Shadow Warrior- Omnibus

by Chris Bunch

This time the gold was dropped on the woman’s stomach. Five coins, larger than the two he’d given Diggs. Joshua thought about letting his fingers linger but decided not to. Lil lazily opened her eyes.

  ‘Now, that’s the sorta thing that really makes a girl smile. I was gonna rape you for the transport, but not that bad. Or are we talkin’ about other possibilities?’

  ‘We are. I need transport to Yoruba. Leaving now. After I get a few things from my ship. That’s the retainer.’

  ‘Yoruba, huh? You just want me to drop you off . . . or will you be coming back through here?’

  ‘Maybe a day. Maybe longer. I can’t say. Maybe I’ll need transport when I get there, maybe not. Depends. But if you’re available, that might simplify things.’

  ‘You just hired yourself a pilot. Ten minutes at my place, then we can flit.’

  ‘Just like that?’

  ‘Phan, Mik, me, we don’t tie each other down or make rules. They can fiddle their dees while I’m gone, anyway. Build up energy for when I get back.’

  Joshua went around to the other side of the lifter and over the low hull into the seat beside Lil. She started the primary and let it warm.

  ‘You planning on getting dressed?’ Joshua asked. ‘Or did I just hire my first nude chauffeur?’

  ‘I could put it on, I could take the rest of it off. Whatever you want, since you’re paying.’

  Joshua made no answer. Lil shrugged and pulled the blouse back on. ‘At least I got your attention.’

  The track through the mountains had been roughly graded so a gross-laden heavy-lifter wouldn’t high-side, but it still was more an exceptionally wide path than a roadway. Joshua asked Lil to take the lifter to max altitude, which gave him a vulture’s-eye perspective at about 150 feet constant.

  The land was savage, dry brown earth running into gray rock. The scraggly trees and brush were perhaps a little taller than they’d been on the flats, but not much. Lil and Joshua overflew a couple of abandoned, stripped lifters and one thoroughly mangled wreck but saw no other sign of travelers.

  There were shacks, but he couldn’t tell if they were occupied. Once or twice he saw, higher against a mountain face, scantlings, survival domes, and piled detritus where some miner had tried to convince himself there must be some value to be torn from this waste.

  Joshua spotted to one side a sprawling, high-fenced estate. Beyond the walls there was Earth green and the blue of a small lake. There were buildings, big ones, a dozen of them, white in new stone.

  ‘Who belongs to that?’

  ‘Nobody knows,’ Lil answered. ‘Somebody rich. Or powerful. Somebody private. He - or she, or it - gets supplies once every couple months. Curiosity don’t seem welcome.’

  She pointed. Joshua had already seen the two gravlighters that had lifted away from one building and now flew parallel to the lifter’s pattern. He wasn’t close enough to see how many gunnies each lighter held. After they’d passed, the lighters returned to the estate.

  ‘You were in the war?’ Lil asked.

  ‘That was a long time ago.’

  ‘Figured, by your rig. My dad . . . anyway, the guy Ma said was my father was some kind of soldier, too. Ma kept a holo of him on a dresser, wearing some kind of uniform. Took it with her when she hooked, I guess. I don’t remember seeing it . . . afterward.’ Then: ‘Any damage in my asking about what happens once we get in range of Yoruba? I mean, I can nap-of-the-earth insert you without anyone noticing. Their sensor techs couldn’t hear a fart on a field phone.’

  ‘No need,’ Joshua said. ‘As far as I know, we can parade right in the front door looking beautiful and getting kissed.’

  ‘There’s more’n one front door,’ Lil went on. ‘You ever been there?’

  ‘No. And my travel agent couldn’t seem to find a brochure.’

  ‘You better think about cannin’ that yonk, you get back from your, uh, “vacation.” ’Kay. There’s a whole patch of front doors. Outside the gates there’s cribs. Shantytown. Bars. Cafés. Independent-run. If you’re looking for sanctuary on the cheap or if whoever you’re lookin’ for is down on his credits, that’ll be where you want to go. Somebody’ll be around to collect the tariff sooner or later. Everybody pays at Yoruba.’

  ‘I was never much of an alley cat. Except when I had to be. What’s the next level?’

  ‘The next stage is straight into the main resort. Up there, what you get depends on what you got.’

  ‘That sounds like a good place to start.’

  ‘You called it,’ Lil said. ‘You want to spend, I’ll put you in Ben Greet’s lap, if you want. He’s the one who owns Yoruba. He says frog, everybody turns green and starts pissin’ swamp water.’

  ‘Glad to see my friend’s doing so well,’ Joshua said. ‘Maybe we’ll have a chance to talk about the old days.’

  ‘I hope you aren’t bein’ cute and Greet really is your friend,’ Lil warned. ‘Greet’s nothin’ but bulletproof.’

  Joshua smiled.

  Something ahead caught his eye. ‘Well, I shall be damned,’ he said. ‘What an utterly charming little place.’

  A nicely paved roadway led up from the main track, a freshly painted white fence on either side of it and demarcating the deep green pasture around the sprawling red-brick house. There was a sign on the road below. Lil took binocs from the dash box and handed them across. Joshua focused. The sign read: TRAVELER’S REST.

  ‘Does anyone actually fall for that?’

  ‘They surely do. Pretty regular we hear of some gravlighter that “just happened” to crash around here. Crash and always burn, real bad, since nobody ever finds the pilot or swamper. Or cargo.

  ‘We call that the gingerbread house. Except you don’t have to bring Gretel. The owners’ll provide her . . . and anything else that’s asked for, or so the story goes. Until you stop payin’ attention or go to sleep.

  ‘They got themselves a cargo ship back at the field, and every now and then it lifts, but nobody’s ever seen a cargo manifest.’

  ‘Most places I’ve been,’ Joshua said, ‘after a while people would see to something that wide-open, law or no law.’

  ‘Not on Platte, mister. ’Sides, as far as we know, the only people that get done are fools or off-worlders, and none of us took either to raise.’

  They rode in silence, not uncomfortable, as the track crested the mountain and then wound down across a valley a bit more fertile than the wasteland. There were more buildings, some rich, some poor, no order to their location. A mansion would be next to a hovel, and sometimes there would be a clump of buildings, almost a failed village. Sometimes there would be a paved road, and twice he saw automated ways. The roads, like everything else, started and stopped arbitrarily, as if the builder had built until he got bored or had quit when a completely invisible requirement had been met. There were farmhouses, but each sat in desolation. Occasionally there would be the gleam of a few light manufacturing buildings. Farther on, with no road or track to them, would be a group of buildings that might shift for a marketplace. It was as if an angry child had hurled his elaborate toys across a sandbox.

  ‘I guess,’ Joshua mused, ‘when you’re studying anarchy hard, logic doesn’t come knocking much.’

  Lil frowned, not understanding, then looked ahead at the track. The frown persisted. She spoke, again without preparation but as if she’d been waiting for him to speak first:

  ‘You know, when I shook my tits at you back there . . . there was a reason.’

  ‘I didn’t figure it for a sudden impulse,’ Joshua said.

  ‘I said I had rooms. For a price. Board cost extra, I said. That ain’t all that’s for sale. Not for everybody, though,’ she said hastily. ‘We ain’t that poor. And I’m not that desperate. ’

  Joshua maintained his silence.

  ‘If you’re gonna be staying on in Yoruba, let me be with you. I won’t charge nothin’.’

  The turbine hiss was loud in the dead air.

  ‘I know, in Yoruba, there
’s prettier. If you’re really a friend of Ben Greet’s, most likely they’ll be free, too. But I ain’t that bad; give me a little time with a mirror. I won’t let you get bored. I know some tricks. I was in a house for a while, till I had to offplanet and come here. I ain’t just a country dox, not knowin’ anything but flat on her back with her legs up.’

  When Joshua didn’t reply, her shoulders slumped. ‘Didn’t figure that’d fly,’ she said in a monotone. ‘But Jerusalem on a pony, you don’t know what it’s like bein’ in that hellforsaken port. You know everybody, everybody knows you. You know what they’re gonna say, and pretty soon you know what you’re gonna say . . . what you’re even gonna think, day in, day out.

  ‘And all the time people pass through, and you know you ain’t ever gonna be able to go with them. You’re gonna dry and wither, just like this damned planet grew you like you were a scatterbush.’

  ‘That’s not it, Lil,’ Joshua said. ‘I’ve got business in Yoruba, and things might become . . . troublesome. Quite loudly troublesome.’

  ‘Trouble don’t get no cherry off me,’ she said defiantly; her hand flashed to her boot top, and Joshua saw steel flash.

  The small gun vanished. ‘Hell with it. I don’t beg. There’s Yoruba, anyway. You want me to sleep in the lifter, or should I find a room somewhere? I’ll have to charge for that, you know,’

  Joshua didn’t reply. He blanked her presence as the lifter lowered to the track, which became a paved and marked road with planted greenery to either side. Ahead rose Yoruba, sprawling over half a dozen hilltops, its domes, spires, and cupolas gleaming dully. His eyes half-closed, he let himself flow outward, ahead of the lifter as it moved past a guard shack where a semimobile blaster’s muzzle had been tracking them. Two heavily armed guards saluted casually as their eyes noted, filed, categorized.

  ‘Ship, do you still hear this voice and know from where it sings?’ Again he spoke in Al’ar.

  ‘You are still heard and watched.’

  The lifter went up a side road toward a grand series of towers, all glass and multihued stone, surrounded by the exotic plants of half a hundred worlds. They passed through wrought-iron gates and rode over hand-laid flagstones. There were bubbling fountains and, under an archway, two women, smiling as if he were their lover home from his great adventure.

  Lil set the lifter down smartly beside the greeters. ‘Welcome to Yoruba,’ they chimed.

  ‘Thank you.’ Joshua got out and knelt, one hand touching the pavement. He felt Yoruba, felt the danger tingle, the sparkle of wine and laughter, the shout as markers cascaded, the blank despair of the gambler’s loss, the silk of flesh around his loins, the tang of blood and the blankness of death. But not for him. Not yet. He felt no neck prickle. The flurry vanished, and he was touching nothing but a flagstone in a mosaic.

  ‘Is something the matter, sir?’ The woman was trying to sound concerned.

  Joshua stood. He took a gold coin from his jacket and laid it in the greeter’s suddenly present palm. Lil was staring fixedly at the lifter’s control panel.

  ‘No. Nothing at all,’ Joshua said. ‘It’s just been a long trip. Sorry we didn’t have time to com ahead. We’ll need a suite and a porter. Just one. Neither my partner nor myself has much in the way of luggage.’

  A slow smile moved across Lil’s face, as if her muscles found the change unfamiliar but welcome.

  TWO

  Joshua lay flat on one of the enormous beds, eyes closed, half hearing Lil’s gurgles and squeals at their room with its private garden and pond; the autopub with its myriad bottles, flasks, bulbs; the elaborate refreshers with surround showers, deep tubs, saunas; the call panel offering personalized dreams from hairdresser to masseur to escort; and all the rest of the suite’s silk and gold Byzantine appointments.

  He was reaching out, delicate as an Al’ar tendril, again feeling. Again - no threat, no danger.

  There was a soft thump beside him, and he was back in the room. ‘This’s the biggest bed I’ve ever seen,’ Lil announced. Her smile became sultry. ‘You suppose it works?’

  Joshua’s fingers reached of their own volition and ran down the side of her face. Eyes closed, she inhaled sharply and lay back, waiting, lips open.

  ‘Unfortunately,’ Joshua said, ‘I was raised pretty strict and never could handle playing during working hours.’

  Lil said nothing, but her hand came up, touched his, then moved down across her flat stomach, hand circling upward and lifting her blouse. She ran a fingernail over one nipple, and it hardened.

  She touched her waistband, and the memory fastener opened. She lifted her hips and slid her pants down until her golden down shone. Her legs parted slightly, and she slipped fingers between them, gently caressing herself. Her eyes opened, and she looked dreamily, smiling, into Joshua’s.

  Joshua got up. He took a breath, made his voice level. ‘And you’re on the payroll, too, lady.’

  Lil sat, still smiling. ‘What do I do?’

  ‘Spend some money. Think rich. You’ll need an outfit for dinner. Plus something for tomorrow, casual but expensive. Something you can run in, if we have to. Hair, derm, manicure, massage if you want. Don’t get too crazy - I’m not that rich. I want you to look like -’

  He was looking at an extended middle finger. ‘I know,’ Lil said, ‘what I should look like. Close, anyway. Mistress, wife, or pickup talent?’

  ‘Like somebody who’s made a big score would want to help him spend it. The somebody’s not dumb, so you’re not taking him to the cleaners, but he’s got a bad case of lust.’

  ‘Who’s the somebody? Do I need to know? The guy - woman - you’re looking for? Or you? Not that it matters. Like I said, anything you want goes.’

  ‘For me,’ Joshua said softly. ‘I’ve never set a honey trap yet. You’re camouflage, making it look like I’m just holed up and unwinding.’

  ‘Sorry. The men I grew up around wouldn’t think that was an insult. Are you ever gonna tell me why we’re here, or am I just supposed to wait for the bangs to start?’

  Joshua picked up his small carryall and started toward one of the freshers. ‘Take two hours. Three if you have to. I’ll be in the bar. Working.’

  ‘There you are, sir.’ The white-jacketed barman set down a snifter of light amber liquid and a frosted ice-filled water tumbler. The bar was a long reach of hand-polished wood and brass, and the shelves behind it sparkled with the stimulants and depressants of a thousand cultures.

  Joshua sipped from the snifter, then nodded acceptance, and the bartender smiled as if he really cared. Joshua wore a black open-necked raw silk shirt and tight black trousers over half boots. He appeared unarmed. He still wore the deceiving silver jewel on its chain around his neck, and the flaring bell sleeves of his shirt concealed a slender tube projector strapped to the inside of his right forearm.

  The fat man came into the bar from an office, saw Joshua, and walked toward him. He wore formal wear, tailored oversize. The man had allowed himself to bald and was smiling, the smile of someone welcoming a friend he hadn’t seen for a month or so. In the years Wolfe had known him the pleased expression never had gone higher than his pink jowls.

  ‘Welcome to Yoruba, Joshua,’ he said, sitting down, one careful stool between him and Wolfe.

  ‘Ben.’ Joshua lifted the snifter in a slight toast but did not drink. ‘You look well.’

  ‘I always said someone who doesn’t respect himself can’t have any regard for anyone else.’ Both of them smiled, flat hard smiles, appreciating the hypocrisy.

  ‘What do you think of my operation?’ the fat man asked.

  ‘It’s a little flash for my tastes, if you want the truth.’

  Greet shrugged. The barman put Greet’s drink down. It was a single shot of a clear liquid in a spike-bottomed liqueur glass embedded in a small silver bowl of ice. Greet shot the drink back and motioned for another. It did not seem to affect him, and Joshua had never heard of anyone who’d seen the fat man affected by any dr
ink or drug. Greet waited until the barman had replaced the entire setup before replying.

  ‘Garish?’ he said. ‘Perhaps. But my clientele generally doesn’t share your conservative tastes. They like seeing what they’re paying for up front and gold-plated. Which brings up the question: Who are you hunting?’ The smile remained.

  Joshua sipped ice water.

  ‘If it’s me . . . we might as well start the game now,’ Greet went on. ‘And I hope the warrant’s worth the risk and you’ve taken care of your people.’ His voice tried to force steel. Joshua turned to face the fat man. Something flickered in Greet’s eyes.

  ‘No, Ben,’ Joshua said. ‘Your sins, far as I know, are still unremembered in anybody’s orisons.’

  Relief jellied Greet’s face. ‘Any of my boys? If so, there’s a couple, maybe three, I’d have to give a warning to, even if it wouldn’t do them much good. A man has certain moral duties, you know.’

  ‘Innokenty Khodyan’s his real name. You want a holo?’

  ‘No. I know him. Another one from my old days. He’s not using that label, but he’s here. Guest, not staff. He wanted secure and had credits, so I booked him into the Vega Suite. You’re working a warm track - he only checked in a couple of days ago. But there’s just a bit of a problem.’

  Involuntarily, Greet’s head jerked as he saw the ring and little fingers of Joshua’s right hand curl back, thumb over, first and middle fingers extended.

  ‘Problem?’ Joshua asked gently.

  ‘Nothing . . . nothing that can’t be dealt with, I hope,’ Greet said hurriedly. ‘You know he’s got cover with him? They’re contract talent, not working for me, so I can’t call them off.’

  Joshua showed no concern.

  ‘He’s fresh from a job,’ Greet went on. ‘He’s got his stash in a safe in his suite.’

  ‘Half a dozen jobs,’ Joshua corrected. ‘He went on a spree in the Federation. Hit them high, hit them low. Like he usually operates. But this time he scattered a few bodies around, and people decided enough was enough. So he’s mine.’