Nimbus

by Jacey Bedford

  With a snap, the auctioneer closed the deal on the last lot and invited the buyers to remain behind while three stewards politely but firmly cleared the room of all the unsuccessful bidders.

  Cara’s purchase, easily as tall as Ben, but not as well-muscled, glared at her from beneath a scowl.

  “Do you want a receipt?” A clerk slapped a pair of ferraflex manacles onto her purchase and handed her a leash and a key.

  “If I said yes, would I get one?”

  He laughed and moved down the line.

  Conscious that anything she said could be caught on a recording, she had to play this straight, which meant dealing with her charge quickly before he did something brave or stupid. Or brave and stupid.

  “Wait there,” she told him and dropped the leash, turning to the table to retrieve the carafe of water.

  As she moved, she felt rather than saw him step forward. Good, she’d been expecting something like this. She whirled, grabbed one hand and twisted, knocking him off balance and sweeping her foot behind his knees. He went down like a felled tree and she dropped with one knee across his solar plexus, trying to judge it so she didn’t leave him too breathless to walk. Quickly, she leaned over him and touched her forehead to his, putting everything she had into one flash of communication. *This isn’t what you think it is. Play along if you want to be free.*

  Then she poured the carafe out over his throat, letting the water trickle over his dried-out gill slits, watching his color subside to silver.

  “I’d ask if you need any help, but it looks like you’ve got it covered,” the clerk said.

  “A little misunderstanding, nothing more.” She looked at her scaly charge. “Right?”

  He nodded.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Lev. Lev Reznik.”

  “Come on, Lev.”

  She let him rise, taking his leash. The others were already leaving. She tagged onto the end of the line, keeping an eye on Efra and her masked purchasers.

  *We’re in a service elevator heading up two, no—three levels. All of us together, so far. Four being led away at this level, not Efra.* She kept up a running commentary to Ben. *One more level up. Efra and her handler are among those getting out here. Damn, they’ve held us back. Her handlers are female, about my height, but one stocky and one skinny, dressed in plain browns. Make sure you get Efra. We’ll be okay.*

  The elevator rose again and jerked to a stop. The clerk in charge let the rest of them out and told them to follow the waiting guide. Cara glanced around. There was the white youth with the tattoos, the elderly man, and a young woman, all being led by purchasers wearing nondescript clothing. *They all dressed ready for this exit,* Cara said. *You wouldn’t pick any of them out in a crowd. I stand out in my party dress.*

  *Gwala’s on your level. You should see him as soon as you lose Roxburgh’s guide.*

  Cara pushed the key to the shackles into Lev’s hand. “When the rumpus starts, keep out of it. If we get split up, make your way to Blue Seven.”

  “Why should I—”

  She silenced him with a look. “Or don’t. I don’t care. Stay out of trouble. Have a nice life.”

  Ben was wrong, Gwala didn’t wait for the guide to depart. His team moved in while they were still in a narrow service corridor. Cara recognized the big African behind his full-face helmet by his height, and that was most likely Hilde Hildstrom behind and to his left. One of the purchasers produced a bolt gun, illegal in half the galaxy and required equipment in the other half. Gwala took him down with a neat shot to his thigh before he could do any damage while the other members of the team fanned out and covered the whole party.

  Lev melted out of sight; Cara let him go. Maybe he had a bolt-hole, which was fine by her—one less traumatized human being to deal with.

  She waved to Gwala and Hilde and sprinted down the corridor to the main roadway ahead, one with a channel for tub cabs. No cabs—damn! It looked like this part of the business sector had closed down for the holiday. She followed the guide on the wall. White Five, not a part of the station she was familiar with. Any large station, particularly one as large as Crossways, fully ten kilometers in diameter measured across the outer rings, had sections that looked very like each other. The color coding and segment labeling helped, but it was easy to get turned around.

  *Ben?*

  *White Four, Hubward.*

  She headed for an antigrav shaft, pushed off into it, her dress billowing around her hips, and swung out a level below, feeling the pull as weight returned.

  *I’m on your level. I’m—*

  *There you are!*

  Ben appeared at the far end of the corridor, still dressed in his smart evening suit. Beside him was Max Constant, buddysuited and ready for action, with three of Tengue’s security guys, uniformed and helmeted. Dido Kennedy followed a few paces behind, mask now removed and her wispy hair fuzzing around her pink, flushed face.

  “Have you got something for me?” Max asked.

  Cara plucked another three hairs from her crown. “I hope you don’t need more than that or I’ll be bald.”

  “Hair? You seriously want me to find a hair?”

  “Three hairs, actually, twisted into a ring.”

  He snorted. “You realize I could find your shed hairs all over the station, not to mention the water reclamation units where your shower drains to.”

  “Do your best. She can’t be far.”

  “Yeah, Constant, come on. Find my girl.” Dido’s breath came in snatches. Cara hoped she wasn’t going to have a heart attack from all the unaccustomed exercise.

  Max grunted and scowled but slipped into an almost trancelike state while he searched for Efra via Cara’s ring of hair. Cara locked glances with Ben, the only acknowledgment they allowed each other while the chase was on.

  “This way.” Max led the way purposefully to a cab pull-in. “They’re on the move, heading rimward.”

  “Public docks?” Ben asked as they all piled into one tub—seven in a tub meant for four, and one of those seven was Kennedy, who was almost sitting on his knee.

  *It looks like we’re heading for the main terminus,* Cara opened a channel to Mother Ramona via Ully.

  *I’ll have Syke meet you there with breathers.*

  The main public docks worked on a low pressure, low oxygen system designed to discourage problems before they kicked off. All the workers had grafted breathing tubes, but visitors had to pass through the immigration queues while trying to breathe and fighting off headache and nausea. Too much exertion could bring on altitude sickness within minutes. Max and Tengue’s three security guards would be fine, as they all had emergency breathers in their buddysuits, but Ben, Cara, and Dido’s party clothes were woefully inadequate for running around the docks following people traffickers.

  “Freight docks,” Max said, and their little tub cab veered left.

  Cara relayed the information, keeping them all in the loop.

  *We’re shutting down all departures,* Mother Ramona said. *Better make this quick, or we’ll have half the merchants on Crossways suing us for unreasonable delays.*

  *Tell them it’s a safety drill,* Ben said. *Have you shut down the private docks as well?*

  *We have now, but at least five ships squeezed out ahead of the order. We don’t know what or who they were carrying.*

  *Our girl’s still on-station,* Max said. *I’m sure of it. Either that, or I’m chasing the garbage from the last time Cara cleaned her hairbrush.*

  “Not at the docks,” Cara said.

  There was one main dock for passenger transport and another for freight, each with twenty bays. Between them, they handled ninety percent of traffic. They were policed by a unit under an individual called Lloyd Dow, who reported directly to Garrick. Mother Ramona warned them that although Garrick hadn’t been able to prove anyt
hing, he suspected Dow was ‘“old school Crossways,”—that is, not above taking bribes to look the other way. It was one of the reasons Tengue had one of his crew stationed here with a watching brief. Today it was Franny Fowler.

  Syke met them on the concourse with a team of ten militiamen and a spare set of protective vests with built-in breathers. The vests were small versions of the ubiquitous buddysuits, in this case only covering the torso from throat to crotch, providing body armor, basic status monitoring, and emergency medication.

  “Oh, yeah, like you’re going to get me into one of those things,” Dido said as Syke held out the vest. Ben was already in his, and he left Cara to explain how to put it on and seal it up.

  “Come on, woman. You can invent a jump drive, but you can’t put on a vest?” Cara grabbed the vest and thrust it at Dido.

  Ben tried not to smirk.

  Cara pulled on her own vest and sealed it at the throat and down the side. Then she pulled the knife out of the tool pouch and slit her dress from crotch to hem and pulled the safety strap between her legs and secured it.

  Ah, pity about the dress. Ben had liked her in it, but he appreciated even more her no-nonsense approach to not getting her arse shot off.

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Dido pulled a face. “It’ll do like this.” She fastened the vest at the throat and would have left it gaping at the side, but Cara yanked on the fabric and sealed it.

  “How on earth do you wear these things? It’s like a blasted corset.” Dido wriggled and the fastenings strained.

  Ben left them arguing. Max was already loping toward the entrance to Dock 16, and he sprinted to catch up, the militia close behind. Syke’s regulars and Tengue’s mercenaries had spent the months since the Battle of Crossways working together on search and rescue and keeping public order. They fell in together quite naturally.

  Somewhere behind them, he could hear Dido telling Cara to slow down and wait and Cara urging her onward. Good luck to them.

  Chapter Seventeen

  EFRA

  “JUST GIVE THE VEST A MINUTE,” CARA SAID. “It will adjust itself to fit. You’re sure you don’t want the crotch strap?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “Then keep your arse tucked out of the way if anyone starts shooting.”

  “If anyone starts shooting, I’ll be running for the exit.”

  Max was already loping toward the entrance to Dock 16 with Ben and the security team, Syke’s regulars and Tengue’s mercenaries following closely. Cara hauled Dido along by one elbow, running to catch up.

  “You sure you don’t want to wait for us here?” Cara asked, aware of the older woman’s ragged breathing even with the extra supply of oxygen that the suit gave.

  “That’s my girl out there. She’ll be scared.”

  “Fair enough. Run faster.”

  “Here.” A sharp female voice grabbed their attention, and Cara yanked Dido into a space between two transit containers. Franny Fowler was waiting, pulse pistol drawn. “Your guys have spread out. Your Finder says the kid’s on the Lian-X, but she’s all sealed up—prepped for departure and not answering hails. They’re looking for a way in, but it might need a Psi-Mech. Archie Tatum’s on his way.”

  “He’d better be good,” Dido said.

  “He is,” Cara said.

  It took less than five minutes for Archie to arrive, buddysuited and ready for business, though the lingering warmth of alcohol on his breath said he’d been out partying until called.

  “Where’s the fire?” he asked.

  “There.” Ben joined them and pointed to the Lian-X.

  The ship wasn’t huge: a fast cruiser shaped like a flattened oval with docking struts extended. Depending on her internal configuration, she’d carry a maximum of twenty passengers and probably fewer if they wanted to travel in any kind of comfort.

  Cara opened up a channel to the port’s traffic control and brought Ben into it.

  *Has she answered any hails?* Ben asked.

  *Is that you, Benjamin?*

  *Briggs?*

  *Yeah.* Briggs had been one of the flight controllers constantly berating Ben for materializing from the Folds too close to the station. He’d obviously got a promotion. *No answer to hails. The port’s locked down. She’s not going anywhere.*

  *What data can you give us?*

  *She’s registered as an independent trader with Eridani.*

  A substantial company, but not one of the megacorporations.

  *Captain? Crew?*

  *You know we don’t ask questions like that.*

  If Garrick got his way, they would in future.

  *I was hoping they might have volunteered the information.*

  “Hey, Benjamin. I’m not here for the good of my health, you know.” Fowler flicked on her handpad; a small holographic playback showed a party of six, all cloaked in anonymous brown, crossing the concourse toward Dock 16. One figure was smaller than the rest. “I reckon that’s your girl, and from what I saw there were no more than three on the ship. Pilot and two crew at most. Though they could be heavies rather than techs. A ship like that wouldn’t take more than one pilot-Navigator to fly her through a jump gate.”

  “The buyers were a pair of women,” Cara said. Which, of course, didn’t make them any less deadly than the men if it came to a showdown.

  *Hail them again, Briggs,* Ben said. *Put it on the open comm network and give us a line.*

  “Lian-X, this is Port Authority, Commander Orvis Briggs. Your vessel is surrounded and grounded. Please open your hatch for inspection.”

  “His name is Orvis?” Cara whispered.

  “No wonder he likes to be called Briggs,” Ben said.

  “I like the name Orvis,” Fowler waggled her head from side to side. “I might even use it for my firstborn.”

  “You’re not . . .” Cara twisted her head around, but saw only a wide grin on Fowler’s face.

  “’Course not, but could you imagine it? Orvis Fowler-Tengue. Or perhaps I should add in a few middle names: Orvis Francis Morton Fowler-Tengue. Poor little sod would have to grow up strong to carry a name like that.”

  “Any child of Morton Tengue would have to grow up strong.”

  “Like father, like son, you mean? Nah, I’d raise him to be an artist or a musician.”

  “Lian-X, please open your hatch for inspection.” Briggs voice cut through Fowler’s conversation.

  “Lian-X,” Ben broadcast over the comms channel. “I’ve got direct authority from Norton Garrick. We’re not interested in you, only your newly acquired cargo. Send the girl out and you can go.”

  “Why should we do that?” The reply that came across the comms channel was a female voice. “We’re in the strongest position here if you want your girl in one piece. We paid good money. We’re entitled to compensation. We’ll take thirty thou in platinum for our trouble and you get the girl back without a mark on her. Otherwise—”

  There was a sound which was unmistakably a young female voice squealing in surprise. “Oww, ya bastard, what was that for?”

  “That’s her, Benjamin,” Kennedy said. “Just pay the money.”

  “My grandmother was a negotiator,” Ben said, off-channel. “You never give in to the first threat, or they know they have you by the short hairs. Options?” he asked Archie Tatum.

  “Drill bots, cutters, spider bots,” Archie said. “I can take the ship apart on the dockside if you want me to, but it won’t be quick. If they decide to do something to their prisoner, I can’t get through the ship’s skin fast enough for you to save her.”

  “Just pay the money,” Kennedy said.

  “Pay the money, and Crossways will become the soft-touch of the galaxy,” Ben said.

  “Pay up, or we’ll be going now,” the female voice said. The ship’s engines hummed. “Clear the port and open th
e outer doors, or our thrusters are going to make a mess of your bay and your people as well.”

  “Cara, they must have a psi-tech on there. Most likely a Navigator at the controls. Can you reach him or her?”

  “If I can?”

  “I want you to put him out.”

  Cara stared at him, hardly letting herself believe what she heard. “You’re asking me to—”

  “You’ve done it before. You can do it again.”

  “When my life depended on it. When yours did.”

  “Hey, my girl’s life depends on it,” Kennedy butted in.

  “You don’t understand what he’s asking.”

  Cara’s guts churned at the thought of using her talent to bully and hurt. Yes, she could do it, but that didn’t mean she had to. She’d learned the hard way, as a victim, and the thought of doing it to someone else gave her cold shivers down her spine.

  Kennedy looked sideways at Ben. “He’s not asking more than you can give.”

  “Taking over someone’s mind . . . it’s not right . . .” Cara pushed down a wave of nausea.

  “Neither is slavery,” Kennedy said. “Get over it.”

  *I wouldn’t have put it quite as bluntly as that,* Ben said.

  Cara stared at Kennedy. Did the end justify the means? If she did it now, on request, would Ben ask again? Would she seek an excuse to do it again? And again? But if she didn’t do it, they might spirit Efra away or kill her and dump her out of the Lian-X’s hatch on the dockside. She saw the hope and fear in Dido’s eyes.

  *It’s okay. She’s right. I’ll get over it.*

  She hoped the psi-tech would. Having your mind invaded was as bad as having your body invaded. Worse in some ways. It would be better if she could do it quickly and render him—she was fairly sure it was a man—unconscious.

  “Everybody shield,” Cara called. She sent a thought, short-range but powerful toward the ship, trying to pick up emotions from individuals, sorting out one from another. She initially searched for anyone with an implant.

  “Dammit, there are three of them.”