Quiet Knives

by Sharon Lee

  Or, as the Judge was a little too fond of saying, "Let's throw a rock in the pond and see who we piss off."

  Surprisingly enough, it was lunch, and if there was a guard mounted outside the door of the private parlor, and her host was armed, nobody had gotten around to taking the gun that rode openly on her belt, much less searching her for any hidden surprises she might be carrying.

  Lunch was simple—pre-made sandwiches, hand pastries, real coffee, and some local fruit.

  To hear her tell it, the host's name was Sambra Reallen, which was as good as any other name. She professed herself a not-friend of the current chairman, on which point Midj reserved judgment, considering the manner of their meeting. Since she also seemed to hold some interesting information, Midj was willing to listen to her for the space it took to eat a sandwich and savor a couple cups of the real bean.

  "You're here for Korelan Zar," Sambra Reallen said, and it was disturbing to hear that fact stated so baldly, no "am-I-right?" about it.

  There being no use playing games, Midj nodded slowly and sipped her coffee. "Man asked me to give him a ride off-world. That against the law?"

  The other woman grinned, quick and feral. "At the moment, the law here is the chairman's whim. Given that—yes, I'm afraid it is."

  "That's too bad," Midj said, hoping she sounded at least neutral.

  "You could say that," Sambra Reallen agreed. She wasn't drinking coffee, and she hadn't even bothered to look at the sandwich in front of her. "Captain Rolanni, do you have any idea who Korelan Zar is?"

  Well, that was a question, now, wasn't it? Midj shrugged. "Old friend. Called in a favor. I came. That's how we do things, out where the chairman's whim counts for spit."

  Another quick grin. "I'll take that as a long 'no,'" she said. "Korelan Zar is the High Judge's courier."

  Midj sipped coffee, considering. She decided that she didn't really care what the Juntavas had to do with judges or judging, and looked up to meet Sambra Reallen's sober gaze.

  "Kore was a hell of a pilot," she said, which was nothing but the truth.

  The Juntava snorted. "So he was and so he is. He's also been with the High Judge for twenty Standards—maybe more. The two of them came out of nowhere—the High Judge, he wasn't a Judge then; the closest we had to Judges were the Enforcers—and that wasn't close at all. He sold the Justice Department idea to the then-chairman—the chairman that the present whimsical guy we've got replaced, you understand. The two of them—Zar and the Judge they set up the whole system, recruited Judges, trained 'em and set 'em loose. I don't know how many Judges there are now—the last number I heard was thirty, but I think that's low—very low The High Judge isn't a man who shows you all the cards he's got in his hand—and Korelan Zar's just like him."

  It was a fair description of Kore, all things weighed. And the project itself jibed with the one he'd tried to sell her on, sitting across from her in Skeedaddle's tiny galley, holding her hands so hard she felt the bones grinding together. Bunch of crazy talk, she'd thought then. Now.. Well, say the years had given her a different understanding of what was necessarily crazy.

  "Not that I'm disinterested in your problems," she said now to Sambra Reallen "but I'm not quite grasping what this has to do with me."

  The other woman nodded vigorously. "Thank you, yes. You do need to know what this has to do with you." She leaned forward, face intent, eyes hard.

  "The High Judge, his household, all the Judges I know about and all those I don't—are gone. Say that they are not blessed with the chairman's favor. I don't doubt—I know—that the High Judge had a plan. He must have foreseen—if not the current situation, at least the possibility of the current situation. He would have planned for this. His very disappearance forces me to conclude that he does have a plan, and has only withdrawn for a time to marshal his forces and his allies."

  Midj shrugged. ''So?''

  "So." Sambra Reallen leaned deliberately back in her chair. "About a month ago, local, the chairman realized the High Judge had not been seen in some while. That the entire network of Judges, as far as they are known, had slipped through the hands of his seekers. He realized, indeed, that the sole member of the High Judge's household remaining upon Shaltren was—"

  "The courier." Midj put her cup down, all her attention focused on the other woman.

  Sambra Reallen nodded. "Precisely. The word went out that Korelan Zar should be brought to the chairman. How Zar heard of the order, I don't know, but I'm not surprised that he did. He made a strike for his ship, as I was sure he would, and I waited for him there, hoping to divert him to a safe place. Something must have spooked him; he returned to the High Judge's house and was taken into custody shortly thereafter."

  "Hm. How 'bout if it was you spooked him?" Midj asked. "I'm thinking that altruism isn't exactly your style. What'd you want from Kore in exchange for the safe berth?"

  The other woman's face tightened. "Information! The High Judge must be planning something—I must know what it is! The chairman can't be allowed to continue—he's already lost us ground on three significant worlds and will loose Stelubia entirely, if he's not stopped. All of that would be reason enough, if there weren't Turtles in the mix, too!"

  Midj blinked. "Turtles? Clutch Turtles?"

  "There's another kind?"

  "Not that I know of. These would two, and asking after the health of a couple of humans they adopted, am I right?"

  Sambra Reallen nodded, sighed.

  "Indeed," she said finally, finding her pastry's icing a fascinating diversion from the discussion as she weighed some inner necessity.

  "These things are too big to be secret," she continued, "no matter how much any of us wish to hide them. Here you are, fresh in, and already the word is out.

  The pilot relaxed slightly, realizing that the Juntava was apparently too focused on her own set of woes to pursue Midj's familiarity with the doings of the Clutch.

  "I've been reading history, Captain Rolanni. The vengeance that these two beings may visit upon the entire organization if their petition is mishandled—and there is no possibility that the chairman will not mishandle it—doesn't bear thinking about. I—Action needs to be taken. But I must know what the High Judge is planning."

  "And you think Kore knows."

  "Yes."

  "But Kore's been taken by the chairman," Midj pointed out, trying to keep the thought—and its implications—from reaching real nerve endings. "If he's as ruthless as they say, he's already cracked Kore's head open and emptied out everything inside." Including my name, my ship's name, and the fact that I was coming for him. That did touch nerve, and she picked up her cup, swigging down the last of the cold coffee.

  "The chairman tried to do exactly that," Sambra Reallen said. "Mr. Zar's defenses are formidable—also, as I discover from my study of the session transcript, he wasn't asked the right question."

  "You got my name from the transcript, then."

  "No." The Juntava shook her head. "I got your pinbeam receiver ID from the transcript. Mr. Zar could not be persuaded to part with your name, though he was obviously experiencing some ... discomfort for withholding the information."

  The receiver ID was enough to sink her—present company being evidence—but she'd made it extra easier for them by coming on-world—and the joke was on her, if she'd taken an honest warnaway for code.

  "So, what do you want from me?" Might as well ask it straight out, though she thought she had an idea what it would be.

  "I want you to pull him out of custody. I can provide you with his location, weapons if you need them, and a safe place to bring him to."

  Yup, that was it. Midj shook her head.

  "And what do I get?"

  The Juntava pushed the untouched sandwich away and leaned her elbows on the table.

  "What do you want!"'

  Just like that: Name a price and the Juntavas would meet it. No problem. She felt a hot flash of fury, felt the words, I want my brother back rising and
kept them behind her teeth with an effort. Sat for a couple of heartbeats, breathing. just that.

  When she was sure she could trust her voice, she met the other woman's bland eyes.

  "What I want is Kore, free and in shape to leave, if that's what he still wants. And I want us both to have safe passage out of here, and a guarantee that we won't either of us be pursued by the Juntavas after."

  There was a pause.

  "I could promise you these things," Sambra Reallen said eventually, "but until I hear what Korelan Zar has to tell me—if he will tell me anything—I can't know if my promise will hold air."

  She raised a hand, palm out. "I understand that you have no reason to love the Juntavas, Captain. The best I can promise at this point is that, if Chairman Trogar leaves the game, I will do my best to ensure that your conditions are met."

  About what she'd figured; as good as she was going to get, and no time to negotiate anyway, with Kore's life on the line.

  "Why hasn't the chairman killed him?" she asked.

  The Juntava shrugged. "It could be that the chairman thinks Korelan Zar still retains some potential for amusement."

  Right. Midj, sighed.

  "I'll need a diversion. If Kore's high-level, then there are high-level people interested in him who'll have to be drawn off."

  Sambra Reallen nodded. "I'll call a department chair meeting."

  Midj blinked. "You can do that?"

  The Juntava smiled, letting a glimmer of genuine amusement show. "Oh, yes," she said, "I can do that."

  Getting out the door hadn't been so hard after all, though there was going to be hell to pay if—well, there was going to be hell to pay; it wasn't any use thinking there could be a different outcome to this.

  He was sorry he wouldn't be on hand to see the finish of it, since he'd been in on the beginning. It had been a grand, beautiful scheme, so logical. So—simple. Introduce a Justice system into Juntavas structure. Feed and nurture and protect it and its practitioners for twenty, thirty, fifty Standards—they hadn't been sure of the timing, but hoped to see results within their lifetimes—easily that. Lately, he thought they'd been optimistic—and not only of the timing.

  Still, he had a gun, courtesy of a guard even stupider than he was, and he knew where he was, and where he was going, more or less right down to his final breath. It was... freeing in a way. He felt at peace with himself, and with his purpose. If he could kill Grom Trogar, then he could depart as happy as a man filled full of pellets could be, and the plan—his plan, that he'd given up his life of small happinesses to see through—would have a second chance at continuing.

  It was convenient that his holding room was in the chairman's building. Convenient that he had committed the layout of that building, along with several others, to memory years ago. He knew where the secret stair was and the code that opened the hatch. He eased the panel shut behind him and began to climb.

  He paused to catch his breath just below the fourteenth landing. Only one more landing, if his memory could be relied upon—and since he'd already decided that it could why worry about it now? The hatch opened in what used to be a supply closet in the chairman's suite. He steeled himself for the unpleasant truth that he might need to kill blameless people before he got to his target. He wasn't an assassin; even killing Mr. Trogar himself, much as it was needed, wasn't going to be a home joy. The important thing was not to freeze, not to hesitate. To acquire his target and shoot. He might only get one shot, and it was important to make it count.

  Leaning against the wall, he once again went over his stolen gun. It was a good gun, loaded, well-oiled, with an extra clip of pellets riding in the handle. The guard had taken good care of his weapon. Points for the—

  Above him and to the left, where the ongoing flight angled off the landing, there was a noise. A very slight noise, not immediately repeated, as if someone had scuffed a boot against the edge of a step.

  He went to one knee on the step, raised the gun in two hands, and waited, breathing slow. Easy...

  Another scuff, and a dim shadow on the dim wall of the landing. His finger tightened on the trigger. Silence—

  And a sudden appalling rush of sound, as a dark figure hurtled down, hitting the landing flat-footed, gun out and pointing at his head. He had a moment to feel anger, then—

  "Kore!"

  He blinked. Stared up into a pale face and dark brown eyes, short dark hair showing a blaze of gray going back from the temple.

  "Midj?" Slowly, he lowered the gun. "What the hell are you doing here?"

  "Back atcha." She lowered her own weapon and stood, a little stiffly, he thought. "But it's gonna hafta to wait. I'm supposed to be getting you out of here, to a safe place."

  He frowned. "Safe by whose standards?"

  "Woman by the name of Sambra Reallen."

  He thought about it, shook his head. "Can't trust her."

  "Can't not trust her," she countered. "She picked me up in port. Could've just as easy been the chairman, the way I hear it. She wants him gone and she don't want to 'Jinx the High Judge's play, if he has a play. Which you're supposed to tell her."

  He snorted. "She wouldn't believe me." He thought again. "How were you supposed to get me out of here?"

  "Same way I came," she said, jerking her head up the stairs. "We walk up to the roof. There's a monowing waiting to lift us out."

  "OK," he said, and came to his feet. He smiled, then, and it felt like his soul was stretched so wide it might burst a seam.

  "Midj. Thank you."

  "No problem."

  They were two steps below the fifteenth landing when the alarm sounded. Kore threw himself onto landing, fingers moving rapidly on the code bar. The panel slid open as Midj came up beside him.

  "What's going on?"

  "Damned if I know But the doors will seal in ten seconds—go!" He pushed her through and followed, into the dimness of the supply room.

  "Where are we?"

  Trust Midj to ask the question. "Chairman Trogar's office."

  "Great."

  "Could be worse. Let's see..."

  Carefully, he eased open the closet door. The receptionist's desk was empty; he could hear voices, out in the hall, and slipped forward, barely hearing Midj's curse as she followed him.

  He crept to the hall door, peered around—and abruptly gave up stealth.

  In the center of the hall, surrounded by gaping humans, stood two large green—persons. On the floor beyond them, he could see a form, a shock of white hair, a widening pool of blood, a—weapon, though what sort of weapon he scarcely knew

  The largest of the two green persons—sang. There was a flash! of pinpoint light, a snap! of sound and the weapon was molten metal, mixing with liquid red.

  There was a stifled scream from the crowd; a shifting of bodies, and then from the crowd, one stepped forward and bowed.

  "I am called Sambra Reallen Chairman Pro Tem," she said softly. "How may I serve you, Aged Ones?"

  Skeedaddle was well away, on course for Clarine, and a chat with Teyope, should he have actually happened to deliver the cargo as commissioned. At least, that's what Sambra Reallen knew. It was the least of what Sambra Reallen knew, and Midj hoped she had joy of her new status. Talk about being in a position to honor promises.

  "She'll have to be certified by the department heads." Kore sat down on the edge of the co-pilot's chair and held out a steaming cup. "'toot?"

  "Thanks." She took it, spinning her chair to face him. She drew a breath, thinking she might be about to say something, found her mouth dry, and drank some 'toot instead.

  "I wanted to say." Kore was holding his cup between both palms, staring down as if the hot liquid were a navigation screen.

  "I wanted to say—I'm sorry. I had no right to pull you into that, Midj, knowing what you—knowing what it could become. My arrogance. I thought I was ahead of the trouble."

  "Well," she said, softly. And then again, "Well."

  He looked up, amber eyes wary
. The black hair showed some shine of silver, his face marked with the lines of responsibility and worry.

  "Your plan. I mean your old plan. Is that playing out the way you'd hoped?"

  He tipped his head, considering. Had a sip of 'toot.

  "Not exactly. There were compromises needed. Somehow, I hadn't thought of there needing to be compromises. Some good people died, and I never meant that. Justice..." The ghost of a laugh. "Justice isn't always easy to cipher. I didn't expect that at all."

  He sighed.

  "That said—we've made progress. In some direction. We've introduced another player into the game, and another set of rules. Is that a good thing, a bad thing, or a null-value?" He shrugged. "Don't know."

  Right.

  Midj sipped her 'toot; used her chin to point at the board.

  "Course is set for Clarine; it's easy to change, if you're expected somewhere. Or I can set you down where you say. Or you can stay on."

  There, it was out in the open.

  Kore was looking at her like he was thinking hard.

  "Stay on?"

  "If you want to." The cup of 'toot trembled a bit in her hand, belying her attempt at a casual tone.

  She cleared her throat and met his eyes square. "Thinking over it all—I had the idea we'd been a damn good team, Kore. Had the idea we might be again, if you're wantin' it."

  She felt a moment of panic then—a moment brought on in part by twenty years of the voice in her head nagging at her in odd moments, telling her He joined up with his eyes open, Midj—they'll never let him go— "That is," she said with a challenge, "if you want it and if they'll let you..."

  A pause, getting long while he—and she—sipped at their cups. Then....

  "There isn't anything I want more," Kore said slowly. "But I—Midj, maybe we need to do this in stages. First, I gotta get back to the Judge. I've got to let him know where I am, how it is with me. And—I'd like you to meet him. Talk with him."