Shooting the Rift - eARC

by Alex Stewart

  “Pay for it?” Wymes looked at me a little quizzically, the half-eaten cookie pinched between his finger and thumb. “I must say I’m a little surprised at your attitude.”

  “Are you?” I sipped at my coffee, trying to project an air of easy unconcern. “It seems simple enough to me. My mother’s a Commonwealth naval officer, which means I might know a few things about where she’s been and what she’s been up to. You’d have found that out eventually, even if I hadn’t mentioned it to Private Mokole, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt to speed things up a bit.” I shook my head dismissively. “I kept expecting the topic to come up in one of my earlier chats with you people, but I suppose your networks on Avalon aren’t quite as efficient as I thought.”

  “So you told her on purpose, to get our attention?” Wymes took a small, precise bite of his cookie, and brushed a nonexistent crumb from his upper lip, his voice reeking of skepticism. “Why would you do something like that? Betray everything you ever believed in?”

  “Why do you think?” I shrugged again, and picked up another cookie. “If you’ve done any digging at all, you’ll know why I left the Commonwealth. I don’t owe it anything.”

  “I see.” Wymes nodded slowly, dismally failing to counterfeit sympathy. “This is about revenge.” So he had been checking up.

  “Bollocks it is,” I said. “It’s about money. I’ve spent my entire life around Commonwealth naval personnel, and probably picked up a lot of information you can use. But the older it gets, the less it’s worth. I want to cash it in while it’s still valuable enough to get a good price.”

  “And that doesn’t bother you at all?” Wymes asked, a faint edge of distrust elbowing its way past his carefully modulated vowels. “Committing treason against the Commonwealth?”

  “I’m not committing treason against anybody,” I said firmly. “I’m a Guilder now, a free agent, and I’m doing what any Guilder would do with confidential information. Selling it for as much as I can get.” I paused momentarily, wondering whether to twist the knife, and decided I might as well. If I didn’t want him taking me seriously, it wouldn’t hurt to come across as a bit of a tosser. “Pity you never did find that Commonwealth spy you keep insisting is somewhere around here. The price would go a lot higher with someone else to bid against.”

  “When we find them, we’ll ask if they’re interested.” Wymes permitted himself a thin smile, about as warm as a midwinter frost. “Although they’ll have quite a lot of pressing business to consider by that point, so I suggest you prepare yourself for some disappointment in that regard.” He looked at me narrowly over the rim of his coffee cup. “And how much were you thinking of asking for this invaluable information?”

  I sipped my own drink, refusing to be hurried. “Make me an offer.” Heaven help me, I was starting to enjoy this. “Then I’ll tell you it’s an insult, double it, and we’ll negotiate from there.”

  “That’s all very well,” Wymes said, leaning forward across the table, and looking seriously engaged for the first time, “but you can hardly expect me to bid for information you may or may not have. Tell me what you know, and I’ll give you an honest estimation of what it’s worth.”

  To my pleased surprise, my chuckle of amusement sounded completely spontaneous. “We both know that’ll be nothing at all,” I said. “As soon as I tell you anything, I’ve nothing left to sell.”

  “Then we seem to have reached an impasse.” Wymes leant back in his chair, and took a self-satisfied sip of his coffee. “If you won’t tell me anything, I can’t assess how valuable your information might be.”

  “Fair enough.” I leaned back too, trying to look equally unconcerned. “How about the location of the Commonwealth task force preparing to relieve Rockhall if it all goes pear-shaped?”

  “That would be worth a lot,” Wymes said, “if we didn’t already know.” He studied my face for a flicker of expression, but the practice I’d already had insulating large areas of my life from Mother’s interference paid off yet again, and I didn’t react at all.

  “How much?” I asked levelly. This was skating on very thin ice—I was sure they already knew what I was about to tell him, but if they didn’t, I’d be putting Mother and Tinkie directly in harm’s way. But if they did, that would convince Wymes beyond all possible doubt that I was precisely the kind of amoral chancer Guilders were popularly supposed to be, with no lingering loyalties to the Commonwealth. His attention, and that of the agency he worked for, would move on, leaving the secrets of my covert assignment from Aunt Jenny, and my mother’s presence in the Sodallagain system, comfortably preserved.

  “Ten thousand,” Wymes said, in the kind of take it or leave it tone that made it plain to any Guilder that there was still plenty of room for negotiation.

  “Ten thousand what?” I asked. “Ducats?” I’d assumed he meant the League’s own currency, but there were so many monetary systems even in this relatively tiny part of the Human Sphere that it paid to be cautious. Ten thousand ducats was a respectable sum, right enough, but worth only about two thirds that number of Commonwealth guineas, or half of it in Numarkut talents. And on some worlds, ten thousand of the local denomination would just about buy you a meal, and cup of coffee afterwards to wash it down.

  “I was going to say guineas, as I thought you’d be more used to that.” Wymes smirked a little. “But ducats would be perfectly acceptable.”

  “Thirty thousand of them would,” I agreed.

  “Twenty.” Wymes’ temper was beginning to fray, and he was making less of an effort to hide it. “If the intelligence is good.”

  “It’s good,” I said. “We just need to work out a way of doing this that makes sure I get paid.”

  “Of course.” A sarcastic tone began to creep into Wymes’ voice. “I take it my word as a representative of the League of Democracies will be sufficient guarantee?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said cheerfully. “But I’m happy to give you my word as a member of the Commerce Guild that I believe the information I’m selling you to be sound.” Which raised the stakes nicely. However skeptical he might be about me, personally, Wymes could hardly fail to be aware of the binding nature of a Guilder’s oath. At the very least he’d have to believe I was in earnest about trying to cut a deal now.

  “Then what do you suggest?” he asked, his demeanor becoming instantly more businesslike.

  “A double blind,” I said. I fished a small notebook out of my pocket, tore out one of the pages, and skimmed it across the table, along with a pen. I deliberately aimed them wide, but, to my complete lack of surprise, Wymes caught them both easily, his tweaked reflexes as highly tuned as Jas’s. “You write down where you think the Commonwealth task force is being assembled, and I’ll write down where I know it is. If they match, you’re right, I’ve got nothing to sell, and we’re wasting each others’ time. If they don’t, you pay me the thirty grand.”

  “Twenty,” Wymes said, without missing a beat.

  “Twenty,” I agreed, with a shrug and a smile I felt sure was guaranteed to irritate him. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

  “You’re a Guilder. I expect it,” Wymes said, and my heart skipped. Unless he’d said that to play me, which I certainly couldn’t discount, it sounded as though he was halfway convinced already. “I take it you want this agreement notarized?”

  “No need,” I said blithely. “I’ve been recording this since I entered the room, and so have you.” I gestured towards the bulge in his jacket pocket. “I can see the datastream from the cameras to your handheld.”

  Which I’d been very careful not to try and infiltrate, despite the obvious temptation to do so. Wymes was clearly a spook of some kind, although quite possibly not entitled to the uniform he was wearing, and I had no doubt that his handheld would be very comprehensively protected. Possibly by the kind of countermeasures which would scramble any intruding neuroware badly enough to puree my brain, and leave it leaking out of my nose. Quite apart from killing me, that
would make an unconscionable mess of my favorite jacket, neither of which I considered an acceptable outcome. Even if it didn’t come to that, and all I did was trip an alarm, that would pretty much put an end to any attempt at bamboozling Wymes into concluding I was harmless, and shoving off to look for his nonexistent spy somewhere else.

  “Very well.” He looked at me narrowly, probably wondering what else I’d been doing with my ‘ware since the start of our meeting. “Let’s get this over with.”

  He scribbled briefly on the piece of paper, and skimmed the pen back to me. It came hard and fast, but I caught it anyway, and he stared at me for a moment; he’d clearly expected me to fumble it, but my athlete’s reflexes were quite good for non-tweaked ones, and, though I’d never be able to match a transgener with the right modifications, I was a fair bit faster than most. For some reason I found myself remembering the fight in the alley back on Numarkut, and Mallow’s remark that if we were under observation I’d just shown myself to be more dangerous than anyone expected; well, even if the dregs hadn’t been sent by Wymes’s people, he was probably getting the idea that there was more to me than met the eye by now. Time for a bit of distraction, so I pretended to fumble with the pen as I scribbled in turn, and held up the scrap of paper where he could see it.

  “Tintagel,” I said.

  “Snap.” Wymes permitted himself a wintery smile as he held up his own, across which Tintagel was emblazoned in a curiously untidy scrawl.

  “Lucky guess,” I said, trying to look disappointed, in spite of a sudden surge of elation.

  “You were right,” Wymes said, getting to his feet. “We are wasting each other’s time.” He walked round the table and looked down at me on his way to the door; another cheap psychological trick. “Unless you’ve got anything else you want to sell.”

  “That was the big thing,” I admitted. I tried to sound a little desperate. “I know some other stuff . . .”

  “I’m afraid we aren’t in the market for out of date gossip.” His voice was flat with finality, and I realized I’d actually pulled it off. He thought I was trying to hustle him, and had had enough. “I don’t think we can do business.”

  “Guess not,” I agreed. “Ah well. Easy come, easy go.” I waited until the door had clicked closed behind him, then sighed with relief, hardly able to believe that I’d got away with it. My desperate gamble had worked, and my secrets were safe.

  Even better, I’d got his plateful of cookies.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  In which I listen to an appeal for help,

  and learn something to my advantage.

  When I went for my habitual run that afternoon, Jas seemed a little embarrassed at the sight of me, if it’s possible to look embarrassed while holding a gun and keeping a watchful eye out for potential trouble. Nevertheless, I smiled a friendly greeting, and slowed, jogging on my accustomed spot in front of the pressure hatch she was guarding as though nothing had changed between us.

  “Hi.” I poked at her visor with my sneakware, but, as usual, there was no comms traffic I could exploit; which I found even more frustrating than ever, since I’d come so close to tapping a node through it the day before.

  “Hi.” She smiled back, but seemed to be having trouble meeting my eyes; a suspicion I swiftly confirmed by accessing her targeting display. Her gaze was hovering around my face like a bee round a flower, focusing on it for a second or so before skittering away again. “How are you?”

  “A bit disappointed, actually,” I said, and her posture stiffened, becoming noticeably more defensive.

  “I really didn’t have a choice,” she said, and the other trooper on guard with her drifted a little closer, clearly getting ready to intervene if I felt like making trouble. “I’ve a duty to report—”

  “I know that,” I said, trying to sound as reasonable and relaxed as possible. “And I really don’t have a problem with you doing it. To be honest, I’d have thought a lot less of you if you hadn’t.”

  “You would?” She seemed genuinely surprised, and I smiled in response, as disingenuously as I knew how.

  “Navy brat, remember? I know the kind of oath you must have taken when you enlisted, and I know how important it is to live up to something like that. I knew if you were the kind of person I thought—hoped—you were, you wouldn’t be able to go against it, even for a friend. If that’s what we actually are.”

  “I’ve been wondering that too,” she admitted. Her eyes flickered over me, the scattering of other internees within her field of vision, and the trooper beside her, lingering for a moment on his gun. “It’s kind of complicated.”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “Then what are you so disappointed about?”

  “Honestly?” I asked, as if hoping to be coaxed. I was pretty sure Wymes had bought my hastily improvised story, but just in case he checked back down the line, I needed to cover myself with Jas. Too bad if that meant she decided I was a duplicitous creep, best kept at arm’s length from now on: I still had hopes of getting to a node through her eyeware, and, if I was honest with myself, I’d miss our conversations too. “I was hoping to sell some information to your intelligence people, but it turned out they already knew it.”

  “You were hoping—” then the coin dropped. Her voice hardened a little. “So that’s why you told me about your mom. So I’d set them up for the pitch.”

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” I said, trying to sound contrite. “And we were talking about our families anyway, so—”

  “Typical bloody Guilder.” She sounded pissed off and amused at the same time, neither emotion quite managing to gain the upper hand. “Always an angle.”

  “So,” I said after a moment. “Are we good?”

  “I don’t know.” At least she was looking at my face again. “You’re not the only one who’s feeling a bit disappointed right now, to be honest.”

  “Fair enough.” I knew pursuing the point would just be pushing my luck; the best thing I could do now would be to tactfully withdraw, and let her process this in her own time. I waved, probably trying a little too hard to sound cheerful and carefree. “Be seeing you.”

  “Yeah. Well, you know where to find me.” She nodded, a little stiffly, and I resumed my run. Or, at least, that was the idea. I turned, jogging backwards as I waved goodbye, and cannoned into someone behind me. We both went sprawling.

  “Ow. Smeg.” The voice beneath me was unfamiliar, which came as a vague surprise; after so much time in enforced proximity, I could more or less recognize all my fellow internees by sound alone, even the ones I’d barely exchanged a sentence with (or none at all, in the case of the shipping line crews) since our arrival.

  “Sorry. My fault entirely,” I said automatically, scrambling up, and extending a helping hand downwards.

  “You reckon?” Rollo, the cat-eyed Freebooter, glared at me for a moment, then sprang to his feet, with a litheness which made me suspect he’d acquired a few more feline characteristics than just the slit pupils. He staggered theatrically, one eye on the watching troopers, keeping all the weight on his left leg. “Ow. Ow. I’ve done my knee in.” He stared at me again, waiting for me to take the hint. “A little help getting back to our quarters?”

  “Oh. Right,” I said, finally getting it. His leg looked fine to me, but I offered him a shoulder to lean on nevertheless. I’d been meaning to contrive a meeting with the Freebooters in any case, so if they’d had the same idea, I might as well go along with it. “I never even noticed you were there.”

  “No, people generally don’t.” Rollo looked smug for a moment. “Not until it’s too late, anyway.” He put his weight on my shoulder, and pointed to one of the accommodation units, which, until yesterday, had been closed up. It didn’t look all that different now, but the main door was hanging open. “We’re in that one.”

  “Having trouble, Si?” Rolf and Lena loomed up out of nowhere, and down at us. Rollo met their gaze unflinchingly.

  “No.
We just tripped over one another,” I said. “I’m helping him back to his quarters.”

  “Need any help?” Lena asked, and I shook my head.

  “He’s not that heavy.”

  “Okay.” Rolf nodded. We know where you are.

  I’ll be fine, I sent back, but I have to admit I felt a strong sense of relief as I did so. After everything I’d heard about Freebooters, it was nice to know I had backup if I needed it.

  “You’re limping on the wrong leg,” I said, once I was certain my shipmates were out of earshot.

  “Picky, picky.” Rollo shifted his weight from right to left. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  We must have made an incongruous sight as we staggered across the garden towards the Freebooters’ quarters, which, either by coincidence or a hitherto unsuspected sense of humor on the part of Corporal Fledge, was situated next to the section occupied by Deeks and his friends from the Ebon Flow. A number of heads turned to watch us, with varying degrees of contempt or puzzlement, one of the latter being Clio’s.

  What are you doing with him? she sent.

  He’s hurt his leg, I replied. Just helping out.

  Of course you are. Though the message was as blandly neutral as everything else in my ‘sphere, her expression loaded it with exasperated amusement. You want to be careful, or you’ll be turning Freebooter before long.

  Never going to happen, I assured her. It seemed a marginal existence at the best of times, and I couldn’t imagine anyone leaving the relative security of the Guild to get involved in it.

  Relieved to hear it. Nevertheless, her head turned slowly, tracking us until I’d crossed the threshold of the Freebooters’ quarters.