by Steve Perry
Still, just in case, he ought to pick up a few things. If the bad guys knew he was guarding Reason, and surely they must, given what had happened to the last would-be assassin on Earth, then they would plug that into their equation. It would be good to alter that picture before they came to call.
Getting to Mtu was easy enough. Finding the ship she wanted was not much more difficult. It was up there, all right, circling at the outer limits of the atmosphere, as regular as a pulse timer. Getting to it was another matter.
Wu sat in a booth at a theme restaurant, working her way through a meal of Lagomustardorian waterfowl. Supposedly it was fresh and supposedly it was steeped in a genuine mchele and namna ya tunda sauce, but Wu had trouble believing that either was true. The bird was tough and the sauce awfully bland for the normally fiery rice-and-strawberry liquor.
The restaurant, on the edge of the tourist quarter, was somewhat better appointed. It had as its focus the early history of the Wild South on the neighboring world of Mwanamamke, complete with holographic representations of a vast struthio ranch. The large and ungainly flightless birds, half again the size of a tall man, most of the height being legs and neck, padded back and forth across the grasslands of the high plateau with appropriate sound effects, squawks, trills, mating whistles and the thud of splay-feet.
To Wu’s left, where a gilded rope prevented the unwary from smacking nose first into the wall hidden by the holoproj, a pair of struthio went through an arcane mating dance, bobbing and stretching, doing small leaps back and forth, singing in raspy tones to each other. The female was the aggressor in this ritual, nature’s balance on the plain having produced fewer of them than of the male birds; too, the female was the bearer of the brighter plumage.
The female, having excited the male so that a small and glistening purple penis now peeped from his downy feathers, turned and presented to him in a half squat. The male mounted her, having to rise up onto his toes to accomplish the insertion. As he began to thrust, the female beat her vestigial wings in time to his movements. The act of copulation itself lasted no more than a few seconds. The male withdrew, shook himself into a fluffy state, smoothed his feathers, then turned and padded off. The female straightened from her crouch and went in the opposite direction. Neither bird looked back at the other.
Seemed like a lot of dancing for such a short climax, Wu thought. Must be particularly intense for the birds. Whatever, it was more interesting than the meal.
Wu did not think that Cierto had come all the way to this world merely to fly round and round it; likely he would come down sooner or later, had he not done so already. She had begun discreet inquiries, hiring a local private investigative firm to that end. As long as his ship was still up there, she guessed that Cierto would be here. True, this was not an appropriate assumption, any more than the one that Cierto hadn’t come here simply to circle in orbit. One was not supposed to assume anything; Master Ven had always been quite explicit about that. Still, sometimes it was hard to be in the moment and not jump to that juicy conclusion just ahead in the path.
Wu sighed and pushed away the remains of her supper. There was nothing wrong with personal ambition-Master Ven had taught her that, too-unless it got in the way of spiritual progress. The paths of power and magic were seductive; a seeker must stay on guard to avoid being lured into a dead-end road.
It was all too easy to become rich or famous or influential, were such things all that one wished to accomplish. The growth of spirit required much more than these and they could easily stunt that growth, did not one tread with great care. Master Ven himself had been the most powerful man Wu had ever known, yet only a handful of people had ever seen it, for he was careful to keep it hidden unless there was a great need for demonstration. She had never seen him walk on water, but there was a part of her past her rational mind that would have believed him had he ever said he could.
This thing with Cierto was a personal goal, an ambition, and Wu must take care that she not allow it to block her way. Easier thought than done, however.
Behind her, another pair of giant birds began to dance. She shifted to watch them.
An old man came into the restaurant. He wore a standard gray business one-piece and sandals and looked ordinary enough, save for the old-style tripolar droud sockets on the sides of his shaved skull. He walked to where Wu sat and nodded at her. “Fem Wu?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Scanner, from the agency. We spoke earlier on the com. “
The transmission had been without visuals, but Wu recognized the scratchy voice. “Please sit down.”
The old man did. “I’ve located our subject. He has a suite at the Vivu Hotel. There are seven others with him from offworld, including the boxcar pilot, and at least one local staying there. His people have been making inquiries about The Brambles.”
Wu nodded. “You are very efficient.”
The old man tapped one of his drouds. “Electron dances can tell you a lot, if you know where to look.”
“Anything else?”
“Our subject has just bought a small chemical manufacturing plant in Pau; that’s a little industrial town about forty klicks away from here.”
“A chemical plant?”
“It mostly produces several forms of chlorine, bottled gas, blocks, and a granulated dry powder. The various aspects are used primarily where UV or US water treatment is impractical. Swimming pools and small drinking-water tanks, like that.”
“Odd,” Wu said.
Scanner-shrugged.
“And where is Cierto now?”
“As of thirty minutes ago, in transit to the plant at Pua.”
Wu shook her head, puzzled. Certainly Cierto’s business was his own, but it did seem passing strange that he would travel all the way across the galaxy to personally buy something like this.
“Thank you,” Wu said to Scanner. “I appreciate your skill and speed.”
The old man smiled. “Years of practice.”
“Any of my retainer left?”
“About half.”
“Keep it.”
“You’re too generous, Fem Wu. You want an opinion?”
“Sure.”
“The chlorine plant has a contract to deliver in The Brambles; been doing it for years.”
“So?”
“So, unless you have a stack of clearances, you can’t get into the place. Tight security. You know what they’re doing there?”
“I’ve heard.”
“Well, hopping the fence is dangerous, apt to get you killed, and incomings and outgoings are checked.
But if you wanted to get past the guards, owning a hovervan that has been making the trip for years would be one way to go about it.”
Wu nodded again. “All right. But why would he want to sneak into The Brambles?”
“Got me. I’m just saying he probably can, if he wants.”
Wu considered that. Buying the chem plant would make more sense if there was some ulterior motive involved.
“Thanks again,” she said.
“All part of the service, fem.” As he stood, he measured her with a look. “As one kind of dancer to another.”
She nodded once, acknowledging his call. He might be old, but his eyes and the mind behind them were still sharp.
Now, the question was: why did Cierto want to go into The Brambles?
Chapter ELEVEN
“ALL IS IN readiness, Patron,” Miguel said.
The morning’s heat had already started to rise, the tropical foliage steaming under the bright sun, the air vaporous and heavy over the chemical plant. The sharp stink of the chlorinating compound stabbed at Cierto’s nostrils as he stood next to the hovervan watching the final plastic barrel of the stuff being loaded.
“Very well. Tell it to me again.”
Miguel, a squat and muscular man of twenty-two, nodded once. “Luis and Juanita are en route in their vans. Juanita is already within the compound; Luis will be arriving at the border within a f
ew moments. The scientist has rigged Luis’s van for the diversion. Dona is onstation and ready to bring up the escape vehicle. Your suit is inside, as are the two gliders.”
He indicated the van with a glance. “All of the identification materials have been logged and vetted. The quarry has been positively located and the maps and overlays are in the van’s computer. The quarry is alone with the single guard. Everything is just as planned.”
Cierto rubbed at his lower lip with one finger. “Very well. Let us depart.”
He and Miguel entered the van. The young man moved to the control seat while Cierto went to put on his special clothing. This was a third-generation shiftsuit, which gave the wearer the ability to match a stationary background almost to the point of invisibility. Seated upon a barrel in the back of the van, a man wearing such a disguise would appear to be part of the truck’s wall even in bright light. In addition, the shiftsuit had been lined with spidersilk panel armor, so that it was roughly equivalent to class-two military gear. Wearing such, with the hood and matching face shield, would not only make a man virtually undetectable by human eyes, but also impervious to many personal hand weapons. It was not as good as a full class-one hardsuit, or even the new issue softsuits-a powerful thrust from a sharp knife would surely pierce it, for instance-but it would stop a spetsdod dart.
A special pouch on the left side hid his sword; on his right hip, a shielded holster contained a 12mm Rynar projectile pistol. This weapon held a magazine containing nine squashed-ceramic frangible bullets that could be driven to very high velocity by electromagnetic pulses. His armor wouldn’t stop these, either. The thief should die by Cierto’s blade, true enough, but the matador need merely be gotten out of the way with whatever means necessary.
Each of his students also had such gear ready for use at the proper time. True, it was bulky and it tended to slow one’s moments, but the advantages outweighed the disadvantages for this encounter. It was hot, even with the built-in regulators, but in the cooled compartment of the van this was no problem. With luck, he would only have to wear the suit outside for a brief time.
As he dressed, Cierto reviewed the plan once again. It was simple enough. Miguel had a delivery flight that would take them within a few kilometers of where the old thief was hiding. At an appropriate place, he and Miguel would leave the vehicle and fly between the rows of trees using small delta-wing gliders powered with tiny, silent repulsors. The hovervan would continue toward its distant destination on robotic controls. It would overfly the stop and either be shot down or eventually crash on its own, but by then; Cierto would be long gone. ‘
Juanita would perform a similar ‘action with her van. Luis would also join them, via glider, but not before he allowed his van to supposedly develop repellor trouble. After Luis called for help, his van would crash into the trees.
The scientist had explained it to Cierto with a kind of delight. “Certain chemicals when mixed produce a delayed but very intense form of combustion. These chlorinated granules, for instance, are relatively harmless when dry, see?” He dipped one hand into the white grains and allowed them to sift through his fingers back into the container, a metal bowl that held about a liter of the material.
“This is common hydraulic fluid,” the tame scientist said, holding up a clear cup filled with a reddish liquid. “It is used in wing controls, landing gear and such. By itself it is harmless. Mix it with the chlorinating compound, however-” With that, he dumped the liquid into the bowl with the granules.
“And the combination proves to be something else altogether.” The scientist glanced at his timepiece.
Cierto looked at the sludge formed by the liquid and the granules. It bubbled a little, but nothing else seemed to be happening. “Very impressive,” he said, his voice dry.
“It takes about four minutes,” the scientist said. He continued to monitor the time. “Please stand back, Patron.”
Cierto moved back to a spot indicated by the scientist, five meters away from the mixture. A strong odor, bitter and sharp, reached him, and a smallish amount of smoke arose from the bowl. The time dragged. “I don’t see-”
A pillar of flame erupted from the bowl, reaching three meters into the air with a sudden roar, as if spewed forth by a mythological dragon. The heat of it singed Cierto’s eyebrows and the hair on the back of his hands even at this distance. This was impressive.
“Ah,” Cierto said.
“Si, Patron. If a van carrying a load of such granulated chlorine compound crashes and spills much of it, and if the hydraulic lines of the van which contain more than a dozen liters of the liquid should also rupture …
“Hot enough to light the trees?”
“Si, Patron. More than hot enough.”
“Trees that are potentially worth millions, perhaps even billions each, will ignite. I expect that will draw considerable attention. “
“As you say, Patron.”
Now dressed in the shiftsuit, Cierto smiled at the memory. A simple plan, but one which would have an excellent chance of success. Local authorities would be busy worrying about their crop. While they concentrated on extinguishing the fire, Cierto and three of his students would kill the old thief and his guard, and rendezvous with Dona where she waited with the escape vehicle. If they had trouble with guards while leaving, those guards would be dealt with, and before anyone could figure out what had happened, they would be on his private ship and into Bender space.
Honor would be satisfied, at last.
The camp was reached by road only from the east. The three buildings that comprised the main part were upon a hill deemed too rocky to level and use for planting, so the single road wound around and over mostly bare rock and dirt, with some small scrub growth and grasses being the only vegetation.
From the hill, a man had good views of the canopy of bramble extending off in all directions below.
While intentionally rustic, the camp was not without some modern facilities. Sleel had the computer up and had installed in it a security program. The matadors had contacts all over the galaxy, and it was not difficult to spend a goodly chunk of Reason’s money upon defensive materials.
Sleel explained it to Reason.
“I’ve got half a dozen AA lances around the perimeter of the hill,” he said. “Although there isn’t supposed to be any air traffic without official clearance, that’s just in case anybody comes calling from the air. They do, they get spiked.
“There are button sensors scattered around the base of the hill, with a cluster along the road, so anybody comes that way, we see ‘em.”
Sleel held up a small rectangle of black plastic. “This is a black-market spetsdod load. Explosive rounds.
Punches a neat little cone-shaped crater in anything softer than carbonex or steel when it hits it. In case our bad guys have developed an immunity to my other dart chem.”
“I didn’t think spetsdods were supposed to be lethal.”
“Learn something new even at your age, hey?”
Sleel produced a small pocket pistol. “This is a 6mm needier, fires capacitor rounds, about thirty thousand volts each. Builds up the charge when it spins through the muoplastic barrel. Kind of like a real mild version of the military Spasm load, it’ll lock a guy into tetany long enough to knock him down and keep him twitching for ten minutes. Like a taser, but without wires.” He handed the gun to Reason.
“I don’t much like guns,” the older man said.
“I’m not asking you to make love to it, just keep it around. Try not to shoot me or yourself with it. You got fourteen shots in a magazine; here is a spare. There are more than twenty-eight of them, we’re in trouble.”
Sleel grinned.
“You think they are coming here.”
“Oh, yeah. I haven’t figured out how or when, but they’re coming. So far they have shown us they are determined, but not too adept, so I figure we either end it here or catch us one who can tell us where to go to finish it. If we can grab one before he passe
s out.”
“So that’s it?”
“The good ones are simple. Unless you have a better idea.”
”…No.”
Sleel looked through the plastic window in the main room of the largest building in the camp. The hot sky was cloudy on one edge, promising a thunderstorm before the day wore out. He was ready. More than ready, he was anxious for an attack. It was time to do what he knew how to do, to prove to himself that he was good at something.
Come on, elbowsuckers. Come and try me.
Whatever Cierto was up to, Wu didn’t think it was in any way good. The man was arrogant, rich, amoral, and deadly, not a pleasant combination. She had watched him enter the hovervan and leave, heading toward The Brambles, and it occurred to her that something nasty was about to transpire.
What, she wondered, could she do about it?
She used her personal com to put in a call to Scanner.
“No,” the old man said, “I don’t think I can get you into The Brambles, least not so fast as to be able to tail somebody.”
In the shade of a broad-leaved tree with orange bark, Wu nodded to herself. “Thanks anyway.”
“What I can do, I can tap into the mapsats and footprint him for you.”
“Come again?”
“Mapping satellites that overfly The Brambles. These things have optical resolution that can read the time on a guy’s wristwatch from twenty thousand klicks. There are sixty or seventy of them orbiting up there officially, not even counting the sub rosa spysats I can access. Give me your location and the direction the van took.”
Wu did so.
“Hold on a second; I have to translate that into binary grid numbers. Okay … got it. It’s a little tricky, switching from unit to unit here … there he is. Fortunately there isn’t a lot of air traffic over The Brambles. Yep, there’s the flight plan, that’s our boy. He’s on course and heading for a scheduled delivery at Madini, that’s about six hundred klicks from where you are. Oops, now he’s moving out of range. I need to see what’s coming up crossways … it’ll be a couple of minutes before I can patch into something to see him again.”
