by Jaine Fenn
She got to the meeting with Patai early. He had chosen a harbour-side café at sunset and Nual was shown to a table in a corner with no view and a faint subliminal hum in the air that suggested the presence of anti-surveillance tech.
Patai arrived slightly late, and was followed by a waiter who carried a pair of cold beers. Nual sipped hers to be polite. Patai initially ignored his, saying, ‘I’m afraid this will have to be brief. I have another appointment shortly.’
‘I understand. It was good of you to see me under the circumstances. ’
‘Which circumstances would those be?’ asked Patai carefully, toying with his glass. He was thinking of this morning’s news reports of the body discovered in a backstreet refuse-hopper. It was found minus its com, eyeballs and fingertips. The media said that the only thing the authorities knew for sure was that the man was not a registered criminal, because criminals had a full DNA profile on record in addition to the usual biometrics. Patai strongly suspected the dead man was Olias Kahani, and that Nual had killed him, a possibility that made him wary, though not necessarily frightened . . . not yet.
‘I leave that for you to consider,’ she said. ‘When we last met I was . . . not acting entirely rationally.’
‘Understandable enough, given your recent loss. And now?’
‘Now I wish to organise a rescue mission.’
‘For your brother? He’s alive then?’
‘Yes. At the moment. And I need your help to get him back.’
‘What form would this help take?’
‘Transport to the location where he was captured. And someone to accompany me inside when we get there. Nothing you haven’t organised before, in fact.’
‘No, but without meaning to be rude, I don’t generally do work like this for outsiders. There is a code governing conduct between the ngais which you may not be aware of.’
‘I realise that. I would only be going in to get him back. I would endeavour to avoid committing any acts that might be considered tapu.’
He looked grave. ‘I’m glad to hear it. To take a life is a far more serious affair here than where you come from . . . even the life of a worthless traitor who has made himself tapu by his own actions.’
‘I wish only to get my brother back. I regret any collateral damage I might have already caused.’
‘I’m not entirely comfortable with this, but as it is a family matter . . . I could procure transport, a driver and a couple of individuals to assist you.’
Nual remembered the state Taro had been in when she’d contacted him. She also recalled how much a job like this paid - or in her case now, would cost. ‘Just one person to come in with me will suffice. But ideally I’d like someone with medical training.’
‘As you wish.’ Now Patai took a long drink of his beer. ‘To the sordid matter of money . . .’
Nual managed not to react to the price, though she wondered, in passing, what had made the original target so important that Marua Ruanuku would spend so much credit, and risk tapu, to get her hands on him. If they had not been interrupted she might have found that out from the Ruanuku-ngai leader’s mind; as it was she’d only picked up on the Sidhe connection because it had been so near the surface of Medame Ruanuku’s thoughts.
She engaged in a small amount of haggling, as Patai expected. His final offer was lower than usual, because he felt sorry for her, but the sum was still breathtakingly large. Rather apologetically, Patai said that he would not be able to start work without the standard ten per cent down-payment.
When Nual admitted that even this was beyond her means at present, Patai’s parting thought was how unlikely he thought it was that she would find the credit - but if she did, he would do his best for her.
Back at the hotel she checked Kahani’s com and found a reply from his victim in Tawhira-ngai. The man was, reluctantly, willing to turn off the forceshield when requested.
A check of the newsnets showed that Kahani’s body still hadn’t been identified; when it was, the man was likely to have second thoughts, meaning she had to hurry - as if the thought of what might be happening to Taro was not enough!
Nual needed money, lots of it, and fast.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Apart from a slight change to the onboard entropy level – a result of Bez’s obsessive cleanliness - the ship was still the same old Judas Kiss. Jarek would have liked a new identity for himself as well, but that wasn’t practical. His business relied too much on contacts who already knew him, and he couldn’t afford to give up freetrading altogether: travelling the stars for pleasure was only an option for the super-rich tourists who lived on the starliners. Bez had provided a compromise: the Heart of Glass was actually registered to one Amad Kelsor, and Jarek was named as a secondary partner only deep in the paperwork. Kelsor’s name would be the one leaving a trace as they passed through human-space. Unfortunately, Sirrah Kelsor currently only existed as a handful of records in the Alliance’s database. It was entirely possible to create a convincing identity out of nothing - he’d paid for someone on Khathryn to do it for Nual when he first found her - but until he or Bez managed to flesh out Jarek’s fictitious partner, anyone who took the time to check would spot the ruse.
His immediate priority was to find a safe way to get back into contact with Nual. In theory her messages would automatically be routed to his ‘new’ ship once Bez’s updates had percolated throughout the beevee network. However, because Nual’s messages were text-only - both cheaper and more discreet than voice or visual - he had no way of being sure they actually came from her. If she were captured, or her com fell into the wrong hands, sending a reply to one of her messages could provide their enemies with his new ship ID.
Before they’d left Tarset, Bez had put a stop on any messages arriving there for the Judas Kiss, routing them to a data-drop. Now they needed to pick up those messages, and find a way to reply safely. Well, not ‘they’, for Jarek had no idea how to go about it. He hoped Bez did.
When they grabbed a meal before the next transit he took the opportunity to ask her. She said, ‘Is this more important than the Setting Sun’s memory-core?’
‘Yes - my allies might be in trouble.’
‘These allies of yours are on Kama Nui, aren’t they?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Investigating Sidhe influence. It’s complicated . . .’ He explained about Serenein’s strange harvest, and admitted that they got the link to Kama Nui and its location from the Setting Sun’s pilot, who was now dead, though he didn’t give details. Bez would definitely be happier not knowing that one of the allies he was rushing to help was actually a Sidhe.
She listened intently and asked pertinent questions. Finally she said, ‘I’ll see what I can do to re-establish secure communication.’
As she stood up, Jarek held out a hand. ‘Wait. I was wondering where you wanted me to drop you off. We didn’t really discuss it before.’
‘I thought I might come with you,’ Bez said.
‘To Kama Nui?’
‘Yes. It makes sense for me to stay with you until I crack the memory-core. Besides, it’s meant to be very beautiful.’ She made one of her strained attempts at a smile. ‘Perhaps I should take the opportunity for a holiday.’
Jarek wondered if she was being ironic, but had no idea how he’d tell. He needed to put her off, in case she was serious. ‘On a world where the Sidhe might have influence? Are you sure that’s a good idea?’
She looked chastened. ‘If they are active there . . . then you’re right. But we don’t know that.’
‘No, we don’t.’
Jarek left Bez to work and went up to the bridge. He’d just set the initial pre-transit checks going when he got an incoming message light, showing Nual’s com-tag.
He called down to Bez, ‘That was quick!’
‘The message? It arrived at Tarset just as we left.’ Bez’s voice sounded a bit odd.
The single line of text gav
e the name of the company on Kama Nui that was processing the transit-kernels, and said: ‘They might well have direct contact with our enemies.’ He looked up from his console as Bez came up onto the bridge.
‘I’m guessing you read this when you collected it.’
‘It was in plaintext.’
‘And do you still want to come to Kama Nui?’ asked Jarek.
Bez dropped her gaze. ‘I’m not ready to face them directly yet,’ she said, ‘so no, I won’t take the risk.’
Jarek tried not to let his relief show. ‘Where would you like me to drop you off?’
‘Xantier’s on our route; that’s as good a place as any - unless you want me to come as far as Mercanth.’ Mercanth was the hubpoint nearest Kama Nui.
If she did stay around that long then she might find time to crack the Setting Sun’s memory-core while she was still with him. On the other hand, the more the back-to-back transits took their toll, the less capable she’d be of getting any useful work done, and the more likely he was to strangle her for obsessively clearing away his half-finished drinks. ‘Xantier sounds good,’ he said. ‘Will that give you time to set up a way for me to respond to the incoming messages?’
‘I’m not sure whether it’s possible to do that without giving away your new ID,’ she admitted, ‘but I’ll spend the recharge period between the next two shifts looking into it.’ She glanced at the drive-column, no doubt thinking about what was actually in there ‘recharging’. Jarek had almost managed to forget.
Bez spent the next transit in the comabox, so she would be fresh to continue work on the problem. Jarek woke from a long overdue nap to find that she’d retrieved another message, this one encrypted and zipped; it contained a selection of sensitive data on two of Kama Nui’s corporations, including the compromised one.
Bez said, ‘You should get all incoming messages automatically from now on, though there may be a delay of several hours. If you answer them, you’ll get through, but with a similar delay, and with the new ship ID appended to the message.’
‘Then it’s not worth the risk. Thanks for trying.’
She wished him luck when they parted company at Xantier. Jarek suspected she was happy to be on her own again, and eager to get back to her beloved data.
Nual devoted the early evening to working out how to get the sort of credit she needed. The best way for someone like her to make big money was to be employed by someone like Patai on behalf of the ngais, but that assumed someone needed her services; her skills as an assassin would be of limited use in a culture where lethal force was forbidden. And even if there were other jobs in the offing, they probably wouldn’t pay enough to fund her own mission.
Theft was an option, but she had no idea how to go about that. She briefly considered coercing a stranger to transfer credit to her com, but that was hardly subtle, certainly traceable, and very unlikely to give her sufficient funds.
As she lay on her bed she thought of the shell game again. She had managed to avoid being duped by reading the boy rigging the game, so perhaps her abilities might give her an advantage in other games of chance. She had almost no experience of gambling, though she understood it was a popular tourist pastime. She sat up, energised, and commed for guidance on the subject. Unlike Khesh, which had a whole street devoted to such activity, here gambling was merely tolerated as something that had to be provided for the visitors. Unlicensed gambling was illegal, and though some of the larger resorts had casinos, there were only three listed gambling establishments in Stonetown.
She decided to start with Sea Breezes, which claimed to be the most upmarket of the casinos, with no house limits. That should make it the best place to win the kind of money she needed. The hotel was large and tastefully appointed, and when she approached the casino entrance, she found a heavily built but well-dressed gentleman politely barring her way. ‘I’m afraid that we have a dress-code, Medame,’ he said.
Nual looked down at her sun-bleached once-green top and yellow-and-orange wrap and felt her cheeks redden. ‘Of course, I’m so sorry,’ she said, cursing herself for her thoughtless mistake, and left.
She watched the clientele coming and going for a while to establish the kind of look she’d need. Some of her old outfits from Khesh might have cut it, but she’d abandoned her luggage back on Khathryn. Since then she’d dressed purely for comfort. She checked her com for shops that might sell appropriate clothes, but Kama Nui’s laid-back culture didn’t lend itself to all-night fashion boutiques. Reluctantly she returned to her own hotel.
She tried to contact Taro again as she slept, and felt sure she got through at some deep and wordless level. But then, that was what she wanted to believe. She had no objective evidence that such tenuous contact was real.
The next morning she went shopping. The dress she chose was mauve and deep red, cut to go up and down in all the right places. She was amazed that something that used so little fabric could cost so much, and of course she needed shoes and jewellery to go with it. But it certainly did the trick, even if it also showed up what a mess her hair and face were. Given the casinos didn’t open until dusk she decided she might as well go all the way, and spent the afternoon at a beautician’s. She tried to quell her unease at being pampered while Taro was imprisoned, perhaps being tortured, distracting herself by scanning the minds of the vapid men and women who were making such a careful if superficial effort to make her feel special.
Though the same bouncer was on duty at the door of Sea Breezes, he didn’t recognise her. Inside, beautiful people glided between tables and wheels offering dozens of variations on games of chance. Nual bought herself some tokens and began to work her way around the room, deflecting the inevitable attention from the men, and a few women, who misinterpreted her reasons for being here.
She quickly realised that she wasn’t going to be able to cheat her way to a fortune: the shell game had employed sleight of hand and she could pick up the sly moves from the operator’s mind; the games in Sea Breezes operated on random chance, not human interaction. If they were rigged, then the process was strictly mechanical. Some of the card and dice games used skills which she could learn, but other than that, there was no human element for her to take advantage of. Even her superior intuition provided no help; if anything it was counter-productive, for her reliance on her instincts often made her overconfident when placing bets. When she’d lost half her initial stake she decided to give up.
The second listed gambling establishment billed itself as a total entertainment venue and boasted a restaurant, live music and scantily dressed acrobats performing on wires above the gamblers. She stayed long enough to ascertain that the games were all of the same sort as those at Sea Breezes, then left.
As it was still relatively early, she decided she might as well try the last address. The Flotsam and Jetsam also promised additional entertainment, including a personal escort service. The guides claimed the club was for those with more adventurous tastes - hopefully that meant fewer spinning wheels and flashing lights, and more direct interaction with the other gamblers.
The establishment was in a basement, down metal stairs threaded with red and gold lights; Nual suspected these colours were some sort of code for prostitution here. Seductive bass beats throbbed up from below. The bouncer at the top, another large man with a big smile, looked at her a little oddly, but let her pass. As there was another couple standing behind her she didn’t linger long enough to read the reason for his reaction.
She came down into a room full of people obviously having fun. The bar, which took up most of one wall, was a crescent sculpted to look like a huge shell, with the staff serving patrons from inside the scalloped pink interior. The level of intoxication and emotion in the room was higher than in the other two casinos, and she had to strengthen her shields to avoid being battered by the wash of mental froth. There were shadowy booths around the walls and various doorways off to the sides. The largest exit led into a room where the beat was loudest and the lights bri
ghtest, presumably the dance floor. She wasn’t sure which exit led to the casino itself, so she decided to work her way to the bar and ask.
As she wove through the press of partygoers, a woman who had been sitting alone in one of the booths stood up and came towards her. She was tall and thin, with perfectly coiffed black hair that belied a face wrinkled with laughter-lines. She was the only person in the room wearing traditional islander dress. Nual read no ill-intent, and she turned to the woman, who beamed a smile and said, ‘You want some company?’ She had to shout to be heard over the music.
