Mark had strolled free of situations that would’ve killed other men, it was true, but he wasn’t about to give this little liar an inch. Jenson bit his lip. “We’re wasting time.”
“It’s fine and lonely up there.” Harris had crept up unnoticed, limping badly, and stared from one to the other suspiciously. “Everything ok, is it? Good to go, are we?”
Tam didn’t deserve their bickering and Ellis felt a pang of guilt.
“Sure,” she conceded gruffly. “Then it’s now or never but be careful. I still don’t believe we’re alone, I don’t know, there’s… Just expect company, ok? Be careful.”
“Right.” Jenson was on firm ground. He thumbed his stunner onto a setting strong enough to solve any problems. “I’ll go in. Harris, stay here, look after her and cover me.”
“Great.” Ellis shook her head. “Your friend is right out of it, he can’t walk, won’t know you, and it’ll take two to shift him. Two.” Counting on fingers. “One, two. One for him and one for the guards. There are guards you know, two. Take Tam with you.”
“And leave you out here on your own with a stunner?”
“Keep the weapon. My people,” her chin came up, “do not need weapons.”
“That,” he spat, “wasn’t what I was worried about.”
“Children!” Harris had had a gutful of both. “Please! Wait till we can find you a nursery. I’ll stay with Ellis, Jenson, call if you need me. Let’s just do it, shall we?”
* * *
Harth Norn had begun as a promotional prospect for Dandy Minon. He’d spent months arranging his cover before the Dome had surfaced early and the carefully plotted timeline had gone splat. He was jumpy as he marched along the woodland path to his hidey-hole that morning, and the two men trailing behind weren’t much better, Dandy believed in generously sharing his load. The current problem was Macluan. He’d kept the Donn alive in case he was a magnet for the others and it hadn’t worked. Yet. The stolen ‘cat had been spotted down at the harbour but it had been deserted by the time they got there. So far as he could tell the Drudge and Macluan’s sidekick simply dropped off the map, which was making him nervous. As he strode along the winding forest trail to his hut he listened intently to the frustrating reports from men searching nearby coves and sea-lanes. His Shiny Ear may not have been an Autocracy neural link, but it worked fine on a short-range local work network.
Minon never was entirely certain about what happened next.
“Good morning,” called a cheery female voice. “Have you missed me, Dandy?”
Whirling, the three Tokkers groped for weapons.
A figure stepped out onto the path before them. Tall, dark, heavily armed.
For a moment everything went still.
The figure stepped off the path and backed into the trees, fizzled and vanished.
Minon rolled onto his knees, firing. Something hit his arm. It was a rock.
He stared at it dazed. And then...
Life got confusing.
Dandy peeled off shots at anything moving. Everything moved. Trees shifted and curtseyed, waltzing with shadows. They never stopped circling. Then they did.
Minon wrenched round.
Both his men lay prone on the dirt path, he’d shot them... How?
Something hit him square between the shoulders and he plunged forward. Both his arms were grabbed and twisted behind his back. Something knelt on his spine and squashed ribs groaned. Next he knew his wrists were bound with icy ropes. Cold sweat trickled down his neck. There was mud in his face; his drool muddied the dirt. He tried to close his mouth and bit grit. He started to pant, snuffling dirt. Life dimmed until all he had left was hearing.
“Hush,” a voice whispered in his ear, “I won’t hurt you. Much. Promise.”
Hard fingers grabbed his forehead and wrenched his head backwards.
There was a searing instant of white-hot pressure on his exposed carotid.
Minon arched, gagged, and lay still and stiff.
Nothing moved. Nothing dared. Even the pre-dawn chorus shut up.
Limping footsteps dragged over to the three recumbent bodies.
“Oh well done,” observed Harris mildly, then more forcefully. “What did you do?”
“Nothing.” Ellis stood up, hanging limply from coat-hanger shoulders and staring blankly down at her work. “At least nothing very much. I let their panic do it. They saw their own shadows and fired. It’s an old trick, just about the oldest in the book, actually. That was just an old-fashioned neck pinch,” jabbing a toe at Minon, “you could do that.”
True, but he’d bet the victim wouldn’t lie down tamely and wait for him to do it as well as give him the time to rip off a bit of her skirt to tie him up as well.
“The old ones are the best,” he agreed gravely. “That was, um... Yeah...”
They shared a definitive moment considering three unconscious men in silence.
Ellis dragged her shaken self back into the here and now. She wasn’t that proud now that the Jenson-inspired tantrum was over and done. Wiping her hands down the remains of her ripped and disgusting skirts, she offered Tam a sheepish grin. “He’s not dead,” she announced seriously. “Nobody is dead, not dead, we don’t kill, they’re only sleeping.”
“I really liked the bit where they shot at each other.”
“Thank you.”
“Welcome.” There was a pause. “I expect he was feeling a bit dopy anyway,” said Tam helpfully, staring at Minon as if fascinated. “It’s still a bit early for most folk.”
Ellis looked up at him. “Why don’t you go and help Jenson?”
“Why don’t I go and help Jenson?”
It seemed a useful option. As he trudged over to the door of the hut, he wondered about Ellis. Sometimes it seemed as if she could hardly stand up alone, yet three big men lay prone on the dirt. At some point in the very near future Tam wanted written verification about exactly which side she was playing on. Hopefully it would carry official references, in triplicate, and an affidavit signed by someone high and legal on the Union High Council. Meanwhile, as when he was attacked at the Dome, it seemed better to go with the flow, and wherever Ellis wanted to flow was just fine by Harris. No worries, no debates. No way.
There was a grunt and a bang. The open door of the hut bounced.
A body crashed against the door frame and slid down, barring Tam’s entrance.
It was going to be one of those days, wasn’t it?
Tam stepped over the body and vanished into the hut.
It would’ve been a good idea to collect the stunners of the fallen against later use, but it didn’t happen. Ellis stumbled into the nearby thin forests, found a handy tree and tried to hitch onto a low branch to stop herself falling down. She missed and slid down the trunk hardly feeling the scrapes. It took ages before her trembling ceased and she regained control of her breathing and heart. Then the retching began and this time it didn’t want to stop.
Chapter Fifteen
It made no sense to return to the Aqua-cat. Anyway, Harris turned surprisingly stubborn and insisted on a sedate, less conspicuous transport. Under his orders, Jenson chose a geriatric tug on the basis that no escapee in their right minds would pick it for a getaway.
It was scruffy, asthmatic and it chugged. It didn’t do speed. it did stolid.
But no one should be looking for it. Yet.
Below deck there was a small, smelly, square cabin with benches along three sides, the fourth occupied by a swinging ladder and a locker containing out-dated first-aid equipment and lifejackets. Macluan was groggy, sprawled on the bench furthest from the exit.
He watched Ellis.
From the bench opposite, crammed behind the locker, Ellis watched Mark.
Harris, pottered about, firmly putting the recent chaos behind him, as he tended Mark with a dripping cloth and a basin, too tired to realise he was caught in the crossfire.
It was Ellis who cracked first. Jenson, at the wheel, obviously hadn’t gra
sped the concept of a quick getaway. Sooner or later, she figured, somebody was going to start checking out a tug heading for the Spaceport. Clutching the ladder for balance, she stood up.
“I’ll just see if Jenson needs help, shall I? He was stressing, might need a break.”
Harris choked on the idea of her caring about Jenson’s stress and then remembered how she’d handled the Aqua-cat and went queasy to his toes. The dabbing revved up to nervous and getting a disinfected cloth poked into one stinging eyeball, Mark gasped.
“Sorry,” apologised Harris automatically. “Ellis?”
She was already halfway up the ladder but paused. “What?”
Fortunately, a strict Scolosian upbringing offered a suitable diversion. “Why don’t you see if there’s anything you can use in the clothes locker first? This far out, it’s freezing. It makes me cold just to see you in those rags. You’ve been shivering for ages on and off.”
Every time something ripped she’d just bunched up more material to get the rags out of the way and it had never struck Ellis there wasn’t much left. For a sick moment she favoured Harris with a glossy green glare. On the way her eyes collided with Mark’s, which were shamelessly enjoying the view, if watery and slightly bloodshot. That did it.
“All right,” she growled, “and then,” the threat was awful, “I’ll help Jenson.”
She swarmed up the ladder like a monkey and they heard her stomping towards the other cabin. The plank roof shook. Dust fell. The tug wheezed. Nobody spoke.
Harris dabbed industriously.
Mark wisely intervened before he lost an eye. “I think I can cope, thanks.” Gently he prised the cloth away from Harris. “Take it easy, thanks. I can manage from here.”
That was true. The fable about Donn recovery rate was not an exaggeration; Tam could see bruises fading. Gratefully he sank back onto the sturdy, dark wood bench and dumped the sloppy basin on the deck, stretching legs that ached and trembled with strain.
Rolling the cloth into a tight ball Mark slung it splashily into the bowl and massaged life back into one stiff and swollen wrist. “I’m Mark Macluan, though I guess Jenson already did the introductions. I owe you thanks but I didn’t catch your name. Harris or Edger?”
“Tam Harris.” Tam looked anxious. “We didn’t know if the signal got through, we didn’t expect any help. We were on our way to Long Island for a ship...”
Mark shook his head. “I’m only sorry we took so long.”
Tam frowned. “You’re not a standard UC back up team. The boss must be ticking.”
“Yes and no, you know Krystie’s tactics.” Mark wobbled a hand. “What happened?”
Tam told his story while he watched the other man. Macluan might seem normal but he’d heard the tales flying around Imperious. The Donn was cold, clever and distant, and though nobody had seen him weave his Donn magic, everybody knew someone who knew someone who possibly knew someone else who had. For sure Macluan could take what he wanted out of Harris’ mind and Harris would never even realise. Yet as he looked into the silver-grey eyes he found them direct and honest and no alarm bells rang. For a moment he wondered uneasily if his positive reaction was some Donn trick, then shrugged it off. Tam Harris had learned to trust his instincts ages ago and they hadn’t often let him down.
Macluan listened intently, nodding now and again, saying little.
“And the girl?” he pressed finally. “Where did she spring from?”
Twenty-twenty hindsight reared its ugly head and poked out its tongue. Tam’s original impulse to trust Ellis had been a giant leap into the dark. Now he realised it was possible he’d already been a Minder’s victim. Trusting her had felt so natural. What choice had he had? What choice had she had but to trust him? And it had worked out well, hadn’t it?
“Just turned up, I didn’t know, she didn’t tell me...”
“We wouldn’t advertise,” Mark said quietly, “not even today.” Hiding was too deeply ingrained. The Donn had scattered when Typhin fell and had been vilified and hunted by the Autocracy for centuries before that. Looking back, he always reckoned that it was on the boat talking to Tam when the real implications sank in. He’d always assumed he was the last but now there was the unknown boy to be tracked down, and there was Ellis. And, thinking logically, if three had survived there might be more. Perhaps each and every one of them believed they were the last, the very last, Donn. Perhaps he’d been meant to believe it, perhaps it was all part of some elaborate defence mechanism. It was the perfect cover.
Harris wasn’t a Minder but he was an expert on loneliness. He smiled wryly. “Well, we should pray she’s on our side because she’s a savage fighter; I’d not face her down. Oh, and she can’t steer a boat. If your friend Jenson lets her anywhere near the wheel, shoot him and then shoot me. On second thoughts, shoot me first, I have a morbid fear of drowning.”
“If Jenson steers the way he flies,” owned Mark. “It’s the docking that worries me.”
* * *
Above deck jammed awkwardly into the scruffy little wheelhouse, Jenson had no intention of losing his grip on the tug. Ellis wriggled into a vacant corner and propped sharp elbows on the shelving below the pitted water shield. He tutted scornfully. “Don’t even dream about it,” he snarled after a minute, “it’s my wheel. Ok? There’re water beasties out here that wouldn’t even notice if they’d swallowed us and I can’t swim.”
Ellis shrugged. Truth be told she really didn’t care. She scoured the water ahead for land. Or water-police. Or enraged tug or even Aqua-cat owners. Even beasties.
There was a lot less Ellis showing than before, which was a relief. Her transparent boniness was pathetic, and made Jenson feel guilty about disliking her so strongly.
“Finally feeling chilly?” he said into brooding silence.
Nothing, no response, except the merest possibility of another careless shrug.
He tried again. “All you need is a shower and you’ll be almost human.”
With a thin smile again she refused the bait. While she’d been changing, a twisted disc of bright metal slung on a cord about her neck had clattered onto the deck. She would’ve lost it if it hadn’t snagged on her tattered shift as she kicked the rags away. The Dome key was important and forgetting it like that worried her deeply. Then she’d remembered what else she’d forgotten, the other victims of the Dome and what they were still suffering back at Beven’s inn. Shame was hot and left her bleak. Nothing mattered compared to that.
She’d forgotten them, her pitifully few kindred survivors.
“How long?” she demanded simply.
“Till Long Island?” he shrugged. “An hour? You’d better pray nobody’s reported us for piracy, or your friend who ambushed Mark doesn’t have mates stationed in the Spaceport Authority. If they rescind our take-off pass, or stop us in the port, we’re screwed.”
Ellis frowned, honestly puzzled. One way or another that would not be a problem.
“And after that? How long until we reach your base?”
“Four or five days, perhaps less if we drill a Bylanes window sooner not later.”
She nodded solemnly. The moment was coming, Beven’s retribution was close. The time would soon come to tell her tale to the Union and claim a rescue for all of the Dome survivors. Until then Tye Beven and his crew were living on borrowed time. A minute later she screwed up her eyes and stared. Yes, she was right. A blurred black spot was dancing on the horizon’s blurred edge. She stiffened. It steadily grew until there was no mistake. It was a reasonably fair bet that the dot was going to turn into Water Police pretty quickly.
“See that?” she pointed.
Obediently, he peered at the dazzle where sea met sky. The dot got bigger. “Crap.”
“Do not panic,” said Ellis, wriggling kinks out of her shoulders. “That is a pass into the Spaceport with no intervention. You say you travel with the Donn?”
He nodded guardedly.
“Then why are you worried? Watch and
weep.”
* * *
A Universal Distress Call always received top priority. As soon as it was in range the nets caught it, Timmis skimmed it onto the top of the heap. It cut off pretty abruptly and his lips tightened as he jabbed up a tracer and triangulated. Immediately he fired off the tag-ID to the nearest UC-II, who would scan and report within twenty-four hours. It might yet prove to be nothing but an exploding grenade in a derelict ship. War on the scale of the Autocracy Wars left plenty of artillery drifting about blissfully unaware that the peace treaty had been signed years ago. It still went boom and was one reason why the Union deployed a Peacekeeping Fleet. It was Timmis’ job to react. There was a buzz, UC-II confirmed. He’d found a snake, a narrow and temporary communications window using Bylanes walls, and so investigation would be quick and accurate. Timmis sighed. The whole chain had been established in about twenty and a half minutes. Not bad, not bad at all, even for B Q Timmis.
“Oh that was beautiful, I’ve never seen anyone work so fast,” cooed Kent.
“Thanks.” Timmis, still smarting, was markedly non-committal.
Kent beamed at Timmis’ screen. “Myremidian III? My, what a pretty name.”
Fatuous, he sniffed, typically blonde. He wondered if the gorgeous locks were natural or if there was a hint of cheap brass. Then he wondered if mentoring her was driving him nuts. “Irrelevant,” he snapped, not quite sure what he meant, her stupid comment or his stupid (and bizarre) interest in her hair. “It’s tag-ID that counts, it’s a Commercial Trader falling out of the lanes. Haven’t you got anything better to do than watch my sector?”
The Horseshoe Nail (The Donn Book 1) Page 10
