Neirra’s starved, bony body looked older than her face, with flattened, drooping breasts and wrinkled, sagging skin. All of it was fixable, and for free if she went to a public body shop, because it was considered normal health maintenance for all citizens. Then she turned around and walked toward a rack with clothes, and Kerzanna swallowed hard.
All along Neirra’s spine, starting just below the shoulder line and ending at her tailbone, a chunky, articulated silver armature rode the flesh and bone of her back. It was a cruel external version of a reinforced cybernetic spine, and where it plunged into skin, muscle, and bone, small pools of sluggish pus oozed from putrid and blackened tissue. Her entire back was puffy, dull red under the brown skin.
“What the frelling hell is that?” She didn’t realize she’d it out loud until Neirra answered.
“My leash.” She pulled on a loose, kimono-styled robe and turned to stare at Kerzanna speculatively.
Kerzanna shoved her horror aside with difficulty. Some minders she’d worked with back in Ridderth shared dark rumors of the methods the CPS used to tightly control top-level minder talents, but she hadn’t believed them. It was wrong on so many levels. Whatever they’d done to Neirra prevented her from healing herself, or seeking conventional medical care, and it was killing her. It made waster’s disease practically genteel by comparison.
Kerzanna drew breath to ask the first of her million questions, but Neirra held up a hand. “I’ll answer three questions. You need healing.”
Kerzanna shook her head. “Any medic can fix me with a burn patch and microjet flushes for the bruises. You should save your energy.” It was probably taking most of Neirra’s considerable healer talent to stay alive for another day. “Why are you helping me?”
Neirra smiled enigmatically. “You’re one of my children.”
“Really?” Kerzanna raised her eyebrows. “My parents will be relieved to hear it. They swear I was switched at birth.”
Neirra snorted. “Kept the humor, I see.”
Kerzanna started to ask if they’d met before, because Neirra would be impossible to forget, except that Kerzanna’s memory had recently proved to be untrustworthy. “I’ll ask again: Why are you helping me?”
Neirra closed her eyes for a long moment. Kerzanna couldn’t tell if she was thinking or sleeping. Finally she opened her eyes. “I’m righting a wrong.”
Neirra was being deliberately cagey, and Kerzanna’s interrogation skills lacked finesse. She tried another tack. “How did you happen to be in the right place at the right time today?”
“All the local wolves forget about ears and eyes.” Neirra tapped a bony finger above her heart, then pointed at Kerzanna. “I always know where my children are, when they’re in range.”
Kerzanna barely suppressed rolling her eyes at the non-answer. Neirra might be more coherent than she’d been before, but she still had one foot in crazy town.
Neirra shook her head. “You’re asking the wrong questions.”
“So I gather.” Kerzanna’s internal chrono said she still had an hour before she had to be in the passenger area, but she’d rather take her chances somewhere else. Now that she was in the dock area, she should be able to slip into the crowds. She got to her feet, ignoring everything that hurt. “Thank you for your hospitality, but I have a shuttle to catch.”
Neirra pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “Kept the impatience, too.” She waved casually.
Kerzanna’s body sat back down without her having anything to say about it. Icy claustrophobia threatened to overwhelm her, but she clung to a thread of reason. Survival first. She knew from bitter experience that she had no defense against a powerful telepath, other than clearing her mind and pretending that whatever happened to her body wasn’t her. She took a breath and exhaled slowly.
“I’m sorry to have resurrected that memory,” said Neirra softly. “I’ve lost my subtlety.” She stepped closer and put her surprisingly hot fingers on Kersanna’s neck. “The question you should have asked is, ‘will you heal my waster’s disease?’”
Neirra put her other hand on Kerzanna’s shoulder. “And the answer is, ‘yes.’”
And the price? Kerzanna asked in her mind, knowing Neirra would hear it. Nothing was ever free. Curiosity was her besetting sin, and was about to get her killed.
The answer was a long time coming, and held a complex mix of rage, regret, and despair. Carry a message for me to Tuzan the Janitor in Ridderth.
Hire a courier, Kerzanna thought snappishly. Goading her attacker was stupid, but it was the only weapon left to her. She called up her dream memory of Jess and told him he’d been right all along, and said goodbye.
I can’t. You are the message.
And between one moment and the next, the world went black.
CHAPTER 8
* Planet: Branimir * GDAT: 3242.002 *
JESS-THE-MAN chose to watch the crowds of passengers from the shadow of a pillar, partly to stop Jess-the-bomber from trying to take over and make him, and partly because he appreciated the stability of the pillar. He still reeled from the double dose of dormo and the improvised counter-agents he’d administered to himself once he’d awakened. Luckily, Kerzanna hadn’t known that dormo and similar chems didn’t work on him well or for long, or she’d have chosen a different method. The stims he’d bought from one of the spaceport’s several chems and alterants shops needed a little longer to kick in.
He glanced at his percomp again, wanting to read the strange message one more time, though it never changed.
Reunion of hai pai pa sunsia moved to gate CL1617-D46R. Hurry or you will miss our sadiq qadim. Purple yesterday, blue today, opal tomorrow. P.S. Don’t let the bright blues or dark oranges bring you down.
His percomp said hai pai pa sunsia was “lost little fish” in Lao, one of the dying relic languages, and he knew the Arabic sadiq qadim meant “old friend,” which made the message even more nonsensical. The spaceport passenger kiosk didn’t recognize the gate ID. The message ostensibly originated from a prepaid percomp from within the spaceport, but had been sent to his local ping ref, which few people knew. The breezy tone and language mix was so unlike Kerzanna that he’d immediately discounted it as coming from her, but now he had second thoughts. It might be code, or her way to warn him of a trap. Something in the message struck a deep chord in his mind, reminiscent of a bleedover remnant, but more like he’d forgotten to do something, or déjà vu. Unsurprisingly, Jess-the-bomber didn’t like it.
His head throbbed. He’d screwed things up badly with Kerzanna, or she wouldn’t have felt the need to drug him to get away. Hard not to think of it as rejection, but her parting words made it clear she thought she was protecting him. He understood that, since it had motivated him from the moment he’d suspected she was in danger, and made him drag his sorry self into the spaceport instead of succumbing to sleep in the rented flitter. He pulled the cargo bag’s strap to a more comfortable place on his shoulder.
“Are you all right?” An average height, muscular woman wearing a blue port police uniform stood in front of him. Her look was half concern, half suspicion. Her hand hovered ever-so-casually near her holstered stunner.
“Ja, just a headache,” he said with a touch of a German accent, as if he’d been born and raised on Branimir. He gave her a hopeful look. “I’m lost, actually. I’m looking for gate C1415-D46.” He assumed the slightly bewildered expression of a yokel who’d never been in a spaceport.
She took in his rural clothing at a glance. “You’re in the wrong terminal. You need to go to the cargo dome.” She gave him directions and accepted his thanks with courtesy, but watched him closely as he headed toward the wide blue archway that would take him to the commercial shipping lobby.
Keeping with the farmer-in-the-big-city guise, he went to one of the spaceport’s kiosks and called up a map. He had no idea the spaceport was so large and complex, including a surprising number of numbered subterranean levels cryptically marked “TLD” under the pas
senger wing. He figured out the commercial gate numbering system without having to leave a record of his interest in the specific ID from the message. It wasn’t lost on him that the port police wore bright blue uniforms.
To give the stims more time to kick in, he took several flights of stairs down, then briefly locked himself in a fresher to make a half-assed defensive weapon by using a tiny medical laser from his bag to amp up the all-purpose wirekey he’d bought from a luggage shop. He didn’t want any real weapons purchases showing up on his official records, and didn’t have time to wake up one of his private, dormant alternate identities and transfer funds to it.
He rode a lift down to the bottom level. His anxiety level ratcheted up slowly as he neared his destination. The port locks looked increasingly dark and disused, like their doors hadn’t opened in years. He cross-slung his bag and let it rest across his back, freeing his hands and arms. He hadn’t seen or heard anyone in the last five minutes. The plascrete floor seemed clean enough, probably because cleaning bots kept it that way, but they apparently ignored the dusty stacks of debris along the rough-carved walls. He stopped at a port lock and made a show of referring to his percomp while he eyed his target. The final “R” designation in the gate ID apparently meant it was for automated carts, because humans would have to crawl to use it. The lighting was too conveniently dim in that part of the corridor. Just as he turned to leave what was obviously a trap, the wide, low doorway opened almost silently, and a tiny, white-haired black woman in a faded robe stepped into the corridor.
“Where you go?” She cocked her head sideways and squinted at him. “No pa thum fuwai, not party.” She made herding motions toward the open door. “Quick, quick!”
Jess backed up, suppressing Jess-the-bomber’s desire to take emergency action. “Sorry, wrong gate.” He pivoted fast and took two steps away before he heard another voice.
“Jess, please stay.”
He slowed to a stop and turned. Next to the woman stood Kerzanna, her expression neutral, her body language relaxed.
Her plea reverberated in his mind, dredging up echoes of their last day together. He ignored them as he tried to imagine scenarios that fit the facts, but came up empty. His eyes caught on a new burn mark on the sleeve of Kerzanna’s jacket. “Who hurt you?”
“Mercs in orange with a detain order.” She tilted her head minutely toward the tiny, dark-skinned woman beside her. “She fixed me.” Kerzanna had never lied to him.
“Jabber stop now,” hissed the woman, her accent reminding him of his neighbor. She pointed to the open doorway. “Inside no little eyes, little ears.”
It made no sense, but Jess trusted the woman. Even Jess-the-bomber wanted to trust her, though he was unhappy about it. He nodded once and met Kerzanna’s gaze. “After you.”
A corner of her mouth twitched in what may have been a smile. She ducked low and disappeared through the doorway. Jess approached cautiously, skirting around a precarious pile of trash, then crouched and crab-walked into the hold of an old interstellar ship. In the background of his mind, Jess-the-engineer stirred, telling Jess the ship had once been a pleasure yacht but obviously converted to a blockade-runner around the last days of the Central League, some two hundred years ago. Jess-the-engineer wanted a look at the engines, as usual.
The white-haired woman ducked in, palming a biometric plate to close the door behind her. She crossed to the far side of what was once the common room to increase the light levels, then turned to face him with a tech scanner in her hand. She raised an eyebrow. “Nice trick with the wirekey.” Her voice sounded somehow familiar, and she’d lost her Thai accent. She turned the scanner off. “I see you kept the height and the pretty mahogany skin. I told Dixon you would.”
Apparently, Jess had reached his limit on being surprised, because recognition of who she was didn’t stun him as much as he’d have thought. “Neirra Varemba.” Dixon Davidro’s once-favorite independent contractor.
Now that he was seeing her in good light, he forgave himself for not recognizing her sooner. Either she’d had body mods to make her look almost as old as the ship, or she’d contracted an unknown, premature aging disease that even her extraordinary healing talent couldn’t fix. He waved a hand to indicate the cluttered space. “Not exactly Davidro’s style.”
She smiled lopsidedly. “Kind of the point.” Her unaccented Standard English sounded like he remembered.
“Is he on Branimir?”
“Not any more, but one of his contractors still is.” Neirra twitched a shoulder. “He moved the circus to Tajidin Farkani.”
“He let you stay here? Alone?” Jess remembered that Davidro had zealously kept his most valuable “pets,” as he insultingly called them, close at all times.
“Not alone, exactly.” She opened her robe and turned her back to him. The intricate, articulated metal appliance that attached to her back looked like a parasite that ate spinal fluid. Even Jess-the-medic had never seen one of the CPS biometal leashes, though he recognized it and knew it was designed to prevent her from healing herself. She was losing the battle with the ever-evolving poison it injected to keep her talent busy. She pulled her robe back up and turned around again. “I’d love to have a reunion over tea, but we have more important things to discuss.”
The word triggered an idea. “You sent the message, didn’t you?”
Kerzanna spoke for the first time. “Message?”
He glanced at her, but kept his focus on Neirra. “She lured me here with a nonsensical message, something about a reunion of lost fish and old friends, and avoiding the port police.”
Neirra interrupted. “Yes, yes, you have a lot to talk about, but later.” She pointed to Kerzanna. “She needs to get to Ridderth, and you need to go with her.”
“Not part of the deal,” said Kerzanna, crossing her arms. “He can’t trust me, and I’m not getting him killed again.”
“You didn’t get me killed,” he said testily.
Neirra put her hands on her hips. “Both of you, sit! You make my neck hurt.” She glared when neither he nor Kerzanna complied. “Don’t make me make you.”
Kerzanna put her hands up in surrender and perched on a fold-down bench. Jess sat on the edge of a dented packing crate, belatedly remembering Neirra was also a high-level telepath. Just the kind of skills the CPS Minder Corps loved.
“Kerzanna’s mind has a message packet that must get to Tuzan the Janitor in Ridderth.” She stabbed a finger toward him. “I’m giving you the key so you’ll fucking stay together this time.” Her body jolted, like she’d been shocked, and she shouted a vicious curse in Arabic. Her eyes fluttered closed for a long moment, then snapped open. She stalked over to Jess to stand in front of him. “Out of time.” She raised a hand but didn’t touch him.
She spoke to him in his mind. Do this, and you’ll shatter Dixon Davidro permanently, like he deserves.
Jess glanced at her hand and met her eyes. In that long moment, he understood they both deserved justice, and she was trusting him to get it for her. “Yes.”
Her hand gripped his shoulder. In his mind, a wave of calm washed over him, followed by a sensation that felt like when he visualized hypercubes of data, just before cracking them. He panicked when he couldn’t feel any trace of the bleedovers in his mind, but they returned when the calming wave receded. He wasn’t always fond of the bleedovers, but he’d be less than whole without them.
She’s important. What she’s carrying is important. Talk to her. Don’t lose her. Steely emphasis accompanied Neirra’s thoughts.
Jess nodded. I won’t.
Neirra withdrew from his mind as she marched over to Kerzanna. “You owe him for four years ago as much as he owes you.” She gently pushed a stray lock of Kerzanna’s hair back almost tenderly, and Kerzanna let her do it. “The headache will go away after you sleep.” She leaned in and whispered something that made Kerzanna glance at Jess and snort with amusement.
Neirra backed away, then reached over to a table and p
icked up a portable bone regenerator. “This is pretty. I’ll trade you a shockstick for it.”
Kerzanna looked to Jess, asking tacit permission. He realized it was the unit he’d applied to Kerzanna’s injured sternum that morning. It seemed a lot longer than six hours ago. “Sure.”
Neirra dug in one of the crates and quickly unearthed a short, fat cylinder, which she tossed to Kerzanna.
As Neirra started to turn, her body jolted again. “You have to go now.”
The urgency in her tone made Jess stand up at once. He visualized the map he’d seen. “Is the only way out through the hall?” He tilted his head toward the ship’s portal door and the corridor.
“Yes, until you get to the intersection. Left to the air, right to a dead end, straight to trouble.”
“Air, meaning the cavern?” asked Kerzanna as she grabbed her bag from the bench.
“Yes, yes, airspace.” Neirra crossed to the portal door and palmed it open. “Go, go, go, or be caught by the pa hak.”
“Will you be all right?” asked Jess.
“Crazy Maisie. Orange tasty,” she said in her exaggerated sing-song accent as she pushed him toward Kerzanna, who was already ducking under the doorway. “Dixon is bad with details and thinks you’re a zero-witted flatliner. Use your friends.” She tapped her temple.
Jess wanted to stay, but logic and the bleedovers all screamed at him to follow Kerzanna and avoid being contained in a no-exit corridor. He crouched and ducked under the low portal.
The portal door closed quietly behind him as he stood and broke into a trot to catch up to Kerzanna. He matched her graceful, distance-eating stride.
“Airspace has ship gantries and maintenance ladders, but it’s windy,” she said, adjusting the straps on her bag to make a backpack as they walked. “I don’t know what has Neirra spooked, but she knows the spaceport and the slums like you know data systems.” She slid her arms into the straps and pulled the last two straps around her waist.
Jumper's Hope: Central Galactic Concordance Book 4 Page 7
