Orbital Burn

by K. A. Bedford

  The man said nothing. Lou watched him, trying to see his pulse in his throat. After a while, she did. She estimated his heart beat once every three seconds. “There is more to this child than any of us realized,” he said at last, his voice a near-whisper.

  Lou took a breath. “What do you mean, more?”

  “We don’t know. Etienne Tourignon, however, does. He is about to make a lot of money from this knowledge. He has gathered many potent allies. Perhaps too many.”

  “And my job?”

  “The same as it has always been. Find the child.”

  Chapter 12

  When the man finished speaking, Lou felt no more enlightened than before. She understood what he said, but, at the same time, did not comprehend a word. She nodded. He said, “It is not important you understand. Now, please come with me.”

  The beautiful man stood. Lou lurched herself to her feet, still shocked by the lack of pain or scraping sensations in her ball-and-socket joints.

  He gestured at the wall to her right. A doorway materialized there, or perhaps had always been there, but shielded from her vision. There was a blue room beyond.

  Other than her breathing, there was no sound.

  Lou calmed herself. The man smiled and stepped to the doorway. He indicated for her to proceed through the door. She felt nervous all over again. She’d started to regain a sense of herself in the pine room, and now she had to move elsewhere. It was more screwing around with her head, she thought, and she didn’t have time for it, but knew she had little choice in playing along. She stepped through the doorway.

  The air smelled different in the blue room, clean and scrubbed. Recycled. The room was circular. It took her eyes a moment to see the obvious. “My God,” she whispered, as if in a church of some kind, “this is a bloody Stalk-shuttle!” She knew about Stalk-shuttles, but the third-class cabins to which she was accustomed had rows of cheap acceleration couches, bad food, and long lines of passengers at the toilets. “I didn’t … I had no idea we were next to…” She broke off, staring around the space.

  “We are now. We were not, before.”

  The man stepped to a nearby couch. She saw discreet lights wink on in the walls and overhead as he moved. Lou noticed there were no windows or viewing ports. Turning to her, moving like a dancer, his white robe striking in the blueness, he said, “First-class cabin. This is one of our private shuttles.”

  Lou could scarcely believe her renewed eyes. This cabin was more like a suite; it reminded her of her penthouse at the Metropol, only smaller. It was done in deep blue moods, with bronze and silver accents, in a contemporary, neo-organic style, all rounded asymmetric shapes and textures. The irregular rounded couches oozed up from the floor like ancient plankton-eaters rising from plush indigo mud. The man walked her through the cabin, showing her the facilities and conveniences. He did this with an air not of superiority, but with the intent of familiarizing an important guest with the available services. And they were astonishing. Five-star hotel quality, and then some. Lou had never been anywhere near such luxury, and it left her feeling awkward and nervous.

  There were real leather-bound books on carved ebony shelving units recessed into the walls. The smell of leather was pleasant, she noticed, but there was something about it that made her uncomfortable. Bound and printed books, ink hundreds of years old. Relics of Earth. Priceless. The titles meant nothing to her. She could imagine Tom going nuts seeing them, and she found she wasn’t above a small smile at the thought of him missing out again.

  These couches, designed to enfold the body securely under acceleration, were rated, she was told, for up to three g’s, Kestrel-standard.

  Back in the main part of the cabin, the man asked her to wait where she was while he fetched something from one of the bedrooms. He returned, shortly, carrying Dog in his arm. The beagle was drowsy, but managed a weak wag of his tail on seeing Lou. “Ms. Meagher … are you…?”

  She was thrilled to see the pooch again, and hadn’t realized until now just how attached to the dog she had become.

  But even as she was patting and stroking him, she felt concern. Dog’s head looked different. “What’s going on?”

  The man placed Dog on one of the couches. He curled up and put his head on his front paws. He tried to watch Lou and the man, but he drifted off. The man said, his voice quiet, “Your dog has been in suspension fugue for the last few days while we—”

  Lou boiled over. “Unconscious! What the hell have you been doing to him?” She yelled point-blank into the man’s unruffled face.

  Dog looked up, saw it was only Lou yelling at someone, and went back to dozing.

  The man explained, “We upgraded his intracerebral equipment. It’s all wetware now, and we have added certain extra functions. He now has universal data feed, for example.”

  Lou yelled some more. The man waited. When she was done, he whispered to her while pointing at sites on Dog’s head, explaining how upgrading Dog’s “machines” meant they could remove all external signs of his previous implantation surgeries. There would be no further risk of tissue rejection of the photonics, and thus no need for an implanted store of anti-rejection bots.

  “Why,” Lou asked, tired now, “why did you do this for him?”

  He looked at Dog, scratched him behind the ear. “Because we could. It will help him … he will help you … you will help us.”

  She frowned. Nobody does anything for nothing, she thought, nobody. Everybody wants something. At which point she stopped in her tracks, thinking, Yes, but you’re helping Dog for nothing. Stranger things have happened. But that’s different, she wanted to say. This business, on the other hand, she didn’t understand. She said nothing, however, suspecting that the man would only say, “You will understand later.”

  He next drew her attention to a black epoxy-fiber valise on a chair by the wall. Opening it, he showed her the contents. It contained her former clothes, freshly washed and folded. “Your boots are under the chair. They have been mended.”

  She peered under the chair and pulled out her boots. They looked new, but felt as supple and comfortable as ever, the creases and scars still worn into the leather. Lou frowned at the man, who looked as though he might smile.

  Under the clothing, she found a small NanoShield capsule. “This contains a programmable formal gown, and associated accessories. Voice-keyed. You may need it where you are going. You can change into your regular clothes after I leave. You may keep the robe as a token of our appreciation.”

  “I feel like I’m in some old spy vid!” she said, grinning. The beautiful man stared at her in a way that suggested fun was not an option.

  Lou found a passport ring clipped into the underside of the valise’s lid. She pulled it out and looked it over. She admired its lightness, the brushed silver band and the glint of inert pixons in the black holosurface. The ring was cold as she pulled it on to her pinkie; it tingled briefly as it adjusted itself to her finger, like something from a fairy story. There was no brand name or logo on the holosurface, she saw, surprised. “It’s … well, it’s not exactly gorgeous, but it’s impressive. I still don’t see why you’re doing this for me.”

  “You will need proper documentation when you arrive at geosynch and at the Orbital. The data in the ring should take care of that. It includes your dog.”

  Lou opened the flap in the bottom of the case. Inside, mounted on clips, she found the biggest surprises: the phage launcher and the Bausch and Franke.

  He said to her, his tone as serene as ever, as if describing the fall of blossoms into an autumn pond, “Both weapons are fully powered and loaded.”

  She coughed, astounded, and tried to say, “Wow!” She stood there staring at the two guns, feeling weirder by the moment. “Does this passport have paperwork covering these things?”

  “Of course.”

 
She nodded, but didn’t get it. “Why are you giving these things back to me?” He must know they’re not mine.

  “As far as we know, they are yours.”

  Lou suddenly had a horrible thought. “Oh no, oh no! You want me to kill Etienne Tourignon, don’t you? You’re setting me up to be a bloody assassin, right?”

  He looked like she’d slapped him. He blinked three times. “Ms. Meagher. No! Absolutely not. We simply give you back your property. That is all.”

  She looked at him sideways, tempted to try nudging his ribs. “Come on, what’s the angle? You want me to waste somebody. Who is it? And anyway, I’m not doing that for no bastard. Uh-uh!”

  He said to her, voice firm, “Ms. Meagher. We found surveillance spray on the ammunition-pack in this weapon.” He pointed at the Bausch and Franke.

  Damn, she thought, feeling cold and ill at the idea, all other thoughts shoved from her head. The cops had been tracking her all over Stalktown as she was chasing the Tourignons, finding that body, chasing Kid, discussing everything, talking to Bloody Tom. Oh bloody God!

  “The Stalktown police were planning to arrest you.”

  “Arrest me? What the hell for?”

  “You were too curious about things they thought you should have left alone.”

  This made her think back to the day she saw the cops’ public affairs officer, and told him that half-lie, and to when she talked to StalkPlex Sky Control, inquiring about the movements of a particular hov. Things she wasn’t meant to have seen, or know about.

  “But I don’t know anything. Not yet.” Walking away from the valise, holding her head, she wondered what had happened to the simple missing-child case. Wondered, too, what the hell had happened that night at the StalkPlex, between the two brothers dropping Kid and running off, and the van getting torched. And what the cops were doing after that, sweeping the area.

  It was too hard to think. Too much was going on right now, too much weirdness all round her.

  The man explained, “Moreover, we tracked two agents employed by Etienne Tourignon who were looking for you. They were well armed.”

  Confused beyond the point of amusement, frightened and skeptical, Lou said, “Etienne had killers looking for me?” She wore a smile that masked gnawing terror.

  Calm, serene as ever, the beautiful man said to her, “You were about to find out a great deal about certain matters. We had to take action.”

  “I don’t understand. And why did your guys have to shove their bloody guns in my face like that?” She touched her face, just below her eyes and remembered the memory of the muzzles pressed against her cheek and how she had to squint her eyes against the lights.

  He made an economical, graceful gesture of routine dismissal. “It is not important that you understand. It is important that you pursue your investigation. We are happy to help you.”

  “But…” She wanted to say “why?” again. Nothing made any sense.

  “As I said before: your interests and our interests coincide.”

  “So, I can pursue my business up there, and that’s okay with you?”

  He made a slight bow. “Yes.”

  She started again to ask him to explain, but realized that he would never explain anything. Instead, she asked, “Do you have a name? Do your people call yourselves anything? Are you like a company … or something?”

  He said, wearing a small smile, “Otaru.”

  “Otaru? Is that, like, just you or all of you, or what?”

  “Yes, Ms. Meagher.” He turned to leave through the doorway into the pine room.

  Suddenly, she remembered something. “Wait! Hang on a second.”

  He turned back. “You have a further question.”

  “A couple of times on the day your guys came for me, as I was going around town, there was this woman who came along and was doing this weird stuff, like she was trying to protect me from something. I don’t know.”

  Otaru nodded. “Ah, yes.”

  Surprised, but not entirely so, Lou said, “You know who she is?”

  Otaru said, “We do.”

  Lou stomped up to the man and grabbed him by his robe, hauling him close. Nose to nose, she hissed, “That answer is of no bloody use to me! Who is she?”

  He executed a maneuver of hand and leg she did not see clearly. Suddenly he stood next to the door, two meters away, unruffled. “I am unable to tell you. That information is not known to me.”

  “Is she trying to save my life? Can you tell me that?”

  He thought about this question. Lou wanted to strangle him. In time, he looked at her. “She has limited resources, and is following her own agenda.”

  “That’s it?”

  “I must leave. If you wish to contact me, please use your Active Paper.”

  Lou snorted. “No phoneware.”

  “I believe you will find this matter somewhat remedied. Good day.” He left, stepping through the doorway. Lou stood, staring after him, with far too many conflicting feelings going through her new brain for her own good. What had just happened? She didn’t really know. She did, however, sense that she had encountered something of awesome power, and that it might not be wise to get on its bad side.

  The doorway closed. A curved wall stood where the door had been. She stared, surprised. She also wondered, as she looked around the cabin, if she could trust her senses yet.

  Sighing, shrugging, she decided, “Probably not,” and would have to make the best of it.

  A calm neutral-gender voice spoke out of nowhere. “Otaru Shuttle departure for geosynch station in one minute. Please secure yourself into one of the couches provided. Acceleration will be at one-point-five local g’s. Enjoy the ride.”

  Lou spun, glancing about. Couches. Right. Dog was still snoozing. She joined him in the couch; he protested sleepily. The couch adjusted around their forms, holding her and Dog in a snug grip. Lou tried to relax against the upholstered contours, but found herself replaying that whole weird business with Otaru over and over again in her head. Asking why was clearly a useless, or at least an unproductive, question. She might or might not ever understand that, which left her thinking about Etienne Tourignon. He’d had two agents in Stalktown looking for her? Etienne himself rushed to the Orbital in the wake of her simple, routine questions. Etienne clearly sat on a lot more money and/or influence than she realized. She had only Otaru’s word about this — and, come to think of it, no way to know for sure that Otaru and Tourignon weren’t working together.

  It could even be that they were the same two who removed that body from the Tourignon brothers’ room in the New Raffles. Those two were women. The ones who burst into Lou’s Metropol penthouse, she remembered, were in standard military surplus assault gear. Could be anybody under all that, man or woman.

  Ideas banged into other ideas, thoughts collided. She remembered that neither she nor Dog had found any trace of Kid’s scent or presence in the brothers’ apartment. If Kid had been there even a short while, a day or two, Dog would have smelled something, even over the stink from the corpse.

  And who was that damn corpse? Was it even one of the brothers?

  The voice interrupted her thinking. “Ten seconds to departure. Our estimated trip time to geosynchronous orbit is forty-six hours.”

  Forty-six hours? Wait a bloody second! Lou laid there, wrapped in the couch, thinking hard. Her brain felt like it worked better than ever before. She had been out five days. Forty-six hours hence was…

  The Stalk was due to unplug about a day before the Bastard hit.

  The plan was that all the refugees and commercial ticketholders would be evacuated by then — by now, she realized. These last five days must have seen the world scoured for the last holdouts, recluses, people who for some reason still had not heard about the imminent end of Kestrel.

&n
bsp; Lou realized this was probably the last shuttle up to geosynch. The Bloody Bastard must be immense by now, perhaps growing visibly as it swept towards its destiny. Lou imagined it eclipsing the sun, shrouding the world in daytime darkness, like an old medieval omen of imminent doom. Or, as some pundits had put it, a bowling ball from God, and He was going for a strike.

  A chime sounded, she felt a subtle surge of power, and an easing towards heaviness. Dog squirmed and made a gurgling sound. Looking down at him, squeezed against her, warm and smelling much more pleasantly of dogginess than the last time she’d seen him, she saw Dog gazing up at her. His eyes seemed sad beyond measure.

  She stroked his smooth furry head. “You okay, Dog?”

  The synth-box voice was a whisper. “I just lost the link with Kid, Ms. Meagher.”

  Lou felt something cold flipflop inside her. “The psychic thingy?”

  “He’s stopped broadcasting. He’s gone.”

  Chapter 13

  Lou knew that she should be planning ahead, thinking about her moves once she hit the Orbital: whom to see, what to say, what questions to ask. She should be drawing up a diagram indicating all the players, their relationships, known details, speculation, informed guesswork, timetables of events, and so forth, things which she knew any halfway decent investigator would do, given this much free time to sit and think.

  Instead, Lou sat in the couch with Dog. Sometimes she briefly napped, waking moments later feeling worse than before, gripped with the sense that she might have had a dream, despite knowing that dead people didn’t have dreams. She felt sure she remembered some kind of images, scenes, maybe some people. But thinking about it, the more such certainty slipped away, and she was left feeling drained and heavy.

  And then she remembered the other thing.

  Kid was gone.

  Dog howled.

  She’d never even come close to finding Kid. Not even close to finding out what it was about Kid that was so valuable that all this nonsense would happen because of it. The Otaru people screwed her chances, taking all that time to work her over. Dog, too. She had been out cold for five days, away with the nano fairies, so to speak. Five lost days where she could have been chasing leads, following bad guys, making inquiries, sniffing around. Private investigator stuff. Doing her damn job.