Blood Orbit_A Gattis File Novel

by K. R. Richardson

  “Shielded,” Dillal muttered as they moved toward the lifts after their check on the room.

  “What?”

  “The guest rooms in this hotel are constructed to resist sensor scans. I can get response in some of the spectra, but not all. It’s difficult to tell if anyone is inside.”

  “The powerful are paranoid about their private spaces and this hotel caters to them. I should have thought about the sensor problem, though,” Matheson said, annoyed with himself.

  “No. That should have fallen on me, as it affects me and not you. But the shielding may not be an issue on the floors under construction.”

  They took the lift up as far as it would go and then returned to the stairs to access the unfinished towers.

  The lock override was unnecessary.

  “Not too secure,” Matheson noted.

  “But exactly why Tchintaka chose it. It looks intimidating and gave him a hiding place with access to everything he could want. You notice there aren’t as many monitors in this hotel either.”

  Matheson nodded. He’d never considered going unobserved a luxury—much less an irritation—before.

  Only two of the new stories had been enclosed yet—the rest were still raw limbs carefully dressed in temporary surfacing to make the view more attractive for those whose windows looked toward the White.

  Matheson and the inspector exited the stairs to the lower of the two enclosed floors. The space was shuttered and dark, though a few errant beams of gray light passed the edges of windows. Dillal preceded Matheson, stepping to the right as he cleared the door. Matheson came through looking the other way, shock box in his hand, and they continued deeper into the unfinished story.

  It wasn’t like the old stack where they’d caught Orris—there was nothing growing down the dense walls and the ambient sound was caused by the constant wind brushing and tapping at the exterior, sending echoes and whispers through the hollows of unfinished rooms. Their own steps seemed loud.

  Matheson heard the door lock behind them and shot a glance at Dillal, who shook his head and tapped his chest. Well . . . if he can do it with his own office, what’s to stop him manipulating any lock connected to the GISA security system? But it left Matheson a little unsettled.

  They walked on, checking rooms as quietly as possible until the inspector drew to a halt and stood still, listening intently. Then he closed his eyes and took a breath, frowning in thought. He opened his eyes and looked around the corridor they were standing in until his gaze settled on a pair of doorways side-by-side. He studied them, tilting his head, and motioned Matheson toward the empty one on the left. Matheson advanced with careful steps as Dillal moved to the doorway on the right, in which a door had already been hung.

  They went through their doorways at the same time, Dillal’s door making a click and a bang as it hit the wall.

  The room ahead of Matheson was bare but for a pile of security crates and construction materials, the raw subfloor stretching to the floor-to-ceiling glass that wrapped that section of the building. The clouds outside barely illuminated the room at that end. He turned back, noticing how much darker the entry seemed now by comparison, and saw a connecting door in the wall between the two rooms.

  From the room beyond, he heard a rustle, a scuffle and a crunch, and an aborted word.

  Matheson went through the connecting door low and fast, with the shock box close in front of him. The door slammed shut behind him.

  Dillal stood straight and still a meter or so into the room with his head tilted slightly back and his compact shock box smashed on the floor at his feet. Matheson stopped and frowned into the darkness around the inspector.

  “Be still, heh?”

  It wasn’t Dillal who’d spoken but someone in the shadows. Someone who had one arm across the inspector’s windpipe from behind. The man couldn’t see the faint smile that crooked the inspector’s mouth. This wasn’t quite as planned—or not the plan Dillal had discussed with Matheson—but the situation was salvageable if neither of them got killed.

  “You’re lay it down,” the shadowed figure ordered. Dreihleen inflection ran the words together into “late’down.” Dillal stumbled a step out of the darkened entry so the weak light fell on the long, narrow chamber of a pen torch pressed to the inspector’s temple. The man behind him was a head taller than Dillal and still hard to see in the gloom, but Matheson recognized Tchintaka nonetheless.

  “You won’t kill him, because then there wouldn’t be anything in between you and me,” Matheson said, “and you know I’m fast.”

  “You’re assume I’m want to leave. But I’m where I like.” His language was as carefully articulated as his speech in the Dreihleat had been. “This trick with the door lock—you’re do that?” he asked, casting his gaze down at Dillal and jerking his arm against the inspector’s throat.

  Dillal gagged a little but didn’t answer.

  The wind rattled the glass outside.

  “I’m not need to kill you, Cousin,” Tchintaka said, and twisted the pen torch toward Matheson, touching the igniter only long enough for a white-hot dot to flash at the tool’s mouth. Dillal yelled and jerked his head aside as the intense heat burned the red hair and tawny skin high above his right ear. The stink turned Matheson’s stomach. Tchintaka glanced at him. “Lay it down, or it’s get worse for him.”

  Matheson let his shock box fall to the floor.

  Tchintaka smirked and turned his attention back to Dillal. “So you’re tell me about the doors.” He tapped the end of the pen torch against the inspector’s singed skin.

  Dillal winced. “It’s an extension of GISA’s lock override—if the doors are linked to the system, I can control them—even the emergency bars on the inside.”

  “You’re can do that here?”

  Dillal considered his answer a moment, then said, “Yes.”

  “You’re control who comes, who goes.”

  “Up to a point.”

  “That’ll be enough.” Tchintaka raised his head to regard Matheson for a moment. “You’re leave. I’m keep Djepe a little longer. You’re tell Director Pritchet I’ve everyone here and I’m wish to speak to all people of Gattis so they’re know what the corporation does to them. You’re only the one may come and go. They’re try to trick me, lie to me, one of these people’re die here. And on and on until there’re none left.” He glanced at Dillal. “Including him, though I’m hate to kill my cousin who’d once believe as I do.”

  “Your beliefs are offensive,” Dillal said, “and dishonor the courtesy of ‘Cousin.’”

  “Hush.” Tchintaka turned his attention back to Matheson. “You’re bind him and leave the box. We’re use his mobile to talk.”

  Matheson drew back. “Bind him?”

  Tchintaka raised his eyebrows in amusement. “You’re have binders—use them. Or I’m kill you both.”

  “It’s best if you don’t,” Dillal said without heat. “If you want out of this, you need a bargaining chip and I’m all you have. Dead hostages are worth nothing.”

  “You’re think I’ve no plan? I’m not unprepared. There’s gas here and there—not fool enough to tell you where—and weapons more than this.”

  “You have no allies left. Banzet has turned against you, Zanesh is safe, and Orris jumped out system hours ago. Everyone else who helped you is dead. There is nowhere on this planet you can run and no way off it—not for you.”

  “There’s still Norenin, still Dreihleen. The people won’t betray me.” He spun Dillal to face him and pushed the pen torch to his right eye. “’Twould be a pity to blind your Dreihleen eye as well, more so to kill you. You’re not wise to force me, Djepe.” He glanced over Dillal’s head to Matheson. “You’re fix his hands behind him. I’ve fair idea what he can do, left free.”

  The message indicator on Matheson’s mobile lit as he closed the distance.

  Tchintaka looked intrigued and plucked the Peerless out of Matheson’s shirt as the SO reached for the inspector’s wris
ts.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Matheson murmured, frustrated, and uncomfortable about restraining his whip.

  “It hardly matters. At least I don’t have to swim this time,” Dillal replied.

  Swim? Fear lurched in Matheson’s chest. It’s barely been two hours—he can’t be losing himself already . . .

  “Tighter,” Tchintaka said, glancing away from the mobile.

  Matheson cinched the cuffs as tight as was safe and glared at Tchintaka, who held out the mobile.

  “You’re show me the message.”

  Matheson swiped past the lock screen and the message—red flagged and blinking—appeared. Tchintaka read it to himself. “Director Pritchet’s raging.” He chuckled, caught Matheson’s eye, and smiled—the confident, intimate smile he’d offered to each person in the crowd that then became a mob. It only chilled Matheson. “You’re best go, tell him what goes here. Heh?” Tchintaka handed the mobile back and moved deeper into the room, dragging the inspector along and keeping him between himself and Matheson. “Go!”

  Matheson glanced at Dillal, who gave a minuscule nod. Then he stepped back and crushed the shock box under his foot.

  Tchintaka swore, but Matheson bolted and slammed the door as he left and no one pursued him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Day 7: Cove Quay—Morning

  Matheson sent a message to Pritchet as he made his way out of the building, hearing the doors lock behind him every step of the way. He exited by the hotel’s front door and the sound of the locks was like a gunshot in his ears. The quay didn’t seem much different as he walked away from the building, but rounding a corner brought him face-to-face with two SOs and a handful of out-system troops. Merry hell . . .

  “Matheson?” the SO closest to the front asked. Matheson didn’t recognize him—but he didn’t know every ofiçe in S-Office.

  Matheson nodded and reached for his ID, but the SO waved it off. “I believe you. Director Pritchet wants to speak to you and Inspector Dillal immediately.”

  “How did you get here? I mean, why are you in this particular place?”

  “White Hotel security system sent an alert. Pritchet thought it was probably to do with you and your whip—where is he?”

  “Captive. The whole hotel is locked down and unsafe to approach.”

  “Then you need to come with us.”

  Matheson didn’t argue. This wasn’t the outcome he’d expected, though he thought Dillal might have. His mobile pipped as the SOs walked him to a skimmer.

  He glanced down. The mobile indicated a message from Dillal. How . . . ? Matheson frowned and opened it.

  The text was hastily formatted and a bit jumbled, but he was able to read it: “Voice ping @ 1110. Will hear not respond. Monitor my outgoing voice stream. Record discreetly.”

  Like when he was diving to the transport—Dillal could hear if someone called, but he wouldn’t be able to talk back. Matheson wasn’t sure how the inspector’s trick of sending directly to the datastream worked without the mobile or a microphone, but the voice ping should open a channel. As long as Dillal intercepted it and not Tchintaka, it might work. Matheson had to assume the inspector had a plan for that, too, and hoped the stream wouldn’t be loud enough for Pritchet to hear if Matheson was still with him when it came up. He set up the ping on auto.

  Pritchet was displeased, but kept Matheson away from the few media-heads who still lingered in the office—most had rushed to the quay to investigate rumors of the hotel’s security flag.

  Matheson had no time to wait for Pritchet to wind down, so he utilized Callista’s first line of attack and talked over him. “The White Hotel is locked down—let all the personnel and the media in the area know it’s unsafe to approach or attempt to enter the building through any door or window. Inspector Dillal is in Tchintaka’s company—”

  “Company? A hostage, you mean,” Pritchet snapped.

  “As are all the guests in the hotel. Tchintaka claims to have gas and weapons at his disposal and I think it’s wise to assume he’s telling the truth, considering he’s had two days or more to prepare. He wants planetary broadcast access. He seems to have something he wants to say before he’ll let anyone go. And he says he’ll kill people—including Dillal—if he doesn’t get what he wants, or is interfered with.”

  “This should have been an easy arrest, but now it’s a blighted stand-off. You and Dillal—”

  “Had nothing to do with that. This isn’t what we wanted, but in the changing scenario, it plays to our need. Tchintaka will want everyone to know what he’s done for his cause. I think he knows he can’t walk free, but he’ll let people live so long as he’s getting what he wants. Tchintaka doesn’t realize how Dillal’s already manipulated him, and as long as the inspector’s alive, the doors remain locked and everyone’s safe. When Tchintaka’s done, Dillal will bring him out.”

  “You have no guarantee of that.”

  “No, but the alternative is to storm the hotel and hope Tchintaka’s less prepared than he says. You know the White is jointly owned by the corporation and out-system investors with a lot of political pull in Central Senate. The guests are pretty much the same mix. You don’t want to get them killed with the media from half the known worlds watching.” And we need them watching, so long as it plays out in our favor.

  Pritchet glowered at him. “You are a Matheson through and through. Blast you.”

  “I’m trying to help you. Arrange for the broadcast stream he wants.”

  “And you will be the deliveryman to keep him distracted while backup moves in.”

  “Backup?” Matheson asked with a cynical laugh. “You mean those ground troops.”

  “I don’t have a choice. If the cooperation you advise is unsuccessful, the hotel still needs to be evacuated somehow. Dillal’s override is executive level, which means there aren’t many of us who can take it down and none of them are as expendable as he is. So there will be a breach team. There will be a perimeter, snipers—whatever it takes to make sure the area is under our control and we can go in when necessary, without letting this get any further out of hand.”

  “If necessary. Not before. I can guarantee that precipitous action will kill the inspector and as many civilians as Tchintaka can reach.”

  “It’s a last resort, but it has to be in place.”

  “Do you have no faith in the man?”

  “Faith is for fools,” Pritchet spat. “If this plan doesn’t work, there will be nothing else I can do. I have to let the media at it if that stream is going out and I have to protect the rest of Angra Dastrelas at the same time. This could ruin me, so I have to be in position to salvage what I can.”

  “Salvage. Like the bits and pieces in Dillal’s head?”

  Pritchet lifted his lip in a condescending sneer. “Those won’t matter if this falls apart, so you, Eric, had better pray to any god you can think of that Dillal pulls this off, and soon.”

  Pritchet’s not as confident as he pretends, but neither am I. “Get me the equipment for the broadcast, and he will.” I hope.

  Pritchet narrowed his eyes. “Central Media will bring it to you back at the scene. And you had best be right.”

  The mobile in Matheson’s shirt pipped as the voice ping went out and he wondered how quickly the situation—and the inspector—would unravel.

  Even with blackening clouds overhead, the view back toward Casino Archon was breathtaking from the new levels of the hotel’s south tower. The sweep of the quay like pale arms embraced azure water that deepened to sapphire as the light changed and the wind ruffled the surface into rills and foam-capped peaks. Tchintaka stared toward the scurrying people below—ground troops, media observers, tourists, and locals surging together like the waves in the cove—with an amused expression.

  “Like insects,” he said, “when hive’s disturbed. I’m cat that’s eat the children, am I not?”

  “I expect they don’t know what to make of you at all,” Dillal replied from his place si
tting against the wall beside the window. His hands were still behind him, clasped to his forearms to protect the ID array on his wrist. Above his head a small bump in the ceiling covered the room’s secure communications node that hung separated from the shielded walls.

  “Why’s that? You’re think monsters can’t recognize doom?”

  “Is that how you see yourself? The doom of the system?”

  “Is what I’m make of myself, Cousin. How’re you see it?”

  Dillal scoffed. “As if my opinion of you matters.”

  Tchintaka squatted down in front of Dillal and squinted at him. “It does. Or did, once.” He patted one hand against his chest. “Your pursuit’s hurt my heart.”

  Dillal glanced through the glass at the troops on the roof of Emporia and, farther away, a handful of them mixing with the media observers on the roof of the casino. “Move away from the window, Oso, or someone may shoot you.”

  Tchintaka shuffled to Dillal’s far side and smiled. “You’re care if I’m die.”

  “No. I don’t care if you die—you will one way or another—but I care that others have died and more may because of you. I did believe as you did, years ago when we met in Agria, but I’ve learned more, read the charter, the history, the books, tempered my anger to a more humane resolve. I didn’t track you down because of your political belief, but because you murdered sixteen people, and sent two more to die in the camps. If there is a monster in this, it’s you.”

  Tchintaka looked bemused. “Was given no choice. Denny’s killed Venn.” He shrugged. “What’s justice for that? We’re all should hang for him?”

  Dillal shook his head and turned his gaze away from Tchintaka. “None of it was necessary. You could have walked away from the Paz da Sorte with only Leran dead and no one would have turfed you for it. You could have opened the jasso door to that young ofiçe you just met—he was on patrol that night—and Robesh would have said you protected her from Leran and the rest would have said nothing if you returned the money. You knew this. You knew how Leran felt about Robesh. You knew she would be there, and you knew what could happen. None of the events of that night was beyond your control.”