Nimbus

by Jacey Bedford

  Right on cue the emergency power came on. Two minutes. Cara counted down. She could hear Garrick breathing softly beside her, but no one else made a sound.

  Exactly two minutes later the emergency power flickered and died. They moved out smartly, heading for the main floor of the casino. Ben’s team, she knew, would be looking for Roxburgh himself. Max said he was in his suite, so that was the first place they’d hit. No doubt there would be personal guards there, but they didn’t know how many or what capability they had. Surprise was their best weapon.

  Breaking out on to the casino floor and spreading out, Kronenburg activated his microphone. “Stay where you are and no one gets hurt.”

  A couple of people, outlined as shadows in the night-vision goggles, were close enough to make a break for the door. There was a staccato burst of fire, well above their heads, which stopped them in their tracks.

  “I hope the rest of you have more sense,” Kronenburg said. “Everyone on the floor, face down. NOW!”

  His words had the desired effect, but there was movement behind one of the banks of chance machines. Someone made a run for it. Four figures appeared in the main entrance. Shots cracked out and the figures collapsed to the floor.

  “Stunners.” Cara subvocalized to Garrick, repeating what everyone knew through the gestalt.

  Another figure appeared from behind the bank of machines, running low in the opposite direction. He carried a weapon and was bringing it to bear as he ran. A single shot rang out.

  Garrick.

  “Not a stunner,” he said.

  Cara knew via the gestalt that Ben’s team had made its move at the same time as Kronenburg had burst into the casino. There was the sound of shooting, some of it from the Free Company, some toward.

  Mentally connected to the gestalt, Cara felt the punch as Ben’s suit deflected a shot which grazed his ribs, but she knew the shot hadn’t penetrated. Jon Moon fell, tripped in the dark. The night-vision goggles weren’t perfect. She could feel him scrambling to his feet again and Ben pushing him down as one of Roxburgh’s goons took a shot. It whistled above both their heads.

  She had the impression of light as they burst into Roxburgh’s apartment, which must have been on a different emergency power supply. The brightness was temporarily blinding. Ben switched off his lenses. In the middle of the floor Roxburgh stood, unruffled. Sitting on a chair in front of him was Mother Ramona, hands bound behind the chair, her figure swathed in a thick vest with a single wire poking out above her heart.

  Roxburgh smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He held a tiny controller in front of him, his thumb pressed down on it. Ben recognized it immediately. It was a fail-deadly. If Roxburgh’s thumb pressure was released, the bomb would activate.

  “Gentlemen, I’m so glad you could call,” Roxburgh said. “I ask you not to make any sudden moves. This good lady’s life depends upon it, and your own also.”

  “No!” Cara gasped and drew Garrick to one side. “I thought Mother Ramona was going to the Saturn Ring.”

  “She left early this morning.”

  “Roxburgh’s got her. Come on.”

  They backed out of the casino. One of the other buddysuited figures followed them out. *Can I help?*

  *Archie. Is there anything in your bag of tricks that can diffuse a body bomb?*

  *I can try.* He reached into his bag and took out a spider bot no bigger than his thumbnail.

  *On our way, Ben.*

  Thank goodness Roxburgh didn’t have an implant. But Mother Ramona did—at least she had a receiving implant. She needed a Telepath to link her into any communication, but her personal Telepath, Ully, was also missing—and it was quite likely they’d been traveling together. Cara liked Ully, a powerful mind in a frail body. She hoped the old lady wasn’t hurt, or worse.

  They bounded up a flight of stairs, Cara explaining the situation to Garrick as they ran. At the head of the corridor leading to Roxburgh’s quarters there was a body slumped as if pointing the way. Cara signaled for quiet. They stole across the remaining distance and slipped silently inside the anteroom where four more bodies lay sprawled in death. Archie let the spider bot go and sank down next to one of the bodies, eyes closed, subsumed into the bot’s progress. Defusing a bomb was going to be tricky.

  Cara reached for Mother Ramona. *Are you okay?*

  *If you call being tied to a chair with a bomb strapped round my torso okay, then I’m fine. Not injured, anyway.*

  *Ully?*

  *I don’t know. If the bastard’s hurt her . . .*

  *Don’t twitch when a spider bot climbs up your leg and under your vest.*

  *As if. You haven’t got a Black Widow or something venomous for my friend here?*

  *One thing at a time. Garrick’s with me.*

  *Tell him not to do anything heroic.*

  *I’ll make sure he doesn’t.*

  Ben had followed the conversation. As ordered, he’d put the gun in his hands down on the ground, but Cara knew it wasn’t his only weapon. He carried at least one more gun, probably a stunner, and a pair of knives, each in a quick release harness, one on his left breast and another on his left sleeve. The rest of the team had followed suit with their own weapons. Jon Moon, who’d been behind the rest, had managed to roll to one side while still in the anteroom and was out of sight of Roxburgh, fully armed. He crouched on the opposite side of the doorway to Cara, Garrick, and Archie. They exchanged nods.

  Archie looked up.

  *What’s the matter?* Cara asked. *Can’t you defuse it?*

  *It’s linked to another device.*

  *Oh, shit!* Ben’s thought echoed her own so closely that Cara didn’t know which one came first.

  *What kind of device and where?*

  *Big, and I don’t know. I guess Roxburgh knows he won’t stand a chance once he presses the trigger on Mother Ramona, so if this doesn’t work, he either plans to go out in style, or he hopes to get away in the aftermath. I suspect the bomb’s somewhere vital and likely to rip the guts out of Crossways and blow a hole into space.*

  *So we need to defuse the second device first,* Ben said.

  *That’s about it.*

  *We need every Finder, now. And every Psi-Mech and ordnance expert we can muster.*

  They didn’t need to be right here, of course. With a station the size of Crossways, they’d never get here in time to be useful, so what they needed was an accurate vision of what to search for.

  “Let’s talk about this, Roxburgh.” Ben began stalling for time.

  Cara quickly updated everyone and collated news from the other teams. The smaller casinos, the brothels, and the private dock were under control. The warehouse in Brown Eight had a small defense squad, and they’d settled in for a siege. Gwala was trying to reason with them rather than blow the doors and go in hard. The warehouse itself was in the oldest section of the station, in what had once been the primary ring before the additional outer rings had dwarfed it.

  “You don’t suppose he’d build a bomb in his own warehouse, do you?” she whispered to Garrick, pulling him down to sit next to her.

  “The bastard’s mad enough, especially if he had an escape vessel moored on the opposite side of the station.”

  *What do you need?* Max appeared in the doorway and hunkered down on the other side of Archie.

  *To find this.* Archie shared what his spider bot had found in the innards of Mother Ramona’s vest.

  Max mouthed, “Oh shit,” without making a sound.

  By this time a squad of Finders had joined the gestalt. Max shared the image Archie had put into his head. It wasn’t a picture—they didn’t have a visual—but it was an idea expanded from the body bomb. Cara felt herself sucked along with the hive-mind, and though she wasn’t a Finder, she experienced what they experienced through the link. She kept Ben out of it. She could sense he was
bringing all his negotiation skills to the fore as he tried to talk Roxburgh down.

  She caught part of a phrase, “Didn’t think he’d have the balls to do it . . .” and a harsh laugh. It showed Roxburgh had seriously underestimated Garrick. She wondered when he realized Garrick was about to make a move. Probably Mother Ramona heading out for the Saturn Ring had alerted him. The bastard probably had someone from Crossways Control in his pocket. If they all lived through this, they could find out who later.

  Max stiffened beside Cara and his palm landed on her thigh—arm rigid.

  *Got something?*

  *Brown Eight. There’s something against the outer skin of the ring.*

  *Brown Eight,* she relayed to everyone. Roxburgh had planted the device in his own warehouse.

  Gwala and Hilde and their team were currently laying siege. Gwala had a receiving implant, but Hilde was easier to communicate with, being a full Telepath, if not long-range.

  *Hilde, did you get that?* Cara asked.

  *Yes, got it. No blasting the doors open. Going to have to do it the hard way and talk the bastards out. I guess they don’t know they’re sitting on a bomb. That gives us bargaining power.*

  While Ben tried to delay Roxburgh, Hilde and Gwala tried to talk sense into the small crew holed up in the warehouse. Cara could only wait. *Get out of here, Max,* she said. *We’re armored. If that bomb goes off and you’re in casual clothes, Gen will never forgive us if we get you killed.*

  *Right now she might thank you for it.* He levered himself up. *Okay, okay, I’m going.*

  *You’ve done your bit.* Cara might have time to quiz him about the odd remark later, but it was likely he and Gen had simply had a tiff, something which would soon blow over.

  The minutes stretched while everyone did their jobs to the best of their ability. How long could Ben string out the confrontation with Roxburgh? He had to make it appear as if the negotiation had plenty of scope. Roxburgh mustn’t feel as though he was out of choices.

  *How are you doing?* Cara asked Hilde.

  *Explaining some of the facts of life and death to the guys in the warehouse. Trying to tell them that taking a bomb in the guts is above their pay grade.*

  *And?*

  *I think we’re getting through. At least, they’ve gone looking for the device to see if what we’re telling them is true.*

  Cara began counting. She felt as if she should have reached a thousand already, but it was only a hundred and fifty-four.

  *Warehouse door’s opening. They’re coming out,* Hilde said. *Manny’s gone bomb hunting . . . Easy when you know where to look.*

  *Have you got someone to—*

  *Defuse it? Yeah, Walker’s here. He’s the best we’ve got. Stand by. You’ll know if he gets it wrong.*

  One minute stretched to two—two of the longest minutes in Cara’s life. Ben was still trying to reason with Roxburgh who insisted that Garrick present himself personally, on the count of three. She felt Garrick stiffen against her.

  “No heroics. Ben’s got this.”

  “One.”

  Garrick pulled free of her warning hand and stood up.

  “Two.”

  Cara leaped to her feet beside him. She grabbed his hand. He dragged her into the doorway, which had not been her intent.

  “Ah, Garrick,” Roxburgh said. “Late to the party, but now you’re here, we can get started.”

  “Mona.”

  *Done. Bomb defused and safe,* Hilde said.

  “Garrick, damn it. Get down,” Mother Ramona shrieked.

  *My turn,* Archie said.

  Ben stepped sideways in front of Garrick as Cara pushed him down from behind.

  “Two for the price of one,” Roxburgh said. He jerked Mother Ramona to her feet, pushed her toward Garrick, and took his finger off the switch.

  There was a click. Mother Ramona fell to her knees. Garrick drew his pistol and fired between Ben’s ankles. A bolt of energy hit Roxburgh under the chin and blew off the top of his head at the same time as Ben’s thrown knife hit his throat.

  Mother Ramona slapped the top of her explosive vest and came up with a tiny spider bot cradled in the palm of her hand.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  AFTERMATH

  WITH ROXBURGH DEAD AND HIS CAPTAINS held securely, his organization collapsed in on itself. Garrick took a message from Cooper who ran Roxburgh’s casino on the Saturn Ring. He wandered into the bedroom, where Mona was fresh out of the shower and drying her hair.

  “Cooper is more than happy to keep his position as manager and pay his profits, as taxes, to Crossways.”

  “Smug isn’t a good look on you, Garrick.” Mona hadn’t quite forgiven him for almost getting her killed.

  “I rock the smug look, especially tonight.” He grinned at her as he stripped off his shirt and dropped it on the floor. “With Roxburgh on the slab, and his six heavies in the slammer, I have a right to be smug. So do you.”

  “I’m still shaking inside, and I can’t stop thinking about Ully. I’ll never sleep.”

  “Benjamin’s Finders are looking for Ully. They’ll let us know as soon as—”

  “I know, but . . .”

  He thought about offering her a shot of detanine, but it would only start another row between them. He glanced at the nightstand where a pack of four bulbs sat calling to him silently. He hadn’t taken a shot yet. If Mona would come to him, he wouldn’t. Not tonight. He wasn’t in the drug’s grasp. He could leave it alone whenever he wanted to. It just so happened he hadn’t wanted to until now.

  Sex and smugness would surely give him a good night’s sleep tonight—the sleep of the victorious.

  Mona tutted at him and bent to retrieve his shirt. As she came upright, he stepped up and took it from her, grasping her slim waist and pulling her in close. Her hair smelled of freesia blossom and was still a little damp from the shower.

  “You’re surely not going to hold a grudge?”

  She softened against him as he hardened against her.

  “Maybe not.” She reached up and pulled his mouth down to hers.

  Later they lay in a tangle of sheets in the darkness.

  Sex had certainly worked for her. She was relaxed against him, not exactly snoring, but breathing a deep, regular purr that made Garrick smile against the top of her head. He’d hoped that the sex would do it for him, too, but here he lay, wide awake, planning to deal fairly with Roxburgh’s employees, and unfairly with the six thugs in Syke’s lockup.

  Garrick didn’t want this to be a takeover of one crimelord by another. There had been plenty of that in Crossways’ past, but it wasn’t the way of the future, not if the station was going to become legitimate. All the profit had to go to Crossways, to effect repairs and to improve infrastructure and services.

  He’d deliver the whorehouses to the workers, on condition they ran as a co-op, and paid Crossways market-value rent for the premises, plus a fair tax based on earnings. Any girls working under coercion could leave with no recriminations. Next, he’d close down the smaller casino. Its position in Green Four made it valuable as real estate and he disliked its reputation for sleaze and a quasi-legal fighting cage.

  The big casino at Roxburgh Heights might take a little more sorting out. Denied the top three levels of management, who were all in lockup, the staff could choose to stay or leave. He’d have to put a couple of Empaths and his own security in there, at least during the transition. An immediate pay raise should help to offset whatever they’d previously skimmed from the games. If the house belonged to Crossways, it had to be clean.

  All that didn’t take long to work out. Garrick lay there again, desperately tired, yet unable to close his eyes.

  That’s when the Nimbus came to him.

  He hadn’t even realized he’d fallen asleep. Maybe he hadn’t. Was it real?

&nb
sp; He jerked awake. “Lights.” He said it so loudly that they came on full. Mona mumbled and turned over, freeing his arm from beneath her shoulders.

  His voice shook and his breath came in uneven gasps. Sweat prickled his scalp. His mouth tasted like a garbage can. He swung himself upright to sit on the edge of the bed, his arms and legs trembling all over, his eyes blurry.

  He blinked against the light and scanned the room.

  No Nimbus.

  “Lights down.”

  He could think of only one thing.

  Detanine.

  Eyes closed, his hand brushed the top of his nightstand. Nothing there. Where was it? Panic welled up. He needed it. Now.

  He forced his eyes open. Sure enough, the nightstand was empty of detanine.

  Where the fu—

  There. A single bulb lay on the floor. Relief flooded over him. He reached down for it, overbalanced, and fell to his hands and knees, grabbing his prize as he did so. He rolled over into a sitting position, naked on the floor, leaning against the wall and clutched the single bulb. He popped the top and jabbed the needle into the skin of his stomach, squeezing so quickly that the force stung. He welcomed the pain. As warmth began to spread through his body, he spotted the remaining three bulbs under the bed. He must have knocked them off during sex. He began to chuckle and then to laugh.

  “Whasso funny?” Mona’s voice slurred with sleep.

  “Nothing at all.”

  He crawled to the bed, pulled himself to his knees, and then managed to get his feet beneath him, almost falling into the covers.