Nimbus

by Jacey Bedford

  Ben nodded. “What have you got?”

  “Cutters, drill bots, some general-purpose spider bots.”

  “Go to it, then.”

  As Serafin opened the satchel and released a number of little spiderlike machines, Ronan bent over the old man and clipped on blood pressure and pulse monitors. “You can stay as long as you’re not putting yourself in danger.”

  “I know, I know.” Serafin patted Ronan’s dark curls absentmindedly. “I wrote the manual on procedure while you two were still in short pants.”

  The spider bots scuttled up the tube and Serafin closed his eyes. “It’s messy in there,” he said. “How many trapped?”

  “Four,” Ben said. “Two of them injured.”

  “Why would someone go to ground in a foxhole like that?” Serafin kept his eyes closed, seeing through the eyes of his bots. “Stand away from the bottom of the tube.”

  A trickle of dust turned into a cascade of rubble, followed by sawed-up sections of twisted metal.

  “Take a rest, Serafin,” Ronan said.

  “I think the boys are almost through.”

  “That wasn’t a suggestion.”

  “Just a few more seconds.” Serafin’s eyes glazed over as he concentrated on running the team of bots.

  “Have it your own way, Old Man.” Ronan pressed a blast pack to the side of Serafin’s neck. “This will help, but right after this, you go straight to bed.”

  Serafin’s only reply was, “More rubble.” Ceramic shards crashed down, and as the echoes died away, Ben heard someone screaming from above. He leaped for the tube, pulling himself up with what was left of the ladder’s securing bolts. He dislodged more conduit and shoved his head and shoulders through a hole barely wide enough.

  In a node hub, a woman crouched with a pale-faced boy who clutched his arm, obviously in pain. An elderly man lay insensible in what little space they had left. A skinny girl, no more than fifteen, held a wad of torn clothing to the old man’s temple. Her face was tear-streaked, but she wasn’t crying now. Blood had dried on his bald head, washed into his ear, and soaked his collar and tunic. The child looked at Ben, eyes wide.

  “It’s all right. I’m here to help. Let me see.”

  He reached for the cloth, but she pushed between him and the old man and said something in a rapid dialect that had some words of Basic, but inflections his ear couldn’t catch.

  “Can you translate?” Ben asked the woman.

  “Her gran’pap,” she said slowly, and then pointed to herself and to the old man. “Pap.”

  “The girl’s your daughter?”

  The woman shook her head and pointed to the boy. “Mine.”

  *Not from around here.* Ben told Ronan. *Some kind of family group. Almost certainly in trouble with someone for something. They look terrified, and it’s not simply because they’ve been trapped in here with poor air.*

  “It’s all right.” Ben raised both hands in a gesture of I-mean-no-harm and went through all his translations of friend again. The girl let him past this time. He checked the unconscious man’s pulse, weak and thready, and relayed the information.

  “I’m coming up,” Ronan shouted.

  The confines of the tube necessitated some close maneuvers, but eventually Ben helped the woman and the boy down to the corridor below where Serafin kept them company, and Ronan climbed up.

  The girl wouldn’t leave her grandfather.

  “He’s a doctor.” Ben gestured to Ronan. “He’ll look after your grandfather—gran’pap.” If anyone can, he thought.

  She looked at him wild-eyed and shook her head.

  Oh, heck, the child had some telepathic or empathic talent. He cursed himself for being careless and put reassuring thoughts uppermost in his mind, but all she did was scowl at him.

  Ronan raised one eyebrow. “A new recruit?” he asked.

  Ben stared at the child. “We can’t take in every waif and stray.”

  “No? You make a habit of it. Cara turned out all right, and Max.”

  Ben sighed. “Yes, they did, but there was Kitty Keely, too.”

  Ronan peeled the rag from the old man’s head and ran a portable scanner over the wound. He pressed his lips together, while his face took on a serious expression that told Ben the man’s chances of survival were slim. Ronan slapped a blast pack to the patient’s neck. “That should hold him until we can get him out of here.” He rocked back on his heels. “Kitty wasn’t your fault. You can only help those who want to be helped.”

  “That thing, whatever it was out there in the depths of foldspace, was moving so slowly. I should have been able to—”

  “Cara said Keely stepped into it.”

  Ben nodded. “One minute I was reaching out a hand and thought we were all going to make it; the next minute there was nothing to reach out to, just an oily black cloud, darker than foldspace itself, if that’s possible.”

  “Improbable, but not impossible.” Ronan scanned the old man again. “Vitals are erratic.” He administered another shot. “Anything’s possible in foldspace.”

  The sound of climbing interrupted their conversation. Ronan was right; Kitty Keely hadn’t been Ben’s responsibility and her loss had not been his fault. They’d saved Norton Garrick, which had to be a bonus. Garrick might not be the only person who could run this station, but right now he was the best they had.

  “Where’s the patient?” Max Constant’s head appeared above the top of the tube and he shoved a bag marked Dockside Medical over the lip.

  Ben raised an eyebrow at the tall accountant. “Are you doing paramedic duties now?”

  “Whatever needs doing. Gen said I was making the place look untidy.”

  “Is that my spinal immobilizer?” Ronan said. “Stop wasting time and get it unpacked.”

  “You heard the man.” Ben grabbed the bag.

  The spinal immobilizer inflated around the old man, becoming a protective cocoon that enabled them to lower him gently down the tube. Ben followed with the girl, but by the time he released her to her family, Ronan was shaking his head.

  As soon as the child interpreted Ronan’s gesture, she began to wail and shriek, alternately beating her breast and tearing at her hair in the biggest public display of grief Ben had ever seen.

  The aunt and her son crouched down, leaning against the corridor wall, and watched impassively.

  Ben looked to her for help. “Can’t you comfort her?”

  The aunt shook her head. “It would not be proper.”

  “Proper?”

  “Zeroun was an elder and her gran’pap. Nairi must make . . .” she searched for the word in Basic. “Must make moan for his passing to make sure his spirit does not return.”

  “She must have loved him very much.”

  “No, she hated him.”

  “Huh?”

  “Zeroun brought her here to sell her to a casino man, Roxburgh. I am translating for them. Zeroun does not speak much Basic. Nairi, she has . . .” The aunt whirled her finger in tight circles by her temple. “The knowing of what others are feeling.”

  “Empathy.”

  “Yes, Empathy. Casino man cannot employ dealers with implants, but no one can prevent him from employing naturals. He trains them from a young age. When we took Nairi to the casino, there was a woman there in a . . .” She waved her hands in front of her to show she meant some kind of costume or dress, and then pulled the corner of her eyes to change her eye shape.

  “Kimono,” Ben said. “Cara said there was a woman in a kimono.”

  “Yes, kimono. Woman told Zeroun that Roxburgh planned to train little one as a whore, as well as a croupier, to earn back her price. Zeroun did not believe her. Roxburgh’s man said Nairi would be important for her mind. Would not be sold like the others. Would not be used for pleasure. That is a big taboo in our culture.�
��

  “How old is she? Fifteen? That’s a big taboo in most cultures.”

  “Woman made a scene. Gave us chance to get away. We ran. Zeroun followed, and then . . . one of Roxburgh’s thugs.” She mimed being hit on the head.

  “I can see that would spoil your day.”

  “Spoiled his day, bigtime. Four of us. But Zeroun hurt. My boy, too. Nairi did the right thing. Only protecting herself.”

  “Will you take Nairi home?”

  She shook her head. “Nairi cannot go home. Empathy also is big taboo. And Roxburgh has an agent who sends him news of . . .” She whirled the finger again. “Talents.”

  “So Roxburgh has taken others from your world?”

  “And will do again. His auctions are big business. Not always held here. Held all over. Place announced at last minute. Buyers come from far and near.”

  She glanced at the chrono showing on Ben’s handpad. “What time did he die?”

  Ben glanced at his handpad. “Four oh eight.”

  The woman clapped her hands and said something in a language Ben didn’t follow. The result was instant. The child stopped weeping and wailing and looked up, her eyes still a little wild and her hair mussed. She nodded.

  “It’s done,” Nairi said in heavily accented Basic. “The bastard won’t be coming back to haunt me.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  MONSTER

  “THE GIRL’S A NATURAL EMPATH, THE ONE Roxburgh was going to keep for himself after the auction, but she escaped,” Ben said as he dropped his buddysuit on the chair and slid into bed beside Cara. “Apparently, Roxburgh’s been holding auctions all over the galaxy, always somewhere different. Garrick’s going to have to deal with him, and I think the showdown is coming soon.”

  “What about the child?”

  “I think she might be one for your Sanctuary.”

  Cara felt the heat radiating from his body. “It’s not mine.”

  “No?”

  “It’s Jussaro’s.”

  “You’ve no involvement?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Ben sat up. “I’m aware I dragged you into all this . . . Crossways . . . the Free Company.”

  “You didn’t drag me anywhere I didn’t want to go. But I think we could do more.”

  “More?”

  “Light.” She sat up and turned to face him. “We have an opportunity. While the platinum lasts on Olyanda, the Free Company is rich. I know we take on jobs when they come our way, but we don’t need the income to balance the books.”

  “There’s a team out right now settling a new independent colony on Yara on behalf of Cotille Colony.”

  “And I’m sure they’ll do a great job because they’re good at what they do.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “It’s not a problem. It’s an opportunity. We have a core of free psi-techs here, but throughout the galaxy there are thousands of psi-techs tied to the megacorps. Sure, some of them are happy in what they do, but others need to find a way out. We could be their way out.”

  “You want to develop Sanctuary into what it once was?”

  “Sanctuary is an idea; it’s not a physical place. To house everything together would make it too vulnerable. It needs to be a network of cells. That’s what it always was. Zandra Hartwell gave Jussaro the key to the network, and she’s part of it herself.”

  “That paints a big target on Jussaro’s back. The megacorps might send another fleet after Crossways. I don’t want another attack on my conscience.”

  “The only people to blame for the combined fleet attacking Crossways are the ones who ordered it, and you know who was probably behind the whole thing.”

  “Crowder.”

  “Your good old friend.”

  “I should have killed him when I had the chance.”

  “You thought you had.”

  “That was the second time. The first time I let him live.”

  “It’s not in you to kill in cold blood.”

  “I think it’s a talent I may be fostering, at least where Crowder’s concerned.”

  Cara pulled Ben to her and ran her hand across his shoulders, feeling his muscles tighten. “Sit still.”

  She knelt over him and began kneading his neck and shoulder muscles using slow, even strokes with the palms of her hands. She straddled his prone body and gently but firmly worked her way down his back. There was the old burn scar, hardly noticeable now after treatment with stem cell spray. His skin felt like silk beneath her hands. She massaged and then slowly rubbed the heels of her hands up either side of his spine and out to the tips of his shoulders in broad, soothing strokes.

  “All right, mister, turn over.”

  But he was already asleep. Biting her lip, she snuggled down beside him.

  Max Constant hadn’t had an implant when he’d met Gen Marling, but he’d always been able to tell what she was thinking. Well, he knew what she was thinking now, implant or not. The mug crashed against the wall, its contents decorating the bland, beige medonite surface with an interesting splatter pattern as he ducked toward the door.

  *Hush, sweetheart. Daddy didn’t mean it.* Gen’s thought echoed in his head even though it wasn’t meant for him.

  But he had meant it. He’d meant every damn word.

  Gen hugged the monster to her breast. Liv’s angry screams turned to snuffles. Max recognized the look on Gen’s face. Love.

  Well, yes, he loved the child, too, didn’t he? He was her father, after all. Having grown up in a series of foster homes for difficult kids, Max was determined his daughter would grow up in a happy and harmonious family.

  But she was making it difficult.

  How could something so sweet turn so sour in such a short time? The kid was barely fifteen months old and already she ruled everything. At first it had been an endless round of food, nappies, cuddles, sleep. Max had been okay with that. If he’d harbored a few reservations about Gen’s obsessive relationship with the baby, he’d shrugged them off. It was natural for a new father to feel suddenly excluded from the mother-child bond. The answer was to do some father-child bonding, to take an active interest. Max could spoon mush into her hungry mouth, and he could change nappies and do the walking-round-jiggling-baby-to-sleep thing while Gen snatched a few hours of real rest.

  So he’d tried that, and for a while it had worked.

  When had it changed?

  Gen had taken Liv down to the surface of Olyanda while the station was in danger of breaking apart. Though Max had visited, they’d managed very well without him. Too well. Max had noticed a difference when they arrived home.

  Then one day the little monster had pushed him away with her mind.

  He’d never felt such an icy chill run down his spine. It felt like the ultimate betrayal. His own flesh and blood, the child he’d anticipated for so long, had rejected him. Thoroughly.

  She wanted Mom and only Mom would do.

  Not only that, but she’d weaseled her way inside Gen’s head, and now Gen had rejected him, too, preferring to lavish all her attention on the monster.

  It was perfectly natural, he told himself again. That’s the way it was with hormones. It’s how the human race survived. The mothering instinct was as natural as . . . as . . . as his daughter was unnatural.

  Better make himself useful, since it was obvious his own family had no need of him whatsoever. He headed for the office.

  Despite what many people thought, number crunching wasn’t boring. Machines took care of the basics. It was Max’s job to keep intelligent control, to look for the right opportunities to maximize profit and make short-term investments so their cash was actively working for them. Since their share of the platinum profits had begun to trickle, and then roll in, keeping a tight rein on it all was even more important.

  Max
needed someone reliable he could train up and leave in charge of the office on the occasions when he needed to be elsewhere. He’d finally settled on Billy Naseby, a psi-Finder paralyzed from the waist down in the Battle for Crossways. His mechanical aids were good, but Ronan, their chief medic, had advised a desk job. Billy had a sharp mind and a quick wit. Max could use someone like that.

  Ronan was Max’s third appointment of the day, but this time it wasn’t a business meeting. He rolled up at Ronan and Jon Moon’s apartment, a few units away from where Ben and Cara lived.

  It was noticeable that despite all the apartments starting off the same, they quickly took on the character of their occupants. His and Gen’s was messy and homely, full of baby toys lying around on a series of colorful rugs. Cara and Ben’s was comfortable, but it was easy to see they were both used to moving around. Their personal touches, images in foldaway frames, were easily portable, quick to grab and pack.

  Ronan and Jon’s apartment was minimalist, almost clinical, all clean lines, sharp corners, and shiny surfaces. Even so, Ronan had no problem making beer-rings as he slapped a couple of cold ones on the low table where they gathered condensation and began to drip. Max wondered whether Ronan was the one who liked everything in its place, or Jon. Since Jon had taken himself off to a grapple game at the newly recommissioned stadium, it was hard to tell.

  “Cheers, Doc.” Max picked up a beer, popped the top with his thumb and took a swig from the neck of the bottle. The brew was flavorful, but not very alcoholic. Max concentrated on it, not speaking until he’d drunk most of the contents.

  “You wanted to talk to me,” Ronan said.

  “About Gen and Liv.”

  “Things not going well?”

  It may have been Max’s expression, but Ronan levered himself off the sofa and, without asking, took a bottle and two glasses from the cupboard. He splashed whisky into the bottom of both glasses.

  “Is it normal, Doc?”

  Max gulped the amber liquid and almost choked on it. Ronan patted him on the back and refilled his glass.

  “Slower this time, or I’ll be sending you home to your wife bladdered. Is what normal?”