Guardians of Paradise

by Jaine Fenn

  Unsure whether she had heard correctly, Nual dropped her shields enough to skim the woman’s mind. The woman was the club’s proprietor; she wanted to know if Nual wished to purchase the services of one of her escorts. Nual saw that she’d misjudged the situation again; to be here alone and dressed like this implied she was rich but naïve, probably looking for what Taro might describe as a bit of rough. It was easy to forget that humans judged solely on appearances.

  She shook her head. ‘I’m here for the games.’

  The woman pointed through one of the archways. ‘In there. Good fortune to you.’

  Nual nodded and headed into a room about the same size as the bar, but far quieter. There were a couple of wheel-based games of chance to the side, but the main activity was betting on some sort of race which was being held on a table with high sides. Nual went up to the table and saw large multi-legged bugs, their backs daubed with colour, skittering along wooden runs. She made a brief attempt to reach out to the creatures’ minds, but was unsurprised to find that she was unable to influence them: the Sidhe dealt in sentience.

  As she turned to go she heard the phrase, Doesn’t compare to six-stud . She paused, looking for the speaker. A man on the opposite side of the bug-run was talking to his friend; like most of the customers they were offworlders, but a little younger than the average, and dressed with a conspicuous lack of care; neither of them were particularly handsome. She made eye-contact with the man who had spoken, just long enough to catch his attention. He stared at her, mouth open, while his companion stared at him, then followed his gaze until he too was looking at Nual.

  She smiled.

  The first man patted his companion’s arm and started to make his way around the table to her. Nual tried not to show her amusement at the effect she was having; he simply couldn’t believe his luck, to have attracted the attention of such a – and he actually thought the phrase - heavenly creature.

  When he reached her side, mildly surprised that she hadn’t bolted, he cleared his throat and asked, ‘Are you enjoying the races?’

  ‘I prefer games with bigger risks and a little more interaction,’ she said, looking at him.

  She wanted to kick herself at his predictable reaction to her comment. He wasn’t thinking of the same game as her; in fact he was so clogged up with hope and lust that he was barely thinking at all. Damn these human mating rituals.

  ‘Like six-stud,’ she added, trying to clarify the situation. Some tourists on the liner had played six-stud: it was a game of bluff, and the ability to read one’s opponents was a massive advantage.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, predictably confused. ‘Right.’

  ‘I overheard you mention it, but I’ve not found anywhere to play. Is it legal here?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ He hesitated, and she waited for him to reach the inevitable decision. ‘But . . . it does go on. In fact’ - he cleared his throat - ‘in fact we were just discussing a game that’ll be happening later tonight.’

  She leaned a little closer to him. ‘Really?’

  ‘It’s quite high stakes.’

  ‘That’s not a problem.

  ‘And legally it is a bit of a grey area—’

  ‘Also not an issue for me.’

  ‘Great. Wow. Well’ - he drew himself up - ‘I might just be able to get you in.’

  She smiled again. ‘That would be wonderful.’

  ‘I’m, um, I’m not sure about the dress.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ she said, though she’d already sensed his meaning.

  ‘It’s . . . Well it’s a great dress – a really great dress - but where we’re going it would be a bit too . . . well, conspicuous.’

  ‘Of course. When does the game start?’

  ‘The game—? Oh, I see. Midnight.’

  ‘Then if I were to get changed and come back you’d still be here?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘And you’d be willing to escort me to the game?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Then I won’t be long.’

  She picked up a taxi outside the club and went back to her hotel. After she’d changed she took a few minutes to brush up on the rules of six-stud, then headed out again. She paused on the threshold of the hotel. No cabs in sight, and a wait of six to eight minutes if she ordered one now, but the local map also showed a cut-through just up the road that would get her back to the Flotsam in five minutes. She extended her senses to check there was no one down the alley and registered the faint trace of a couple of animals; rats, probably.

  Perhaps a dozen steps in, she felt something sting the back of her neck. She slapped at what she assumed to be an insect, but an instant later a chill began to spread from that point. She whirled round, at the same time reaching out mentally, trying to locate possible enemies.

  Nothing. No presences anywhere nearby.

  The numbness was spreading fast. She stepped forward, her blades half-extended, her mind reaching out in panic: was she under attack? How could that be when there was no one there?

  She tried to kick off to activate her implants, but suddenly her body wasn’t working properly. She stumbled, barely saving herself from a fall.

  A shadow moved, and her heart skipped. She could hear nothing above her own sharp, hard breaths. She strained to see into the darkness, but the harder she looked, the more her vision began to blur.

  A second dart hit her cheek.

  The alleyway started to tilt to the side.

  Panicking now, she put all her strength into a mental compulsion, commanding whoever was out there – Stop this! Help me!

  Her mind briefly lit upon a pair of presences, before sliding off them like oil off polished metal.

  Before she could try again, her body gave out.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Jarek felt like shit. Every transit left him more strung-out; in his waking moments he was lethargic and unfocused, while his sleep was filled with nightmarish recollections of his time as the Sidhe’s prisoner or vivid reruns of his experiences on Serenein. His mind circled impotently, fretting over the unknown fates of those he cared about. If the consorts hadn’t turned up at Kama Nui yet then Kerin must have managed to defend her world against the Sidhe who’d gone to investigate the disappearance of the Setting Sun. But the Sidhe wouldn’t give up: Serenein’s fate in the long term was in his hands.

  One problem at a time: first he needed to meet up with Nual and get Taro out of trouble.

  As soon as he was in range of Kama Nui’s comnet, Jarek called Nual’s number. He wasn’t surprised when he got voicemail - it was, after all, the middle of the night in Stonetown. He scanned the local news: this morning’s breaking story was the identification by a local prostitute of a body found a few days earlier under mysterious circumstances. The man had been mentioned in one of Nual’s messages as the likely cause of Taro’s capture, so Jarek had a good idea who’d killed him.

  He flew into Stonetown at dawn. The contrast between the shining blue-green sea and the dull yellow-brown of the land was almost unreal in the brittle early light, and the rising sun turned the saltpans edging the settlement into lakes of tarnished silver. Back when his obsession had been more a sideline he’d always told himself he’d come to Kama Nui for a proper holiday some time, maybe spend a while on one of the less expensive islands. It had never occurred to him that the Sidhe might have any influence here, yet Nual was certain one of the most powerful organisations on the planet was in league with them.

  After he’d completed the formalities and registered his cargo with a local brokerage firm he visited the last address he had for Nual, a cut-price hotel where a small bribe revealed that she’d been out all night. A larger bribe gave access to her room.

  ‘Perhaps she got lucky,’ said the greasy-looking offworlder youth on the desk as he handed over the key.

  Jarek doubted it. He found a spectacular dress discarded on the bed, and Taro’s com and bone flute amongst the minimal possessions in the drawers.

  Nu
al had no way of knowing he was on Kama Nui, so until she came back to her room - or got in contact via the torturous beevee route set up to forward to the Heart of Glass - there wasn’t much Jarek could do. He decided he might as well wait here for a while, and make use of the bed to catch up on some much-needed sleep . . .

  He was lost in one of his recurring dreams, faceless enemies chasing him through corridors that got darker the faster he ran, when someone shook him awake. He blinked up at an acnecratered face, taking several seconds to remember who he was looking at and where he was. ‘What is it?’ he mumbled at last.

  ‘You wanna sleep here, you pay,’ said the boy aggressively.

  ‘God’s sakes!’ He sat up. ‘All right, I’m going. If Medame sanMalia comes back, I need you to com me.’

  ‘Now why should I do that?’ the boy sneered.

  Jarek sighed. ‘The usual reason.’ He held out his com.

  He considered trying to find some of the people Nual had named in her messages, but she’d left only a sketchy overview of her activities and he had neither the credit nor the local knowledge to go deep; he could easily get into trouble in Stonetown’s insular criminal underworld.

  However, he was used to schmoozing with spacers and port personnel - he’d chatted with a couple of the spaceport staff already. As was often the case, those working in the port considered themselves a breed apart from the locals, being made up of a mix of adventurous natives, who saw the job as the first step out of their gravity-well, and offworlders, who liked the fringe benefits of working in a place like this. Given they usually dealt with rich tourists who saw anyone in a uniform as a lower form of life, a freetrader was a welcome visitor.

  It was coming up to midday, so he made his way to the bar one of the immigration officers had mentioned. He bought lunch for himself and drinks for various port staffers, then spent a couple of hours passing on spacer gossip and asking a few questions of his own.

  One of the customs officers mentioned that his cargo was hardly worth the effort, and asked if he was actually here for a holiday. That got a few laughs, but he heard the interest behind the question, and so he admitted to an ulterior motive straight up: a pair of Angels who wanted discreet transport offworld. The ship that had brought them here hadn’t been called the Heart of Glass, and he hadn’t stayed long enough to meet anyone on the ground last time, so he was reasonably sure no one would work out he’d brought them here in the first place - and even if they did, he’d just explain that he’d changed ships recently. But no one said anything. Jarek told his new acquaintances that the Angels had offered to pay well, but neither of them was answering their coms; did anyone know anything about them?

  One of his drinking buddies mentioned a recent incident with the local wildlife: apparently two tourists had got into trouble on a sightseeing trip, but it turned out they were Angels, and they’d used their implants to avert disaster. The dramatic rescue had made the news a week or so ago. But no one knew where the pair were now.

  Stepping back out into the bright afternoon sun, he commed Nual’s hotel again, but the venal youth had no news. Jarek said he could earn himself more credit by making sure whoever came on shift next also kept a look out for their missing guest.

  He had only one course of action left, though it wasn’t something he was happy doing. Up until recently his conflict with the Sidhe had been entirely one-sided: they pursued their mysterious schemes, and he tried to glean what he could while remaining beneath their notice. Serenein had changed that, but he’d just gone to considerable effort to ensure that his cover wasn’t entirely blown as a result of what had happened there. Actually admitting some of what he knew to someone who had contact with the Sidhe went against all his instincts. But it was looking like he was the only one who could get Taro, and probably Nual, out of whatever trouble they were in.

  He picked up Nual’s latest message, but it didn’t tell him anything to make him change his plans. Then he paid a visit to a backstreet demi-tech dealer he’d overheard a customs officer talking about in less than affectionate terms. The woman who served him had a roly-poly figure but sly eyes, and she was careful not to ask any questions.

  Next he checked into a cheap hotel nowhere near Nual’s but close to the road out to the starport. He’d have liked to get some more sleep, but he didn’t have time; instead he made a com-call.

  The face that projected over his new com was that of a local man somewhat older than Jarek, with intricate geometric tattoos on his chin and brow-line. He looked predictably confused.

  Before he could say anything, Jarek said, ‘I need to speak to Marua Ruanuku. Please tell her that it is a matter both urgent and delicate.’

  ‘This is a private number: how did you get it?’ asked the man.

  ‘That’s not relevant right now. I think Medame Ruanuku will want to speak to me.’ Actually he had no idea how Nual had got hold of a direct line to the head of one of this world’s most powerful companies.

  ‘Your com ID is unregistered and your image appears to be scrambled. Who are you? What do you want?’

  ‘You can call me Sais,’ he said. The name came unprompted; he’d spent three months answering to it recently and it felt . . . comfortable. ‘And as for what I want . . . actually it’s the other way round: I have something you need.’

  ‘I doubt that—’

  ‘I understand your reaction, so I’ll come straight to the point: I have full plans and schematics for Tawhira-ngai’s primary research facility, and I am willing to pass them on to you.’ Thank you, Nual, he thought, deeply relieved she’d thought to send the data to him.

  The man’s eyes widened. ‘Ah, I see. I think—Leave your number, and someone will call you right back.’

  ‘Sorry, but no. I’ll call you back in five minutes. And when I do I’d like to speak to the head of your ngai, please.’ He cut the connection.

  Jarek’s heart was pounding. Before Serenein he’d played games of bluff and bravado only with agents and traders. Now he was starting to make a habit of doing it with planetary leaders. He hoped he hadn’t overstepped the mark this time.

  He called back five minutes later to the second and was relieved when the com image showed a middle-aged woman in a brightly coloured blouse. She had the broad, friendly face that was the common local phenotype, but she wasn’t smiling. She had similar tattoos to the man who had first answered; Jarek suspected he might be her husband.

  ‘I don’t generally talk to strangers who refuse to give a full name and then use a scrambler on their com-image,’ she said at once. ‘So you might as well just tell me straight up how much you want for the plans.’

  Cutting to the chase was fine by him; despite the assurances of the woman he’d bought it from, this com could probably be traced if the call went on for too long. ‘I don’t want money. I want two favours. The first is for you to rescue Taro sanMalia.’

  Her expression gave nothing away. ‘And what would you say if I said I had no idea who you are talking about?’

  Jarek wondered briefly if there was a way to answer without accusing her of lying, before deciding there wasn’t. ‘I’d say that I have it on good authority that you do.’ And now it was his turn to lie, or rather to guess, and hope his guess was a lucky one. ‘I also have it on good authority that you plan to return to the location where he’s being held - something you’d find a lot easier if you had full plans and security data for said location.’

  ‘Well, Sirrah “Sais”, you certainly believe yourself to be well-informed. ’

  ‘You’d be amazed what I know.’

  ‘Really?’ She looked hard at him - or rather, at his fuzzy com-image. ‘You mentioned two favours? What was the other one?’

  ‘Information, in return for which I will withhold certain information myself.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like a particularly attractive deal.’

  ‘I understand you might see it that way. However, the information I’m holding back from release to every media sour
ce on this planet regards your business associates. The - what’s the local word for them? - the hine-maku, that’s it.’

  Medame Ruanuku said nothing, and her face gave nothing away. Jarek breathed deep slow breaths and tried not to dwell on the possibility that by admitting he knew about Ruanuku-ngai’s association with the Sidhe he might have just made himself the most wanted man on the planet.

  Finally she said, ‘Even if what you claim is true, what makes you think anyone would believe such a bizarre accusation?’

  Jarek said, ‘Are you willing to take the risk?’

  Again, she was silent. Then, speaking with exaggerated care, she said, ‘I can think of only one person on this world who might have been in a position to claim such a thing.’