by Steve Perry
“Back to Frowmasc’s place?”
“Yes. We will speak with him and see if he can shed some light on our problem.”
“I am certain he will be eager to help,” Wink said.
_ _ _ _ _ _
At Frow’s, they gained entry via Kay’s kick to the door next to the simple lock.
“No alarms, security?”
“Few of The People bother,” she said. “Even the rich ones. Burglary is not a major problem.”
Wink shook his head. Always fascinating how different races thought, and here another example.
“Hope nobody saw me.”
“More likely smelled you, but humans kind of smell like rotting meat, so maybe they’ll let it go.”
The residence was nicely appointed, the furnishings expensive as far as Wink could tell. Some animal heads were mounted on the walls, most with big, sharp teeth.
Nobody home.
They closed the door and managed to cover most of the damage.
“His bodyguards might come in with him,” Wink said.
“Probably not,” Kay allowed. “They didn’t before. If they do, you have my leave to shoot them.”
Wink smiled. “You will intercede with your sister for me when she comes to arrest me for vastalimicide?”
“It will be self-defense and unavoidable,” she said. “Not criminal.”
“Even though we broke into the house?”
“A small thing, in the grand scheme of things.”
He smiled. “Should we poke around?”
“If you want. I don’t expect Frow will have left anything incriminating lying about to be found, but I suppose that is possible.”
Curious, Wink did a quick search. For all that the furniture and paintings and sculptures looked spendy, there wasn’t really a lot of stuff here. It was spare, more empty space than not.
As Kay had said, there weren’t any flashing signs pointing to evidence. The computer was lit, but nothing his translator saw leaped out screaming “Dig here!”
It was the better part of three hours before they heard the vehicle arrive.
Wink rolled his shoulders and neck to loosen them, pulled his pistol, and stood next to the entrance, out of direct sight.
“Something is wrong with this door,” Wink’s translator picked up from a speaker in the entryway.
Frow stepped into the room, saw Kay five meters away in front of him.
He was talking to somebody—
Sure enough, the bodyguards had come with Frow, and they were right behind him. So much for Kay’s notion.
They must have caught Wink’s odor because all three turned to look.
Wink pointed his pistol at the bodyguards. “Move slowly and drop your weapons.”
The nearer guard moved, instead, very fast. He snatched his pistol from its holster—
Shit—!
Wink had the advantage, and before the guard could get the pistol pointed his way, he got a round off, no problem, pap—! A head shot—
He swung to cover the second guard, who had cleared his pistol—
Only the guard didn’t even try to get the muzzle pointed at Wink. He pressed his pistol against the back of Frow’s head and pulled the trigger—
There was a muffled whump! as the compressed gas blew the dart into Frow’s skull—
Shit, shit, shit—!
Too late even though Wink had already fired his own weapon twice more, hitting the second guard in the neck and face.
The male collapsed. Dead on arrival.
Kay came over to stand next to Wink. They looked down at the three corpses.
“Well,” Kay said, “that was instructive.”
“You think? What lessons did you learn, O wise one?”
“At the sign of a threat, the guards first reactions were to kill Frow, even at the cost of their own lives. Someone did not want Frow talking about this, and they had the means to subvert his guards into killing him if that looked likely.”
Wink nodded. “Yeah.”
“Not what I’d hoped for, but more than we knew before.”
“Now what?”
She sighed. “Now we call Leeth. This trail ends here. She will have to make a run at the owners of Raptor’s Roost. Maybe she will have something else by now.”
TWENTY-TWO
“This is about as good a ship’s shooting range as Ah’ve ever seen on a vessel this size.”
Unico smiled. “Well, I spend a lot of time on the raptor; might as well enjoy the comforts of home as best I can.”
“Raptor?”
“The ship’s name—Elfu Mwaka Valco,” he said. “Translated, it means, ‘the Valcon of a Thousand Years.’ Valcons were small raptors, akin to kestrels and hawks. The previous owner was something of a religious fellow, and the name comes from some ancient Terran warrior cult. Easier to keep the name than screw around with all the reregistration shit.”
Gunny shrugged. No big deal.
The range was narrow, barely room for two side by side, but with holographics enough to approximate CQ combat, at least eight meters.
Unico removed his relic from its holster and laid it on the bench. “We’ll need hearing protection,” he said. “It makes a bit of noise when it goes off.” He handed her a pair of ear cups and put a pair on himself.
Gunny adjusted the cups. She could hear as well as usual, but there was a cutout circuit that would trigger within a couple of hundredths of a second at a loud noise.
“Go ahead. The front sight should be level with the top of the rear notch, and at eight meters, it shoots a quarter meter high, so hold low.”
“Show me,” she said.
He grinned at her. “Worried that it might blow up?”
“Thought crossed my mind.”
“I’ve fired it a couple of hundred times,” he said.
“So you say.”
He grinned wider. “Woman after my own heart. Step back a bit, there is some flash from the cylinder gap to the sides, it can burn you if you aren’t wary.”
Gunny moved a half step behind him.
He thumbed the hammer. There were clicks as it locked into place. He stood with his right foot forward, body turned sideways. He aimed at the man-shaped holographic target, holding the pistol with one hand, arm extended almost straight . . .
BOOM!
Even though the suppressors cut the sound down to a safe level, she could feel the pressure wave from it and could see the recoil make the weapon bounce a bit in his hand.
A sudden cloud of whitish gray smoke filled the air in front of the muzzle, partially obscuring the target.
A few seconds later, the smoke cleared, drawn up into exhaust fans. A pulsing blue dot showed where the round impacted on the target, dead center in the chest.
Unico looked at her and raised an eyebrow.
“Set that thing off in an unventilated room, you couldn’t see what you are shooting at for follow-up shots.”
He nodded. “The original propellant smoked even more. There’s a story about a famous bad man. He was in a pub, playing some kind of card game, and there was a disagreement. The bad man and another of the players pulled their pistols and fired at each other. After two or three exchanges, they couldn’t see each other across the table, but they kept firing. The bad man—I believe his name was Doc Hollandaise, fired an entire cylinder, five or six rounds, and missed his target from two meters. Wounded a couple of bystanders, though.”
She nodded in return. “Ah can believe that.”
“Want to try it?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Gunny took the revolver, hefted it. It was still a heavy sucker.
“You can use both hands. I like to play with the old single-hand stance.”
Gunny said, “That one seems like a
handicap outside a meter or two.”
“Yes and no. Less steady a hold, but it came from the old dueling days. Two men, each with a single-shot pistol, stood ten to twenty paces apart and fired. Standing sideways presented a narrower target than facing the other shooter.”
Gunny held the weapon in her right hand, moved her left over to clasp the right, used her left thumb to cock the hammer. Took some effort to lever it back. She kept her finger off the trigger, the thing didn’t have a safety. She aimed. Moved the gun, aimed at a different spot. Went back to the original position. She had a feel for it now.
She said, “But if your opponent could shoot and hit anything, sideways would let him punch a hole through both lungs if the ball had sufficient velocity.” She didn’t look at him, but lined the sights up. She took a deep breath, let it out . . .
He chuckled. “Point taken. But in those days, medicine was rudimentary. A solid hit to the torso with a large-caliber dueling pistol was often fatal, or resulted in an infection that killed the victim shortly thereafter. One lung or two, didn’t matter.”
“Those guns accurate enough to make head shots at twenty paces?”
“Some of them were.”
“Then it would be up to the shooter to do her job right.” She took another breath, let half of it out, held it . . .
She fired, recocked the weapon, fired again, then a third time. The smoke was so thick, despite the exhaust fans, that she couldn’t really see the target after the second shot, so she was relying on muscle memory.
The smoke cleared.
“My,” he said. “Mozambique Drill. And the last round fired blind. Impressive.”
Gunny smiled, put the weapon down on the bench. The first two rounds keyholed, just a hair above where Unico’s round had hit. Her third shot had hit the target’s head, eye level, three centimeters to the right of center. Well. The trigger was kind of stiff, so she pulled it a little. Easy to fix, once you knew.
“You just shot better than I can with my own gun.”
For her part, Gunny was surprised the gun was that accurate. But she shrugged it off. “Ah have a knack,” she said. “If it throws something, Ah can usually shoot it okay. But Cutter is better.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Some kind of magic, only way Ah can explain it. Outshoots me every fuckin’ time.”
_ _ _ _ _ _
They found an empty cart. Kay gave it a destination.
“Shanmasc again?” Wink said.
“The same.”
“I thought the kid made it pretty clear he wasn’t involved in his late uncle’s business. That his monies were clean.”
“So he said. My sister has just allowed this is not strictly true. There is not enough evidence to proceed to an arrest, but young Shan is apparently less candid than he offered.”
“Ah. And she will attend to the late Frow?”
“She will.”
Wink nodded. “Got it. All right. So we go and have another chat with Shan.”
“Yes.”
“And what do we think he might be able to tell us?”
“If we knew for certain, probably we wouldn’t need to speak with him. I have been given to understand that there are, among the enemies of the late Teb, those with connections to assorted medical schools. Criminals are often in sudden need of Healers who aren’t in any hurry to report certain kinds of injuries, or those who may be willing to do things upstanding Healers won’t. The story is, that smart operators will sometimes sponsor students for various kinds of training that might come in handy later. LawSpeakers, Healers, Accountants.”
Wink nodded. “Makes sense. And medical schools have access to the kind of equipment and research that might be used to create a killer bug.”
“Just so.”
_ _ _ _ _ _
Kay could see that Shan was jittery.
He had outdone himself in foppery—a freshly trimmed hair pattern, some bright dye, finger rings, bracelets on his wrists, biceps, and ankles. He had dressed for show.
There weren’t any servants about, just the young Vastalimi, and he was trying to control his breathing, but not quite managing it.
He was excited about something, and as he led them to a patio with a large, clear area, Kay realized what was going on.
She shook her head. Fools and younglings . . .
To Wink, she whispered, “Stand by with your pistol.”
“What’s up?”
“Not certain, but be ready to wave it about, just in case. Just don’t shoot him.”
“Always ready for action, that’s our motto. Let me know when.”
“Why don’t you go sit in the shade,” Shan said to Wink, “while I have a private word with Kluth? Pour yourself a drink.”
Kay gave Wink the slightest of nods.
Wink headed for the shade of a fan tree, whereunder there were chairs and a table, upon the latter of which were a decanter of wine and glasses. The tree was easily fifty years old and not native to this area. Must have cost a fair amount to have one that big transplanted here.
Shan turned to face her, three meters away.
He might as well have erected a bright, flashing sign announcing his intent.
“Don’t,” Kay said.
Shan blinked at her. “Don’t what?”
“Offer a Challenge.”
“What makes you think I was going to?”
Kay shook her head. “Your stance and your energy. And your . . . accoutrements.”
That caught him off guard. “My what?”
“You are bukvan,” she said. She waved at him. “You have gone to great effort and no small expense to groom yourself. As if you wanted to showcase it. You did not do it for me. Where are the cameras? You planned to record it, didn’t you?”
He looked surprised, even crestfallen. “How did you know?”
She could hear his disappointment at being caught out.
“Because this is not my first summer back from the veldt.”
“So. You are old and maybe afraid of my offer of prigovor?”
Was this youngling trying to bait her? Please!
Kay knew that if she laughed, it would enrage him, and he would feel honor-bound to go through with a Challenge no matter what. She wanted him alive, and he might be good enough that she’d have to kill him if the claws came out.
So she played to his ego because she didn’t need to assert her own. “Maybe a little bit. I have heard that you are a formidable fighter.”
“This is true. However, you’re the fem who beat Vial, who, while also somewhat past his prime, was still considered by many to be a great duelist.”
“And?”
“And, it would seem such a fem would not feel threatened all that much by somebody with only a few Challenges to his credit, no matter what you might have heard about his theoretical prowess.”
Hmm. Sharper than she figured, and he wasn’t going to let it go that easily.
She nodded. “A good point. Still, perhaps we could defer our dance to another time. Right now, I have bigger challenges to deal with, the deaths of many of our people. Once I tend to that, I’ll be happy to come back and let you take a swipe.”
He considered that for a moment. She could almost hear him thinking: If you live that long.
He said it aloud: “If you don’t get killed first. As I understand it, you have been loping along the edge of Death’s border since you came back to Vast, and He has tried for you more than once. If you die, I won’t ever know if I could have taken you.”
Kay considered her response. Would offering more nutrition to his ego do it? If she could convince him she was really worried he would win?
No, that probably wouldn’t work. She didn’t believe it, and she wasn’t that good a liar.
The truth wouldn�
�t help, either. If she said, Well, I am certain I could claw you dead and bloody, then wipe the flagstones clean with your corpse, that wasn’t likely to help things. The young sometimes had massive egos.
Technically, she could refuse, he didn’t have extraordinary grounds for prigovor, and she was exempt from the rest. Of course, he might decide to attack anyway if she declined, thinking that he could lie to the Sena afterward and tell them it was a fair Challenge. Not much hope he could fool them, but the young were often shortsighted. Went along with the ego:
If one in a thousand can fool the Shadows, why, then, that would be me, and I am going to live forever anyway . . .
“You forgot my human,” she said. She made it appear as if she were combing her neck fur, but what she did was flash the human jive for “gun.”
“What about him?”
“Cast a look and see for yourself.”
Wink was outside Shan’s peripheral vision, ten meters away. The young male turned his head slightly.
Wink held his pistol in one hand, low, the muzzle pointed at Shan’s torso. He waggled it a little.
“What is this?”
“Why, it’s a gun,” Wink said. “And you know us humans, we can all shoot the nuts off a buzzing sackfly at this range. You do something stupid—and by ‘stupid’ I mean pretty much anything at all other than just stand there—I’m going to spike you.”
Shan’s outrage was large as he turned back to face Kay.
“This—This—is monstrous! Have you no honor at all?”
“Less than I did at your age. Hear me, Shan: My mission is of major import, life or death for perhaps thousands, and personal delights such as you offer must follow far behind. I have neither the time nor the patience for anything that stands in my way.
“We can talk. You can help me, and when I’m done, I will return and you can offer prigovor and we’ll see who can do what. With your help, I might survive to do so. If, on the other hand, I get killed, maybe some of the blame will rest with you. And as you said, you’ll never know.
“What do you really want to do here, Shan? It is your choice.”
Steam was not actually rising from his head, but she could almost visualize it.
