by Jo Zebedee
Which left the unsettling fact that the boy was more powerful than any of them – even Kare – had realised. That thought was a sobering one. He’d been with Kare on Corun when he’d lifted four men off the planet under the fire power of a full troop of the Empress’ soldiers.
“How far out are we going?” asked Lichio.
“Not much further,” said the pilot. “We’ll be joining the main search in the forest. We have an hour before we pull out.”
“That’s not a lot of time. The Ferrans won’t search overnight?”
“They’ll search from the air. Nothing goes into the forest at night.”
“Damn.” He didn’t argue, though; becoming sprite-bait didn’t appeal. Perhaps, as night fell, the kids would come out, having had their afternoon of freedom. After all, neither was helpless; it was that knowledge that had kept him calm since the news had come in.
The ship dived through the tree canopy, aiming for a small clearing. Down and down it went, slowing as it did, until it sank vertically into place. Lichio went to the hatch, using his shoulder to speed its lifting. Beyond, the forest was utterly silent. He shivered at the dank air, but got out, and his team followed, spreading out into a search pattern. The lead sergeant’s eyes flitted across the forest.
“Pretty eerie,” said Lichio, coughing when the air caught in his throat.
“Yes, sir.”
Lichio ducked into the deeper forest, being careful with his footing. It didn’t do to be careless – there were tree roots everywhere and the lava pools were not all the red of the younger pools; some were a deeper shade and hard to see in the dark. Some of the older trees had plants growing at their base.
Within a few feet he had to stop and pull his collar up against the dropping temperature. He was well under the canopy, and the sun no longer penetrated to ground level. His breath turned to frosted white. He stopped, listening for the sound of feet or the kids talking, but there was nothing. He strained his eyes, watching for any movement, but it was impossible to see through the greying light and the steam rising to wreathe the trunks in white mist.
There was no birdsong, no animals moving, nothing but steady hissing, the spit of mud bubbles bursting and the rustle of the undergrowth, water dripping as the cold air met the warm. It was stunningly beautiful, everything Rjala had described, but the strangest place he’d ever been.
He crossed to the nearest mud-pool, skirting the fire-spruce’s encircling roots, and crouched. There were no footprints in the mud. He turned on his scanner, tracing the path ahead, but there was no sign of any life.
A noise from above made him scramble to his feet and wait, listening, until the pounding in his chest settled and he calmed. Just the rustle of leaves in the damp air and nothing to worry about; the sprites would be high in the trees until night fell.
His direction unit beeped, taking his attention. Movement, up ahead, and not his search-team. He brought his wrist-comm to his mouth. “We have something. Follow my nav-code and stay close.”
His team appeared from the darkness and he led them to the edge of a small clearing. The pod gave a single beep. He turned to his team. “Fan out and search.”
He stepped forwards. A shape appeared between the trees, then another. Relief came, and he started to jog towards them, but another shape appeared, and then another. He took a step back as more shapes emerged from between the trees.
“Ambush!” he yelled. A laser blast came at him, making him dive to the side. One of his team gave a cut-off warning.
Lichio rolled to his knees. The ground was hot under him – a lava pool bubbled not two feet away. A blast echoed, this time from his team, followed by one from the other side of the clearing. He was surrounded. He cursed. Stupid, stupid. He should have brought a proper assault team, not a hastily scrambled search and rescue, but he’d had no intelligence to suggest a trap.
He pulled his blaster out. The light had faded, making the lava pools glow in the darkness. He waited. Another blast, another shout, and then silence. Figures separated from the trees ahead, coming forwards, rifles cradled in their arms.
“On your feet, General.” One separated from the others. “We were advised you might come along.”
Lichio stood, his blaster by his side, eyes darting. Useless. There was nowhere to run, even if he could see well enough to know where to go.
“Drop your weapon, and put your hands up.”
Lichio took in the soldier’s insignia: a sergeant. A familiar twisted star glinted in the dim light, and his stomach fell.
“Drop your weapon, le Payne.”
Lichio cast his gaze through the forest, weighing up his chances. Phelps – assuming he was behind this – wouldn’t want to hang around any more than he did; the sprites didn’t care what side anyone was on. Besides, if he had the kids, he’d got what he came for. He glanced at the soldiers in front of him, took in their focus, and amended that thought: Phelps had got most of what he wanted, damn him. The soldiers moved forwards, trapping him.
To hell with that. Lichio brought his blaster up, aiming from the hip, and took the sergeant on his shoulder, sending him spinning away. He dived to the side, just evading a bolt that hit the tree next to him, close enough to make him flinch. He ducked behind the tree and stood where its roots twisted around the lava pool. Steps approached and he waited, hand on his blaster. If nothing else, he’d take some of the bastards with him.
“Pull out.” The soldier’s voice was strained. “We can’t stay any longer. Besides…” He pitched his voice high enough to carry. “He’ll be drained by morning. We’ll inform General Phelps.”
“He wanted him alive.”
Lichio barely breathed.
“He’ll have to take him dead.”
Their footsteps left, crunching away. A few minutes later, somewhere in the distance, a transporter lifted off, flying low enough for him to feel the heat from its engines.
Something moved in the canopy above him, and he tensed. There was a rustling of leaves, the clicking of claws on wood. He snapped his head up and tightened his hand around his blaster, listening, and knew exactly what was stirring.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Darkness had fallen over Abendau, the familiar quick change from day to night. The abandoned chapel he was in was little more than a ruin. The climb to its parapets had entailed the remnants of a stone staircase, its supports long gone so that it reached up to the sky. The reward, however, was a view over the city and even towards the palace. In fact, with the scopers he had with him, it was possible to make out the palace and port, and the long skywalk stretching between them.
Palace Boulevard was easier to pick up, lit up and gaudy, but farther out the old city’s warrens of entries were dim. Darker still was the massive tribal enclave in the midst of the old city, hidden behind such high walls that the glow from its great church was barely visible.
Kare stuck his head out of the shattered bay window and took a deep breath. The desert air was fresher in the evening and as cold as the day was hot, bringing with it a wave of... not nostalgia, exactly – he hated the city and its palace as much as when he’d first been taken to it – a sense of wasted time, perhaps.
He’d spent ten years moulding the city so it was no longer his mother’s. That the alleys in the old city were lit was down to him; when he’d come to power the sector had been poverty-stricken, its residents left to fester in dark houses, hidden from the rich residents of the central boulevards. Now she was back and the lights were already going out, the hope of a decade snuffed and dead.
“What do you think?” Simone hunkered beside him, and he was glad of the distraction.
“Not good.” He lifted his scope and focused on the central streets close to the palace. They adjusted quickly, picking out details in the darkness, controlling the light input from the busier areas.
The main streets were bustling, the blazing lights of the strip of bars and restaurants standing out against the embassies’ dark gardens. The pal
ace loomed over the city, its white walls stark against the night sky: unchanged, unchanging, eternal. He hated the place. “They’ve upped the garrison.”
“It’s been doubled.” She pointed at the port. “See the new defence turrets? Your compound has them too.”
“Damn.” He adjusted the scope and picked out the turrets. Even Roamer ships would struggle to withstand the new firepower. “How many agents managed to infiltrate the garrison?”
“Eight.”
“Eight? That’s all? What did the rest do, forget to lick their officers’ boots?”
She grimaced, her teeth white in the darkness. “Security proved tighter than anticipated. But they’re well placed to do what you need.”
He lowered the scope and stared over the city. “And when I’m in?”
“There will be a small protest rally. We’ve been holding them periodically, so it won’t rouse suspicion. Once Hickson’s squad is in, the protest will turn somewhat nastier than usual and draw some security from the palace.”
He nodded, but kept his focus on the palace. What he needed was a full-scale attack on the city to give him a proper run. He didn’t say it; Simone already knew.
“Sounds good.” He put the scope into its pouch on his belt. “We can go; I’ve seen what I needed.”
His legs protested as he straightened and stretched before bringing his hood up. Simone led the way from the chapel, consecrated before the Empress’ church had spread, and left to fall to ruin ever since. She passed through the graveyard and ducked out of a low gateway into a side street.
He put his head down and walked beside her in silence. He’d be unlucky for anyone to recognise him in the darkness, but his voice didn’t have the rich tones of a native Abendauii, nor the guttural edge of one desert-bred, and, on a still night like this, a voice easily carried.
Ahead, the palace stood, reaching into the sky. He could trace every part of the building, from the private quarters on the top floors, through the administration section, to the now-flooded basement that had housed Omendegon. His scars itched at the memory of the torture chambers, but he pushed the thought away and hurried after Simone. He had an assault plan to finalise.
They slipped through the streets, stopping at the head of each entry to check it was clear, and used their cover to slip past the busier streets. He skidded in dregs of rubbish that had rotted in the sun. During the day, this place must stink; it was barely tolerable at night. The streets became busier as they reached a residential zone.
He ducked his head, pulling the hood closer around him. “How much further?”
“A few streets.” Her eyes darted, taking in the alley they were in, and the entrance to another.
They hurried through the last streets. Here, the city had lost its genteel air, and any semblance of policing. People spilled from bars onto rough benches in the street, saving themselves additional credits for drinking inside. Voices reached him, rumours of a curfew and extra security checks. Fear ran in an undertone – whenever there were changes in Abendau, these streets felt it first and hardest. It made him want to hurry before he was picked out as a stranger who might bring more trouble to the city, but he forced himself to match Simone’s careful pace.
Finally, they reached the safe house. His shoulders relaxed, telling him how tense he’d been, as they were let in by one of two soldiers maintaining a watch. The street the house was in was quiet. There were no pubs, nothing but darkened houses. Yet the stillness didn’t comfort him; instead, it seemed to shroud secrets.
The soldier pulled the outer door shut and activated its sensors, and Kare made his way to the small room designated for planning.
“Secure,” he said. A sound-wall hummed into place and a holo-projector – a full-scale, military-grade one – rose from the centre of the table. Beside it, a command console blinked. Normally Lichio would be on the other end of it, a real-time Lichio. Damn, he wanted him here.
The squad crowded in and Kare moved his focus to them. There was nothing he could do about Lich, he had to make the best of what he had. He checked them off as they came, bringing to mind what he knew from their personnel files. It was a good team, with all the disciplines covered.
He gave a nod to Major Hickson, making a mental reminder to praise his selection later. Hickson nodded back, and shifted to the side, allowing room for Kare to join him at the top of the table. He stayed slightly behind the major, however – he wasn’t the specialist they needed. Hell, if he ran an active raid, it would be the first time in a decade.
“To confirm the planning.” Hickson brought a holo-map up. “Turn your attention to the red areas specifically. Those are the Empress’ personal quarters, where we’re the allocated cleaning-crew.” He nodded to Kare. “You will already be in situ. I plan to split us into four teams.”
The soldiers gathered around the desk, the outline planning document already held by many. Hickson changed the screen and there were a few murmurs as the squad read over their final allocation. Kare glanced at Kym Woods, waiting for her reaction, but her face was impassive, hard to read.
“Team one.” Hickson pointed at four soldiers, each in turn, and they gave a firm nod. “Standard room-clearance through the quarters. Three zones have security posts.” The holo changed, highlighting three entranceways in orange. “There will also be roaming patrols.”
“Do we have a fix on how many?” asked one of the soldiers, a lean man. Rix, Kare recalled. Tactical-ops specialist.
“We have an assessment of current levels of patrol and predicted patterns.” Hickson tapped a command on his data pad and handed it over. “I’ll share those details with you – but be aware, they are predictions only.”
Rix nodded, jotted something on his own plan, and Hickson pointed to four more soldiers, already bunched together; this team were tight, evidently. “You control the security entrance to the private sector – no one gets through. Any non-military palace staff in situ will be placed under your care. If all goes to plan, we’ll be accounting for our actions to the republic – I don’t want to have to explain any innocent deaths.”
The holo zoomed in on the Empress’ personal chambers, taking a moment to sharpen. Kare’s breath caught. He knew the rooms well. Her living-area – his for a decade, when he could bear to stay there – with its huge window overlooking the city; her sleeping quarters, big enough for the average family to fit into.
He could imagine her spreading out from the chambers, a spider in the centre of the palace, sensitive to every movement within. If he could get his team as far as her quarters, she’d know something was wrong in the palace, something focused on her, even if she didn’t pick up his presence. Without the protection of the mesh, his team’s minds were vulnerable to her – she’d soon find out they were there. The timing of his use of the Roamer power would be vital: too soon and she’d have security in place waiting for him; too late and he’d be useless against her.
“Myself and Sergeant Ta’riq will take her sleeping quarters,” said Hickson. He drew in a deep breath. “If the Empress is awake, then it falls to the commander in chief and Sergeant Woods.”
Kare met Kym’s hard eyes, and stepped forwards. “Once I join the Roamer mesh, every security team in the palace will be targeted on us.” He glanced around the squad, their eyes on him. “We have one chance. I believe we can do it. Questions?”
Voices broke out, confirming lay-out plans, weaponry, timing. Kare stood back, letting Hickson answer, and closed the holo down. The team began to file out, their questions answered. Hickson left with a quick nod, Ta’riq beside him, heads together.
For the first time, Kare became aware of how tired he was after the trek in the desert and recon. Time to find a bunk or bedroll. He turned to leave, and found Sergeant Woods waiting in the doorway, dark eyes fixed on him.
All thoughts of sleep left him. “Sergeant Woods. Have you a question about the mission?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Me, sir? No, sir.” Irony dripped from her
clipped voice, but there was nothing overt he could pull her on.
He paused. This was his chance to put things on a better footing between them.
“Sergeant, I know how you feel about me.” It was too dark to see her face; he’d have to play this on instinct.
“Do you, sir?”
Perhaps. He knew how he’d feel – that he’d used Silom, kept him too close and brought him into danger time and time again. That, sooner or later, it would have ended as it did. Kym didn’t know – if that was indeed how she felt – that it went further back, to when Silom had been a boy. She didn’t know that Silom had been a pawn for the Roamers, who should never have known Kare outside the face on the credits in his pocket. She just knew the end.
“Sergeant, Silom was where he wanted to be that day,” he said. “But I was slow. I should have predicted my mother. There isn’t a day I don’t think about what happened and blame myself.”
A silence lengthened between them.
“I was told you were the best,” he said, trying a different tactic. He lowered his voice to little more than a whisper. “Is that much true?”
“It is.” Her eyes glittered in the dark.
“When I take the bitch down, I’m doing it for Silom,” he murmured. “I need someone who won’t miss.”
“I never miss,” she said. She pitched her voice even lower than his. “Perhaps you should keep that in mind, sir.”
“Oh, I do.” He turned away, frustrated. His usual empathy was no use here – the barrier between them too great.
He stopped at the sound of her voice. “You won’t back down this time? You’ll kill her, no matter what?”
He turned back to her. “No matter what.”
She gave a firm nod and left, back straight, her walk the same swagger it had always been. Let it be enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The feel of movement; the drowsy knowledge of being on a ship. Kerra forced her eyes open. She was on a narrow, hard cot, nothing like the comfortable bunks on a Roamer ship. She turned her head, ignoring a dull thud of protest, and saw a row of cots crammed on top of each other, lining the wall opposite. The walls were grey metal, unadorned, the sheets on the bunks a deep green. A military transporter, she assumed.
