The Littoranes threw up a picket guard and the remainder began discussing an attack plan, ignoring the disgraced humans and Kurlei, despite the fact that we had carried out tactical planning for a living.
“See this?” I said to Silky. “This is a new holy war. Look what you’ve started.”
“Holy war?” said Clewie, leaving her command huddle to come over and be disappointed with me in person. “I defecate on your holy war. This is personal. This is blood. Our family is dishonored. Your wife was beaten. How can you be so calm?”
It was right about that point that I began to wonder what I had gotten myself into by hooking up with these Littoranes. “Wait!” I said. “Talking of dishonor, what about Uncle Schaek? He said to lie low. That means no massacres for you, young lady.”
“Your human logic is slippery,” she replied. Since we’d met, she’d upgraded to a top-rated translator model, which allowed a limited amount of dynamics. I think she was speaking admiringly, but from what little I knew of Littorane body language, Clesselwed and her tail-flicking K’Teene gang were still firmly in kill mode.
I was saved by a column of armed security emerging from the blockhouse, and another from the fake ruined warehouse. Both were heavily armed with enough illegal weapons that using them would result in awkward questions, time in jail, and bribes that would make our seventy-grand reward money look like pocket change.
Clewie looked one way and then another, her jittery body trembles transforming her from terrifying kick-ass alien to scared teenager.
Before you could say enfilade fire, she reached a conclusion. “In the spirit of interspecies inclusiveness, I shall adopt your knotted human logic. Therefore, let us depart in haste.”
Not for the first time since that night aboard the Spirit of Progress, I fled as fast as my half-healed leg would carry me, though not before making sure that César had picked up Sel-en-Sek and was carrying the old sailor over his broad shoulder.
— CHAPTER 43 —
We holed up overnight under a bridge crossing the Djenix Spur of the canal. The bridge’s denizens didn’t need chasing off – one look of Littoranes and humans in alliance was enough to put them to flight. Had that frequent wartime sight really become so unusual?
After dawn we took a circuitous backstreets route, intending to first drop off the Littoranes and Littorane-wannabees at the K’Teene clan compound before the others dispersed. On the way we told ourselves that we would figure a solution to Mr. Lee, but we were too drained to add that to the impossible problems we needed to solve.
The list of complex problems trying to get me killed was so long that it felt intolerably unjust for one of the trickiest to be simply traveling through the city. Messing with Mr. Lee’s operations had placed getting from A to B firmly at the top of the list.
My bones insisted I do something about it. They had reached an age where they were fine with me hobbling away from explosions and wrestling with alien amphibians, so long as there was a hot drink and a warm bed at the end of the day. Lying on a patch of broken brick and used needles, while cooled by the musty condensation dripping off the underside of a canal bridge had not been my idea of cozy.
But how could I fix this?
Caccamo had been in contact, claiming he could fend off the mayor and the police while we sorted out Mr. Lee without getting ourselves arrested, dead, or both. In case we’d forgotten, Sel-en-Sek reminded us constantly that we had two days left to stump up over 200,000 shillings or, like Silverberg, his ex-lover would become a late ex-lover.
Some battles you don’t win. Cutting your losses and getting out while you still can is hard – those losses hurt – but making the decision to bug out is harder still. I floated the idea with my ghosts: should I stay under cover? They were adamant I had to help Sel-en-Sek, which made me feel much more at ease. I don’t mind taking risks, so long as they aren’t stupid ones.
Risks in my case included moving about Port Zahir with my face plastered over every newsfeed, and every wall and window that could take a poster… it made life kind of awkward. I’d shaved off my beard and hair, which helped but wasn’t a good enough disguise to rely upon. Not in human areas.
But most Littoranes were incapable of telling one human from another, except maybe to discern whether we were Marine, Spacer, or mixed race. Here in the Littorane Danin-Frans District my disguise was absolute, and Silky’s deep hood – which brought awkward memories back of the Grotesque – shielded her too.
Which is why, when the ambush struck, we were traveling along Noscham-Vedic Street, on the edge of the Littorane district, reasoning that with all the recent Littorane-human trouble, the border zone would have the fewest prying eyes.
I wasn’t a stranger to Noscham-Vedic Street. Before all the inter-species tension had flared up, its Littorane residents would have stepped aside politely rather than risk getting in my way. Not everyone, it’s true, but Littoranes settled into large family groups were excruciatingly meek when on their own.
That had changed.
Despite Clewie’s Littorane escort clearing our way, I’m sure a last vestige of that meekness was all that prevented the local Littoranes from attacking us. I didn’t like the look of the metal many had wrapped around their tail tips. I’d seen what that could do.
Our stale ideas about how to tackle Kelker-Jay’s case dwindled away altogether as we strained to scan every side alley, rooftop, and doorway for potential attackers.
So when the ambush finally struck, we saw it coming.
It surprised the hell out of us anyway.
— CHAPTER 44 —
It was the least threatening ambush I’d ever seen. Instead of tripod-mounted heavy weapons on the rooftops, a hundred grim-faced gangsters, and aerial combat drones, just one man waylaid us, stepping casually out of an amphibian fashion retailer to block our path along the sidewalk.
He wasn’t even very big – just a little Spacer, tall enough to reach my shoulders if he stood on tiptoe, although he was built heavily for one of his race. In fact, he was so massively built that if he chose to struggle, I would be forced to use both hands to grab him about the windpipe and pick him up off the ground.
He was armed only with menace, but that was enough to bring me to a halt because I recognized him as the little veck who had ordered Silky’s beating.
Silky was still learning to tell one human from another, I rushed over to her and put a restraining arm around her just before her kesah-kihisia flashed with sudden fury. Yep. She’d recognized him all right. The rage sparking off her was inducing flashes in my vision.
“Who elected you the sensible one?” she said through her translator speaker, her jaws snapping as if snatching flies from the air.
“I blame my ghosts,” I said, not sure myself why I wasn’t pummeling this Spacer into the sidewalk. “Hear what he has to say first, and then you can hurt him as much as you like.”
The Spacer looked like a wrinkled boy but he showed no fear as he stood beneath Silky and looked up at her. “Do you really think I came here alone?”
Silky was too angry to speak, so I took that pleasure for myself. I grinned at the little man. “Yes.”
I watched his face drain of blood as he tried and failed to contact his backup team.
“Did you think we would come alone, Shorty?”
Damn! It was a good line, but its impact bounced off him. I had wanted a chance to explain that Clewie and her gang of Ndeki admirers were acting as flank guards and diplomatic wranglers as we traveled through the Littorane zone, but all the Spacer did was incline his head. I half expected him to say ‘touché’ but instead he said, “Mr. Lee sends his compliments and requests your presence.”
As if the absence of venom and threat in his voice was not strange enough, he then added a word that came as naturally to his lips as a snowstorm to the corona of a blazing star.
“Please.”
When we didn’t react appropriately, he took a calming breath and went still further. “Mr. Le
e extends his apologies for our earlier misunderstanding, and wishes to offer a gift in recompense. If you would kindly allow me to escort you–”
“If Mr. Lee wants to say sorry,” said Silky, “he could write off Kelker-Jay’s debt for a start.”
“Already done,” mumbled Shorty, who clearly preferred pulling the arms off people to giving them good news.
“Say that again,” asked Sel-en-Sek who was off his crutches and began swaying in response to this change in circumstances.
Shorty sighed heavily. “Mr. Lee has already paid off your friend’s debt. His hospital bills are also being taken care of, as is a small sum to compensate for the inconvenience.”
“Well?” Sel-en-Sek asked Silky. I didn’t blame him. It’s one thing to look gift horses in the mouth, but it’s quite another to believe a brutal loan shark has just become your best friend.
Silky circled around the Spacer, leaning in closely and shaking her kesah-kihisia aggressively.
I was glad to leave my Kurlei to her little game because I was desperately worried about Clewie.
I raised the young Littorane on the radio. I know. I know. It was silly, because if she needed help she would have asked but I worried about her gang. I’d seen what they were capable of but they were only kids, and Lee would have surrounded himself with professional killers.
“Anyone hurt?” I asked.
“Yes,” Clewie replied. I felt a sudden chill. This wouldn’t be the first time young admirers of mine had set out to impress me, only to get themselves killed.
“Anyone… Permanently retired?” I asked, terrified of what the answer might be.
“Oh, no. A few fractures and a lot of bruises. That’s all. Your species is so easily damaged, Honored Cousin.”
“I don’t care about them,” I shouted. “Are you hurt? Your team, I mean.”
At her hesitation, I began to fear the worst, but she replied, “You care about me and my cousins over your own kind.”
“What are you saying? Clesselwed, you are my own kind. We’re all K’Teene, right? Or has the last week been a drunken fantasy, and I’m about to wake up in a storm drain with a brutal hangover?”
“We are fit and eager, Honored Ndeki. Your concern is touching but an unnecessary distraction. Please return your attention to the small human.”
The small human in question must have read me with ease because as soon as I cut the link he asked, “Are my people injured?”
I shrugged. “How should I know? This is a Littorane area. Humanoids are no longer welcome here, or haven’t you been watching the news? Silky, do we believe him or shall we feed him to our fishy allies?”
“He genuinely believes what he says.”
“Let’s assume that’s true,” I said. “I’m still not buying this. Why the change of heart? Does Lee like us all of a sudden?”
The Spacer cheered up a little. “Mr. Lee would like to take your fat Marine head in his hands and squeeze until your skull shatters and your brains pop. Then he would enjoy hacking off your Kurlei’s tentacles with a blunt knife. I imagine he’s fantasizing about that right now, Mr. McCall. No, he is not your friend, but luckily for all of you there is one individual that Mr. Lee is accountable to, and she wishes to pay a debt to you.”
The Grotesque. It had to be. I had no idea she was so influential. I began to wonder once again whether she was one and the same as Mrs. Gregory, the gangster I had encountered in Tata City. The two didn’t look alike and certainly didn’t sound the same. Even so, too many characteristics overlapped. Gangsters feared Mrs. Gregory and I was prepared to put my trust in that. “Okay, Shorty. Take us to your leader.”
— CHAPTER 45 —
We were taken to a restaurant called the Smuggler’s Accord that nestled in the interstitial streets between Littorane and Human districts. If this area had once been a haunt of smugglers then that had been long before my arrival in Port Zahir. I had known this border region as a cosmopolitan place bursting with cultural fusion. Now it was finding a new role as neutral ground, a natural hangout for scum such as Lee.
We left Clewie and the rest of Section ‘C’ guarding our route to the courtyard outside while a diminutive human woman in a silken hood beckoned us to a back room. There she melted into the shadows while we enjoyed our audience with Lee.
The former Spacer was tucking into an expensive-looking brunch consisting of something meaty inside latticed pastry, and served on a plate that was three sizes beyond necessary. From within a small bowl set into the plate, a steaming maroon sauce emitted an aroma of spices and fruit.
Lee undid his napkin and folded it neatly on the table.
Silky stepped forward and confronted the small man.
“Please, Madam,” Lee told her. “There have been unfortunate misunderstandings on both sides. Let us call a truce before this worsens.”
“On both sides?” said Silky. “Seems to me that there is a lot of evening up on our part to do first.”
His face stiffened. “Try telling that to my members of staff with severed limbs who were only trying to keep customers safe at my Woodland Redoubt venue.”
My heart sank. So the gambling den had been Mr. Lee’s… The mess Clewie’s people had made of his men wasn’t the kind of thing gangsters could forgive.
“I have decided to forgive you,” said Lee uncannily, as if mocking my thoughts, “I have paid off the debt.”
“That is the business of Sel-en-Sek and Kelker-Jay,” said Silky with quiet menace. “It doesn’t begin to pay off your debt to me.”
“Nor the interest,” I snarled.
Lee’s face flushed red and his eyes popped as if he’d been hurled out an airlock into the void. I’ve never seen anyone with a red-hot poker shoved up their backside, but I imagine if I did, it would look like Lee. He took panicked gasps, trying to gulp down the discomfort, but cried out as if the imaginary poker was twisting around in his bowels. He looked up at Silky through pain-rimmed eyes. “I apologize to you, ma’am.”
Lee was fascinating to watch. He wasn’t just uncomfortable about what he was saying. Given the sweat on his face and his gasps that were nearly screams, he was feeling genuine pain. Lots of pain.
With a last twist of agony, whatever influence possessed Lee released him. His head slumped toward the table. I was hoping for his head to land in his expensive pie, but he stopped himself an inch from his dinner. For a second, he held himself there. Then he picked up his napkin, fastened it into this shirt and resumed his meal as if nothing had happened.
It looked as if our audience was over.
The woman who had beckoned us in, and who looked a little like Silky with her smart silken hood – gestured for us to now leave.
This was the most dangerous part of the meeting. I was alert to triggers, tripwires, gas, darts, and ambushers crashing through the roof and the windows. But no, nothing. With Clewie blocking the kitchen door and slapping her tail against the wall whenever the staff inside piped up in protest, we hooked up with Shahdi who escorted us out into the courtyard without incident.
It was a rectangular, pretty affair with high, brick walls for privacy and tranquility, and to concentrate the sweet floral aromas. In a sunken ornamental garden at its center, Nolog and César took station like hideous painted statues. Chikune guarded the open, arched gate in the rear wall that gave a clear view of the path through the tangled brambles and ferns that led to the canal beyond. Young Littorane faces peered out from the undergrowth; I decided they were probably on our side.
It was a cleaner getaway than I had imagined possible. With the courtyard layout clear in my mind, I turned to face the restaurant’s interior and backpedaled toward the rear gate.
Textbook withdrawal!
Only two problems – Clewie was still inside, and instead of following me, Silky was rooted by the kitchen wall, rich cooking aromas pouring out from an open window above her. And was she glaring at our hooded escort?
I reached for her mind to encourage her to get a
frakking move on, and recoiled when I felt her slipping degree by degree from hot anger to a much cooler murderous intent directed at Lee’s assistant.
I framed an idea in my mind and tried to send it to Silky: Leave her in peace.
“What is it?” asked Shahdi, walking back toward Silky.
The human façade slipped away from Silky, her face narrowing and a crest pushing against the top of her head. “Let’s end this particular problem once and for all,” she said.
Our rearguard, Clewie, left the restaurant at speed, chomping on a morsel she’d liberated from the kitchens. She almost fell over her own feet when she realized she’d blasted past the two humanoid females engaged in a staring contest.
“Are you ready to kill our enemies?” Silky asked Clewie.
The Littorane tilted her head at me. “What is she saying?”
Frakked if I knew.
“Something she would come to bitterly regret,” answered the woman, which was no help at all until she pulled back her hood and many things suddenly became starkly apparent.
She had changed her appearance even in the time since she had escaped her cell, becoming more human and losing a foot in height, but this was the Grotesque. I guessed Silky had recognized her true identity from the unique taste of her parasite-infested mind, but I wasn’t far behind. If the Grotesque could change height and pull that telepathic poker-up-ass trick on Lee, I didn’t doubt that she was also Mrs. Gregory.
“You won’t escape me this time,” Silky told her. “You and Lee. I will kill you both.”
— CHAPTER 46 —
“No!” I shouted at Silky. “Leave her be.”
Clewie interposed her body between Silky and Gregory. “I fear to intervene,” said the Littorane, “because I do not wish to outswim my boundary, but Ndeki is correct, Honored Aunt Sylk. We have too many powerful enemies to invite another to kill us.”
Silky listened enough to keep her peace for now. But the grim tension on the other Revenge Squad faces said they were gearing up for a fight. Nolog reached inside his jacket and appeared to the outside world as if he were reaching to scratch an awkward itch. I knew him better. He was reaching for weapons he’d concealed within skin caches. Grenades probably.
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