door, then turn and make a slow approach. Be sure she sees your hands are weapon free—this is Vincha we’re talking about—and be careful what you say first, let her know we come in peace, and—”
Galinak snorted in amusement. “You’re forgetting who you’re talking to, Twinkle Eyes. I was approaching women long before your parents even met. Relax, I’ve got this.” He grabbed both cups in one hand, the bottle of moonshine with the other, and turned to leave. I waited for him to step a little farther away, then got up and made my way to the bar. I followed Galinak through the bar’s long mirror, as he ignored my words and beelined his way towards Vincha.
By the time I got the owner’s attention, Galinak had already sat himself on the other side of Vincha’s table. The proprietor was a middle-aged burly man with a bushy beard he never bothered to trim. Some of it even found its way into our food and drink, but this was not the time to complain. I knew his instincts warned him about us, but these days customers were like free metal—rare.
“Yes, Master?” he said gruffly as he approached me from his side of the bar. I peeked at the broken mirror behind him. Galinak was talking enthusiastically, with many hand gestures, but whatever he was saying was drowned out by the music.
I put a small satchel on the table and fished out a fistful of coins. That got his attention. I slowly and deliberately counted six towers and shoved it his way. “This is for the food and drink,” I said, then pushed another six across the bar.
He swiped the coins into his hand before asking, “What’s the rest for?”
“Damages,” I said just as Vincha suddenly leaped over the table and crashed into Galinak. It was the same move she’d done on me in Margat’s Den. I’d ended up on the floor back then, but this time Galinak managed to twist away at the last moment.
“Not so fast,” I calmly said to the bartender as he quickly reached and brought out a rifle from under the bar. He froze when he saw my peacemaker aimed at him. By the time I plucked the rifle from his hand, Galinak and Vincha had already disarmed each other and were now busy in furious hand-to-hand combat. Vincha swung a stool that crashed into a supporting beam. I counted two more towers and then two more as another chair sailed through the air. The proprietor managed to grab the flying stool before it crashed into the mirror.
“Do you know who you’re messing with?” he grumbled as both Galinak and Vincha landed on a table, causing it to break into pieces.
“I think I do, Master,” I answered as politely as I could. “You are used to dealing with a tough crowd, and I bet you have efficient and effective protection when the place is busy, but I counted three other customers in as many days I stayed here and you, the owner of this place, were serving us food and drinks, not a hired hand. Don’t tell me you fired the bartender but kept your muscle.”
Behind me, Vincha jumped up, closed her legs around Galinak’s head and turned her body as she came back down. Galinak was flipped onto the hard floor, but somehow wiggled himself out of her neck lock. I slid four more towers towards the proprietor.
“I do apologise for the inconvenience,” I said, just as the door burst open and a younger man came running in. My guess? He was the proprietor’s son because the bartender called, “Nariv, don’t—”
The younger man was holding a blaster gun in his hands but stopped for a moment to evaluate the situation. I used that time to shoot the gun out of his hand. Even with the peacemaker’s auto reaction to my retina-aiming mechanism, the trick shot was the most satisfying thing I’d ever done in this life and, come to think of it, in my past life, too. The young man yelped and held his broken fingers with his other hand, but was otherwise unharmed. The noise of the shot didn’t even slow down Vincha, who was now busy punching Galinak in the mouth.
“Who are you?” The bartender was as stunned as he was relieved that his son was not dead. The shot had quashed any thoughts of further resistance out of him.
“No one you’ll ever see again, I promise.”
Vincha came sailing over the bar and Galinak leaped after her. The bartender and I moved casually to the side, away from the reach of fists and kicks. I threw the rest of the coin satchel at him.
“Just two old friends meeting after a long time. We’ll be out of here soon,” I promised.
Vincha was the first of the two to get up from the floor. She was reaching for her second combat knife.
“That’s enough, Vincha,” I said firmly, and aimed the peacemaker at her. “I believe you’ve both got it out of your systems by now.”
She looked at me, breathing heavily, sweat glistening on her face.
“And who the fuck are you?” she spat as Galinak slowly got to his feet from underneath her. He was only slightly bruised, despite the fact that Vincha was not pulling any punches, but there was an ugly open cut on his forehead.
“Someone you played Trolls with at the Den.” I watched as comprehension dawned on her.
“You?”
I nodded.
She let out a bitter laugh. “Oh well, it’s only logical they wouldn’t send this rust-brain to find me on his own.”
“Hey,” Galinak protested, while his cut was slowly mending before my eyes, “that was uncalled for. We were dancing so well together and all.”
I turned to the bar’s proprietor, who was watching us with his mouth half open. “We are going to have another drink, all three of us, right there.” I pointed at the far table. “On the house, this time. And you should leave us alone. Go, take care of your boy’s hand. He should never have run into a dangerous situation the way he did.”
The proprietor glanced at his pale son, who was leaning heavily against the bar, and slowly nodded. “Have your drink, but I want you out of here by the time I’m back,” he said, looking at me meaningfully.
I nodded at him and turned my attention back to Vincha.
“We need to talk,” I said. “About Emilija.”
“I
won’t tell you where my daughter is, even if you kill me.” She was masking it with aggression, but I knew her enough to know there was genuine fear behind her eyes.
“You should just listen to what I have to say,” I answered, and placed the owner’s rifle gently on the bar. “Then you can decide what to do. But I bet you a sackful of towers that you are going to drive that shark straight to where your daughter is, and that you’ll take us with you.”
Chapter 51
Peach
Back in my time, the authorities of Tarkania had not only banned outside vehicles from entering the city, they had also severely limited private vehicle ownership among residents. They compensated for the ban with many perks, such as free and available public transportation, free air train tickets for vetted applicants to Tarakan, beautifully designed walking and bicycle lanes, and even personal travel discs and hovering shopping carts that followed your every step. This pretty much cancelled pollution, eradicated congestion, and made people healthier, thus saving annually hundreds of millions of Tarakan dollars that would otherwise have been spent on health care.
For those who insisted on travelling to the city by car, there had been free underground parking lots surrounding the outskirts of the city. Those parking lots were now a swamp. Most of the underground levels had collapsed during the Catastrophe or were completely flooded. We snuck out of the city through those pocket areas that survived the onslaught of war and time.
I had to admit that Sergiu the Dying was right. Navigating between half-crushed cars through knee-deep murky water would not have been an easy route even alone and during the day. Making the trip at night, guided by two portable headlamps and leading a frightened mule pulling a cage holding a dangerous monster, made the whole trip frustratingly slow and eventful. Several times we had to turn back when the path became too narrow to negotiate, and apparently sudden floods in the lower levels were a normal occurrence. Every time this happened, Sergiu suggested we leave the cart and the Lizard behind, but I kept insisting and eventually he got tired of suggesting it.
