Betrayer: Foreigner #12

by C. J. Cherryh

  They were now out of cover. One really, truly didn’t like this.

  There was, however, a rock ridge running in the far distance. They seemed to be going toward that.

  There would be cover there. He liked that better. He decided there were a finite number of steps between here and there and he could do it. Lucasi, who had not said a word, was likely telling himself the same thing. Once they got there, they could surely rest for a bit.

  Try not to pant. That was noisy. He couldn’t help it. He just had to hurry. The kid was in the same shape. And toward the last, Tano and Algini each took one of them by an arm and just kept them moving.

  They reached the shadow. And went into it, and down to a split in the rocks.

  There was a downslope about three times a human’s height, down to a dirt road.

  And there Tano stopped him and let him sink down and lean against a rock just slightly too high to sit on. It was enough. He tried to collect his breath and his wits.

  Algini left his bag and slipped away, out of sight. Not one more of them, Bren said to himself, regretting that departure.

  But Tano didn’t talk, the boy didn’t talk, and that set the rules he was sure Tano and Algini had laid down. He didn’t talk. He just sat and waited.

  And waited.

  And still waited.

  Tano checked the time, doubtless himself wondering how long it had been.

  And then there was a faint, distant sound. Even human ears heard it. A vehicle was coming from somewhere to the north. The road ran more or less north and south.

  Somebody was coming.

  The sound kept up. The boy’s head was up. There was no doubt Tano heard it, and he stood there attentive to the night and their surroundings.

  Trouble, Bren thought. As if they didn’t have enough. But Algini would lie low out there. Algini might be able to see it.

  He listened to the sound for several minutes. It was coming closer.

  And then it changed pitch, then started up again. Shifted gears, maybe. Maybe a climb. Definitely coming this way.

  “Come,” Tano said, and led the way behind the rocks.

  Apparently they were moving to deeper cover, along the same line Algini had taken. Letting the vehicle pass them.

  It was definitely getting closer.

  Tano led the way around the end of the ridge, onto the exposed slope, and there was a van coming fast, running with no headlights, and here they were, out in the open on the slope.

  Then it ticked into his thinking that they were going toward that van, and doing so recklessly. Tano seized him by one arm and took hold of Lucasi by the other, on his bad side, and took them down the slope, just about the time the van reached that point on the road.

  It braked. Flung open a side door. Algini ducked out, beckoning them on, and Bren threw everything he had into it—damned near fell on his face, if not for Tano, coming down the last of the slope.

  Two were driving. He caught the silver glint on the uniform, the profile against the faint, faint light from outside.

  “Is it Jago? Banichi?”

  “Bren-ji,” Jago said from the front seat as Tano seized Bren a second time by the arm and edged as far over as he could to give room to him and Lucasi—and two armored bodies between them and the walls of the van. “One regrets the long silence, Bren-ji,” Banichi said. “We are reasonably well.”

  Algini shut the door and dropped into the back seat. “Targai is too risky a run,” Banichi said, throwing the van into reverse, backing around. “We are heading straight west, for Najida.”

  “One will by no means argue with that,” Bren said, feeling all the exertion of the last number of hours. He felt absolutely drained of strength, not least from sheer relief. “Is the van from Targai?”

  “No,” Jago said. “It is probably from Senji district.”

  “We have a little difficulty about fuel,” Banichi said. “But we are headed for a station.”

  “Apai?” Algini asked.

  “Yes,” Banichi said. It was a name which meant absolutely nothing to Bren. But his bodyguard knew. His bodyguard kept abreast of things that never occurred to the paidhi-aiji to wonder about and checked maps he had not, while he was deciding the fate of the east coast, thought to look at. But his aishid might have, while those atlases were on the sitting-room table. And there was fuel at a place called Apai, which was probably a crossroads in the back country. That would mean market roads, or a farm, or hunting station . . . more such details his bodyguard studied and that he hadn’t even thought of when they’d diverted themselves into Taisigi territory.

  It was even possible his guard had studied these things before they had ever left Najida, in case of the unanticipated. He had never even thought to wonder.

  Their enemies could have studied those things too, about Najida, about the territory they were in.

  Their enemies were now missing a van. And probably several occupants. The windshield was badly cracked. There could be blood on the seat he was sitting on; but at this point he couldn’t care about it. He rested his head on the seat back and just breathed and took in the fact he had all his bodyguard back, their voices, matter-of-fact about their desperate business, reassuring him that, at least for the next hour, nothing was within his power to fix but it might be within theirs. He had no complaints.

  Unless—

  “Have we the ability to contact Najida, nadiin-ji?”

  “Safest not to do so, Bren-ji,” Jago said, half turning in her seat. “We are dark at the moment and move best that way. Our opponents use the same systems, and they know each other, likely, only by what zone they occupy. Our best hope of getting out of here is to be misidentified.”

  “Understood,” he said, and he shut up, content to let his bodyguard make their own decisions without his meddling. But, damn, he wanted to make that call.

  He put a hand to his chest, site of the most forceful reminder not to meddle in Guild business. It could have killed him. It all could have ended right there, leaving more than his affairs in a hell of a mess. His bodyguard hadn’t called him a fool. But he had, every time he made an injudicious move. Every time he risked things larger than himself.

  The bruise was better now than it had been, or he didn’t think he could have made it across country. He was sweaty, he was dirty, he was miserable, his hands and feet were still half frozen, he was sure he had deep blisters on his right foot, the sole had come loose on the left boot, and he had definitely picked up a bit of gravel in the failing boot to add to his misery, but the greatest immediate discomfort was the vest itself. It had to stay on, that was all, and the feet—he was sitting down now on a padded seat, out of the wind and no longer freezing, but his feet were cold.

  Riding, however, was bliss. They weren’t safe by a long shot. There was a long way to go. A scary long way to go.

  But going to Najida—that was where he needed to be.

  That was the place he wanted most to protect, personally, emotionally. He was only upset about leaving Geigi at Targai in what could be a very dangerous situation.

  Whatever was going on over at Targai, however—and an incursion from Senji was high on the list of possibilities, as well as action from the renegade Guild—there was a good chance Geigi’s bodyguard had already gotten Geigi out of it, the same as his was doing for him, the same that Machigi’s had done for their lord. Ordinary citizens were off limits as targets. If the lord wasn’t there, the Guild was supposed to cease operations. Which protected civilian lives, civilian property, and historic premises. That was the way it was supposed to work.

  But they were up against people who mined public roads. Who kidnapped children. The whole district was getting to be no place for high-value targets, no guarantee for the ordinary citizen.

  It was why the Guild had to win this one. The Guild had committed everything, broken with precedent, outlawed half the Marid and pulled in every asset they could lay hands on to stop this lot and restore the regulations that had always
stood.

  He had to trust it. Had to wish the Guild luck. Most of all, he had to rely on present company to keep him alive and be prepared to run for it, and run hard.

  And he hoped to hell they didn’t, in this stolen van, draw fire from their own side.

  There was occasional shooting outside, up above. It came and it went, and it was long after dark outside.

  Mani and nand’ Geigi sat in a basement room having tea and discussing old times. Nand’ Toby and Barb-daja had gone to their basement room to get some rest. Cajeiri sat in the corner of mani’s room, teaching Jegari and Antaro chess.

  And he had just made a bad move, because he had been thinking about what was going on upstairs instead of where his district lord was sitting relative to the magistrate.

  Antaro made the correct move. He lost a district.

  “Good,” he said confidently, as if he had been testing her.

  Louder gunfire. A heavy boom that shook the walls.

  “That’s out on the road,” Jegari muttered, looking up.

  “I hope it was them and not us.”

  “Hssst!” mani said, objecting to the turn of conversation. The cane thumped sharply. “Bad enough we are confined down here with the spare linens and the brooms. Shall we also endure pointless speculation?”

  “One is extravagantly sorry, mani,” Cajeiri said, half-rising, with a little bow, and sat back down. He knew better than to chatter when Great-grandmother was upset and out of sorts. Great-grandmother truly hated fidgeting. And probably her back hurt. They had gotten pillows for her chair, and Great-grandmother, on principle, refused to fidget with them.

  They went back to their chess game. “One apologizes, nandi,” Jegari said under his breath.

  “One is not concerned, nadi-ji,” he murmured, and advanced a village lord.

  Great-grandmother and Geigi continued talking quietly, about anything but what was going on outside.

  The rifle fire up above became more frequent, and it sounded scarily closer.

  17

  The fueling station turned out to be a farming village. “One requests you get to the floor, Bren-ji,” Banichi said. “We are going right down the street as if we belong here.”

  Getting down onto the floor was not a comfortable act, but Bren managed it, braced against the bench seat, familiar situation. Tano and Algini got down, too, along with Lucasi, in the theory, he knew well enough, that if enemy fire took out Banichi and Jago, it wouldn’t get all of them at once.

  Little chance the villagers themselves would fire at them. Word would have gone out by radio that there was a Guild action proceeding, and it was against all common sense for a civilian to interfere in a Guild action. It was a law that kept civilians alive and kept their property undamaged. It limited return actions and more Filings. And for what these villagers ought to know, the law applied. If the Guild wanted to confiscate the local fuel supply, the village magistrate would complain to his lord, notably Machigi or Geigi, depending on which side of the border he felt they were on, or would apply to both, and request compensation. The lord who presided would supply the fuel for their farm machinery and then send the fuel charges to the Filing party, a modest claim that was incredibly bad form to dispute and fairly bad form to pad, though it happened.

  So the village was not their worry: the village would just phone Tanaja and advise them of a problem. The villagers personally had nothing to defend, no worry about action coming at them except stray bullets or somebody deciding to interdict the enemy’s fuel supply by draining the tank, the stealthy option, or blowing it up, the attention-getting one, and entailing a much larger lawsuit once the dust settled.

  In any case, if things went as usual, the villagers would always get their justice. And Guild in the field would not have to worry about some desperate and innocent amateur with a gun.

  They stopped, Bren judged, somewhat apart from the pumps. Algini scrambled up and out the side door, which wasn’t usual—their explosives expert looked at the pump before they pulled up to it.

  Which brought really uncomfortable thoughts. There were all sorts of nasty tricks that never should be used where civilians might stumble into them. And he worried about them until Algini thumped quietly on the fender, had them move up, and unscrewed the cap.

  No booby trap. No explosives, no shots fired. Fuel was flowing. They could get out of here. They were within lands where law still applied.

  Algini came back to the door while the fuel was running and put his head in. “We may get a full tank, Nichi-ji, but by no means certainly so. The last of it may be foul, and I hesitate to put it in. Local maintenance seems slipshod.”

  “We should not risk it,” Banichi said. “Cut it off short.”

  “Yes,” Algini agreed.

  The local fuel delivery hadn’t been made; they were evidently on the short end of the month, a bit of bad luck, pure chance. Baji-naji.

  Bren rested his forehead against his hands, on the floor. They might end up hiking the last bit to Najida. He didn’t look forward to that in the least. But he’d do it without objection. Getting safely out of Taisigi territory was absolutely paramount. If they could cut over to the airport or the train station—but those were likely targets.

  Damn the luck that had moved the Shejidan Guild onto the offensive before they got clear.

  But it was not luck. It was a reaction to the dowager’s move. He had no doubt about it. And Ilisidi was probably having a quiet fit about the situation. And planning next actions.

  Which the paidhi-aiji hoped to God wouldn’t involve sending him immediately back to Tanaja to mop up and settle what the Guild had upended, but he was relatively sure either she would or Tabini would. He had that to look forward to.

  One bath, a good supper. A day to rest up. Then he’d go. Once the shooting stopped.

  If Machigi was still in charge.

  Likely Machigi was on a boat somewhere—maybe headed out to Sungeni territory, in the Isles, allies he could rely on.

  The nozzle was withdrawn; the fuel cap went back on. Thump. “How much do we have?” Jago asked, and Banichi answered : “Three quarters. Our next source is the airport, if we go that direction.”

  “Dangerous,” Tano said.

  “We have one choice,” Banichi said, as Algini joined them and shut the door. “There is the hunting lodge.”

  A small silence. That evidently was not a popular choice. “We could divert toward the township south road,” Jago said. “Time taken, but safer. There is that fuel stop midway.”

  “One can walk if need be,” Bren said, from his position on the floor. “If we have to, nadiin-ji, I shall do it. Or one can take cover and wait.”

  “We shall attempt the airport, Bren-ji,” Banichi said as he put them in gear. The dialogue was truncated, dropping courtesies, the Guild in mid-operation. “From these roads, there should be an indirect approach.”

  For now. Depending on what they met. If they could once reach the airport road, it was a straight shot to Najida.

  From Lucasi, throughout, there had been not a sound, nor any now, as Banichi restarted the engine. The young man, lying on the floor opposite Bren, was the picture of exhaustion, head pillowed on his arm. He actually slept while the van sped through the village and onto rougher road.

  There was something to be said for being horizontal, even on a dirty floor mat. Bren stayed put, and Tano stretched out on the seat, doing much the same above him, eyes shut; Banichi was driving as fast as the roads allowed. In places grass had grown up and whipped the undercarriage—lying with his ear near the floorboards, Bren was well-aware of the ground under them. In places they scattered gravel, and once they drove through water. A road on the continent and especially near an uneasy border region, was an approximation of a driveable route, not a guarantee. In disputed territory, particularly, nobody did road maintenance.

  It suited their purposes, so long as the wheels and tires held out.

  But his bodyguard were still discussing
the route and a branch in the road ahead. He caught the edge of it, which involved passive reception of some signal and the possibility of encountering legitimate Guild at the airport. Or the enemy. Legitimate Guild would, the consensus was, move on the airport and the train station. They would take those as a priority.

  “But,” Tano said, “we cannot produce the right codes for either side.”

  That was a problem, Bren thought, beginning to grasp the nature of the debate. He had been halfway to sleep like Lucasi, but now he slowly levered himself up to a sitting position in the aisle, against the seat.

  “Perhaps, nadiin-ji,” he said, resting an arm on the seat edge, and speaking above the engine noise, “perhaps I should be the password. My voice is reasonably distinctive on the continent, is it not?”

  “Far too great a risk, Bren-ji,” Tano said.

  “As great a risk if we are all shot at because we have the wrong codes?” he said.

  “That is a point,” Tano said.

  There was silence from the front seats.

  “It is, however, illegal for you to use Guild communications,” Algini said, from the other side. “We are almost certainly within a Declared zone.”

  Rules. Regulations. It happened to be what the fighting was about. Guild communications were Guild communications.

  He couldn’t say it wasn’t important. “Then you tell them. The Guild would hesitate. Our enemies would not. They would come after us. That would sort it out.”

  Banichi said, “We do not have fuel enough or speed enough to outrun a pursuit.”

  Silence from the front seat.

  “The hunting station,” Tano said then. “There will surely be some local communications. As well as fuel.”

  “Dead-reckoning to Najida low on fuel is not my preference, either,” Banichi said, and suddenly turned the wheel, waking Lucasi, who sat up in alarm and grabbed at the seat back ahead of him to save himself from sliding under Banchi’s seat. “The middle road. There is no connection here to there but a hunting plain. We are about to start some game, nadiin-ji.”