by Natalie Grey
“So when you said a needle in a haystack, you really meant it.” Shinigami pursed the avatar’s lips and gave a low whistle. “You knew I couldn’t resist the challenge. All right, course plotted and verified, and I’m adjusting our trajectory. Could any of your mindless ships back in the day do that, Grandpa?”
“When you call me that, it just motivates me to find out what your equivalent is of going to bed without supper.”
“I take it you don’t have fond memories of your grandparents?”
“I didn’t talk back to them,” Barnabas told her, unperturbed. “First because I was a child, then because I thought I was possessed by a demon, and—after that—because I had lost my mind.” He frowned. “I don’t know why people find pleasure in rehashing their old memories.”
“Surely there are some pleasant ones.” But Shinigami sensed this conversational topic might veer toward the thoughts that had saddened Barnabas in recent days. “Regardless, what are your plans when we do find the buoy? Because we will, I promise you that.”
“I never had any doubts.” Barnabas smiled. “It will be a long game, Shinigami. If we are going to do this without backup—and, as much as possible, I would like to—then we will need to be very, very careful. We cannot make the same mistake Gar just made in that chess game.”
“Between the two of us, I doubt we will.”
“Shouldn’t it be the three of us?” Barnabas frowned contemplatively. “He should be more involved. His thought patterns have been well within acceptable ranges for a while and I can hardly expect him to develop better modes of behavior if I never give him any chances to do anything. Speaking of which, do you have recommendations yet on upgrades?”
“Fairly standard,” Shinigami reported. She projected a scan of Gar’s body on one of the smooth walls of the room. “The bones need to be strengthened, of course, and we’ll want some changes to the cardiovascular structure to accommodate more movement. We won’t know about the rest of the upgrades until he’s moving more regularly and encountering impact.”
“Which means we’ll need to persuade him to do so.”
“That shouldn’t be hard. Tabitha left a whole series of kung fu movies in the data banks and he’s been watching them religiously.” Shinigami snickered. “He practices, too. He’s actually got very fast reflexes.”
“We are not teaching him kung fu.”
“Too late, the damage is done.”
“Right.” Barnabas stood, shaking his head. “Well, we’ll see to that once we know how soon we can expect to be involved in any altercations. For the next few weeks—or possibly months or even years—I think we can expect to be tracking down various parts of the Yennai Corporation, isolating them, and destroying them.”
“How do you intend to keep the main piece of it from coming after you?”
“We’ll learn their communication patterns and keep the communications going so that no one notices anything’s amiss. If we can find a way to make it seem that they’re still sending in a cut of profits while actually taking money, so much the better.”
“Sneaky. I like it. Well, course laid in. I’ll let you know when we’re close.”
Gar balanced on one leg, wobbling slightly. He had taken to chewing one lip when he was concentrating. It was a very human mannerism. He had never seen any other Luvendi do such a thing. It was surprisingly habit-forming, however.
On the holoscreen, the black-clad figure extended their leg, foot at the same height as their face, and then hopped several times to change feet. The flurry of potential strikes seemed to be designed to keep the opponent from getting within range.
Gar tried as hard as he could to get his foot up high, but the muscles in the backs of his legs simply wouldn’t extend that far. He wound up with the leg bent, one knee against his thin chest, his foot straining to mimic the position of the human foot. This was agony.
Now the flurry of kicks. The other foot up, then the first, then the other, then the first again. One, two—
Gar came to looking at the ceiling dazedly. The pain was still fading from his body.
“What the…” He barely managed the words.
“I believe you forgot to plan how you were going to put your foot down,” Shinigami answered. She sounded vaguely like she was struggling not to laugh.
“Have you been watching me?”
“Of course I’ve been watching you. I watch everything. Mostly. That, and I was worried you might get hurt. Don’t worry, I scanned you while you were out. You didn’t fracture anything.”
“Uh-huh.” Gar stared at the ceiling and decided that lying here seemed like a better idea than getting up. The floor wasn’t very comfortable, but he was pretty sure it beat trying to move any part of his body.
“Come on, get up.” Shinigami sounded impatient. “I wanna try something.”
“Make your own body,” Gar complained muzzily.
“I am heavily discouraged from doing so. It’s one of the suggestions tagged ‘Skynet.’”
“Huh?”
“Get uuuuuup.”
Gar rolled over and draped his sleeves over his eyes. “You can’t make me.”
“No, but if I ever get to tweak your body and make you stronger, you’ll still have to sit around here until you learn how to fight. Why not start now?”
Gar perked up; this sounded promising. “You think I could actually fight with Barnabas?” His practices so far had just been him daydreaming that he was the hero in these movies. They all fought for Justice and Honor, striking off on their own against impossible odds.
And in his opinion, they looked very dashing in their headbands. He was thinking he might start wearing one.
“Let’s just say you need some practice,” Shinigami offered diplomatically. “But yes, of course you could fight with Barnabas one day. We just need to make you less breakable.”
“I am not a vase. Shinigami?” The AI had gone into gales of laughter.
“Just picturing you with a bunch of flowers stuck in your head. Never mind. Okay, so get back in the pose you were in before. One leg up. Yes, that’s right. Now listen closely…”
15
The Shinigami floated in the blackness, cloaked and running as close to silently as it could. There was no way to determine what the communications buoy alongside them could detect.
Barnabas had honestly expected something very compact, more a signal collector and booster than anything else, but the “buoy” was instead a roughly cube-shaped cobbled-together collection of machinery about five meters to a side. It reflected the light of the stars very faintly.
Thankfully, it did not seem to be armed.
“I hate wearing space suits,” Barnabas muttered. He checked the tether holding him to the ship and pushed himself off very slowly to cross the dozen or so yards between the ship and the buoy.
“It’s no bulkier than a regular suit.” Shinigami’s tone said that he was being a baby about this.
“On the fingers, it is. I hate gloves. I was happy when gentlemen stopped wearing them. That was a long few decades.” Barnabas caught the buoy and grimaced as it slowly began to turn. The last thing he needed while trying to assess strange electronics was to get dizzy.
“Why did you wear them if you hated them?”
“To be polite. Not liking an article of clothing was not a good enough reason not to wear it.”
“You should have come up with a different fashion. That’s how Scottish men got away with wearing no pants.”
“Did Tabitha tell you that? Because I don’t think you should be taking history lessons from her.”
“No, that was Bethany Anne.”
“Huh.” Barnabas set a crawler loose on the surface of the buoy and watched as it began moving around.
They had modified the machinery to have limited gravitic fields in its tiny feet. Barnabas had originally suggested magnets, but Shinigami had pointed out that many electronics were sensitive to magnetic fields.
Barnabas crawled o
ver the surface of the buoy, following the crawler until it disappeared abruptly into the innards of the machine. He followed it and peered down into the darkness, then switched on his flashlight.
“What are you hoping to see? You know you don’t actually have the capabilities to watch the programming change, right?”
“I know that,” Barnabas grumped.
“So?”
“So humans generally want to see things, even if it’s a useless urge.”
“Fair enough. I run statistical analyses even when the outcomes don’t matter. We all have our quirks.”
“I’ve started humming,” Gar chimed in. “I don’t know why.”
“What I don’t get is how you have such good pitch,” Shinigami complained. “You said Luvendi don’t make music and you don’t care about music. And you really don’t; I’ve scanned you for a physiological reaction. Humans have one, you don’t. But your pitch and your timing are both spot-on.”
“Is that why I’ve had ‘Ode to Joy’ stuck in my head for the past three days?” Barnabas asked suddenly. He looked over his shoulder at the ship. “Gar, are you doing a review of the classics?”
“If that is what Tabitha labeled as ‘boring old-person music,’ then yes.”
Barnabas frowned. “I’m confused as to why she labeled it in the first place.”
“She quite likes classical music,” Shinigami revealed, and a moment later she added, “I’ve just remembered that she specifically asked me not to tell anyone that.”
“Any other favorites?” Barnabas asked curiously.
“I’ve already said too much. I know nothing. You didn’t hear any of it from me. Also, we have an uplink.”
“Finally.” Barnabas held out a hand and waited for the crawler to clamber out of the buoy and into his palm. “Shinigami, reel us in and open the Pod bay doors.”
“I’m sorry, Dave. I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“My name’s not Dave.”
“That’s from 2001: A Space Odyssey,” Gar told him helpfully. “When the AI tries to kill the humans because they’ve abandoned the mission.”
“How comforting. Shinigami, are you planning my death?”
“Not at all. Tabitha was also on a classic science fiction kick, so I watched some movies with her. Just don’t abandon the mission and we should all be fine.”
“How comforting. Well, open the Pod bay doors. I need to get these gloves off before I go insane.”
Rald had spent enough time in the universe to know that bribes generally turned up more leads than beating the teeth out of possible informants until one of them started talking. It was unfortunate, but it was just how life was so he had come to terms with it.
It helped that he could go back to his preferred methodology once he had suspects.
In this case, he had run into a distressingly common roadblock: thwarted in their desire to own Devon’s mines—he refused to use the new name of this planet—the Luvendi and the mercenaries had withdrawn to sulk and try to find other markets. None of them knew the names of the relevant humans. None of them had the information he needed.
So Rald had quietly made it known that he would pay for that information, and it was only a day and a half before a Nekubi slithered into his boarding house with some whispered names.
Which was why Rald was presently staring at the bruised and bloodied form of a Brakalon named Heddoran. He was the former guard captain at Venfirdri Lan’s mines, the Nekubi had told him. He still worked there, for the mine workers. By choice. There were whispers that he had betrayed Lan, which had led to his death. Rald had snatched him while he was in Tethra to retrieve a shipment of supplies.
Having seen what was left of Jutkelon’s compound, Rald didn’t think the guard captain’s defection was really to blame for Lan’s death. It was clear that the humans would have triumphed with or without one Brakalon.
But Heddoran knew names, and Rald needed them. He paced in a slow circle around the Brakalon.
“So you don’t know any humans.”
“None.” The Brakalon had, so far, barely seemed to notice that Rald was torturing him. Every once in a while he grunted as claws or a whip or a boot made contact, but the sound seemed more contemplative than anything.
Rald wasn’t fooled. Heddoran was now bleeding heavily. Whatever self-control he had, it was close to breaking.
“Then you likely wouldn’t mind if any humans were killed.”
The Brakalon looked at Rald with a genuine smile now touching his swollen eyes. “No, but you will, if you’re the one killing them.”
Rald paused, his eyes narrowing.
“Word is, you want the humans who made all the changes on this planet.” The Brakalon grinned, displaying the blood on his teeth. “They’re more powerful than you can imagine. If you decide to hurt their kind you will find out what true pain is—and then it won’t matter. You will be dead.”
“True pain?” Rald grabbed a walking stick from the wall and swung it as hard as he could into the Brakalon’s torso. He heard ribs crack and the Brakalon gasped involuntarily. “Ah, so we are getting somewhere. Want another hit?”
“Hit me as much as you want.” The Brakalon managed to get the words out, but his breath was coming in jerks now. “It won’t make me know things.”
“Yes, but you see, you do know things. Despite all your lies, you do know names. You were there, Heddoran. So let’s start again.” Rald swung the stick directly into the broken ribs again and the Brakalon gave an agonized yell. “There was a human at the mines. Was that the man who runs Aebura’s?”
“No.” The Brakalon sagged against the ropes. His head was lolling. “No.”
“How can I believe you when you’ve lied so much? Maybe I should kill him just to be sure. Him and his mate—Elisa, is that her name? And the two brats. Little humans. I should wipe his line out down to the last drop of blood.”
The Brakalon stared at him open-mouthed for a second. “It was a kalanon!”
“Oh?” Rald crouched to peer into his eyes. “Go on.”
“It wasn’t them. They’re not… They just came here at the same time. The one at the mines was a kalanon. A priest.”
Rald felt a stab of surprise. The priests he had met on his travels seemed uniformly useless, given to platitudes and philosophy. How could a priest take down an enterprise with so many guards?
“He’s not there anymore.” Now that Heddoran had started talking he couldn’t seem to stop. “He left soon after. He’s gone now, and he hasn’t been back.”
“What was his name?” When Heddoran didn’t answer, Rald readied the stick again. “His name, Heddoran.”
“Barnabas!” The Brakalon closed his eyes in defeat. “His name was Barnabas. Lan’s second-in-command, Venfaldri Gar—he helped. He’s with Barnabas now.”
Finally, he had names—and an accomplice. The information brokers at Yennai Corp had thought Gar was dead. Rald smiled. “Really, there’s only one last thing to ask. Where is the mine?”
Heddoran didn’t answer right away, but Rald could see the hopelessness on his face. There was no way he could pretend not to know that. He had worked there for years. And while he had told himself he wouldn’t say anything under torture, he had already begun to talk. He knew it was only a matter of time until he broke.
Rald thought the least he could do was help him make the decision to tell now rather than later. He let loose with the stick, raining blows on the bruised captive while the Brakalon screamed in pain. When the blows finally stopped, Rald was heaving for breath and smiling broadly. It had been a frustrating few days. He had needed this.
“I can do this again and again,” he promised Heddoran. “But can you take that? It’ll get worse as the bruises spread.”
The Brakalon was barely conscious anymore. His lips moved, barely a whisper emerging. Rald leaned close and the Brakalon repeated himself, giving Rald coordinates and directions.
“Good,” Rald soothed. He went to the door. “In
return for the information you’ve given me, I’ll give something back. If you survive these wounds, I won’t kill you.”
He left then, smiling in the early morning sunshine. He would collect a volunteer force from the mercenaries in town and they would be on the road by midafternoon. As for Heddoran… Well, there was no need to worry. He was too badly hurt to get himself out of the ropes, and even then it would take a miracle to cure him.
The noise of Tethra’s market was loud enough, however, that Rald did not hear the door of the old warehouse creak open or see a figure steal inside.
Carter had been trailing Rald for two days now. The Ubuara had done everything they promised; they had been quick to alert him to where Rald was, and they tried to find out who he was talking to.
But Carter couldn’t leave it up to them. He’d had a bad feeling about this since he’d heard about Rald talking to Elisa. He didn’t like having Shrillexians around. He didn’t like the fact that this one had gotten on-planet at all. The matter of the Luvendi and mercenaries was something Carter knew had been debated—should they be kept on-planet or allowed off, where they might spread the word of where High Tortuga was?
No one had come to any firm conclusions yet, but Carter knew they weren’t supposed to be getting allies.
He’d been unloading crates of fruit at the bar this morning when one of the Ubuara came at a dead run to tell him Rald had taken Heddoran prisoner. Carter had grabbed his gun and his knife and gone as quickly as he could. Heddoran had a lot of things to atone for, after all, but he was atoning for them. He’d helped the Ubuara rebuild the mining town and he was keeping them safe. He was always pleasant when he stopped in at the bar, too.
And now he was in trouble.
Carter had arrived just in time to hear Heddoran give the Shrillexian Barnabas’ name—to save Carter, Elisa, and the children.
Carter couldn’t let him die now. He and the Ubuara began to undo the ropes that held Heddoran up and they eased him down as gently as they could.
“We’re going to get you out of here,” Carter promised Heddoran. “We’ll get you a doctor. I promise.”
