by Steve Perry
There was no mistaking her, even in the foggy green of the spookeyes.After all the years.As beautiful as ever. Funny, she didn't look as much like Veate as he had thought.
"E-Emile?"
"It's been a while."
"How did you—?" She stopped and grinned."Veate?"
"Yeah.She's really something. You didgood ."
"We did it."
"I hate to interrupt,"came the voice from behind Khadaji, "but I'm holding a WD shotpistol and if either of you even bats an eyelid, you're both dead."
Biolum light flared and Khadaji's spookeyes shields popped on.
Veate brought the flitter down in the nearest clear spot close to the main complex. Her father had left her a small handgun, a 4mm needier, and she held this as she left the little ship.
Maybe this wasn't such a hot idea, she thought, but she had to do something. There was enough light from burning structures so she could see. Now, which way to go looking?
She almost fainted when she heard her father's voice over the com tacked to her belt." 'Vring the flitter in 'vlasting!" he said. His voice was tight, and she realized it was a subvocalization, all quiet throat sounds.
Bring the flitter in blasting , he'd said.
He was in trouble.
There was a small garbage can-sized and -shaped din rigged with camera and sensors that Wall had saved for the direst of emergencies. He powered the robot up, put it online, and sent it to where Cteel was to meet Tone for their escape. It wouldn't do to miss the grand finale.
Along the way, the din sent back an image of Tone, heading away from the rendezvous. Wall sent the din after the man, at a discreet distance. No need to get close when the gel-eyes of the camera could zoom to a close-up from a hundred meters away.
"Turn around and let me see you peel those dartguns off, very carefully," Cteel said.
Khadaji turned slowly, spetsdod barrels pointed at the ceiling. He shifted the spookeyes back on his hood. "I can put a dart into you before you shoot me," Khadaji said calmly.
"Yeah, probably.But you're loading shocktox and if this building is still here in fifteen minutes, I'll wake up. You and the woman will bleed to death before anybody can get a vouch to you or get you into a Healy."
"Somebody will find us before you wake up."
"I'd say that's iffy, pal. Even so, I got this sucker pointed right at her head, and a brain shot or three won't leave much to work with. Best neuromedic who ever lived can't fix it if it's splattered all over the wall."
Khadaji thought about it. Sleel was watching the door; he'd come eventually, but it wouldn't do them much good. Of course, they were dead if he shucked his weapons, too. The only thing that was keeping Cteel from shootingwas knowing he couldn't do it unscathed.
"I don't plan to stand here all night," Cteel said.
He had to play it for as long as he could."All right." Slowly, Khadaji reached over and unsealed his right spets-dod, peeling up the edge of the plastic flesh. He lifted the weapon and dropped it.
"Now the other one."
He had bombs on his belt, but he'd never be able to get to them fast enough.
Bork saw the flitter come down, but he was on the other side of the compound and by the time he got there, Veate wasn't around. Had Emile called her? Or was she here on her own?
Bork couldn't stand the idea of losing her. They hadn't become lovers yet, not in the physical sense of the word, but he knew he loved her. She called to him as Mayli had done, and he couldn't go through that kind of pain again.
He pushed the hood of the shiftsuit back, and the humid night air felt good on his bare skin where it touched him.
Veate.Where are you?
Khadaji peeled the second of his spetdods free and allowed it to fall to the floor.
Cteel grinned. "Her I still need," he said. "You I don't. I never killed a hero before." He shifted his weapon so that it pointed at Khadaji's face.
"If he dies, so do you," Veate said from behind Cteel.
• • •
"Hey, isn't that our flitter?" Geneva said.
"So it is. Wonder what it's doing here? I thought we had things iced."
"She wasn't supposed to come unless Emile called."
"Yeah.Maybe we'd better go see what's up.That building, over there."
Bork saw a smallish man, one who would be forgettable in a crowd of three, moving toward the back door on the target building. Only Bork knew this face; it belonged to the man who'd been with Cteel when he'd taken Juete. Well, well. Wonder where he thinks he's going?
Wall's remote eyes saw the big matador following Tone. Not good for Tone, to be sure. Nor Cteel, if he was around, as certainly he must be. He was Tone's exit pass, he and the albino woman, and why would he be going there if they weren't still inside? He didn't have a battery-operated camera in the woman's room; too bad.
It looked, however, as if Tone and Cteel were about to reach the end of their usefulness.
Cteel spun, firing the shotpistol—
Too quickly.The first round punched a dozen fingertip-sized holes in the hall wall, angled in a widening fan pattern along the wall's length. The boom was deafening in the enclosed space—
Instinctively, Veate ducked and crouched away from the shot, raising the needier. She was not very good with guns. The little neediertwanged twice, but both spikes went high and wide to Cteel's right—
Khadaji was already moving, leaping at Cteel's back—
The door behind Veate opened and a man stepped in, raising a weapon—
Khadaji slammed into Cteel with all his weight, arms circling around his neck in a simple tackle that knocked the man to the floor. Cteel's biolum flew, casting pale moving shadows, and landed on the floor.
The shotpistol went off again—
The man in the doorway pointed his weapon at Veate—
Bork stepped in behind the man and brought his fist down on top of the man's head.Hard. "No, you don't," Bork said. The man fell as if his legs had vanished—
There came two muffledwhumps . Khadaji felt Cteel vibrate under his grip, and blood oozed from the man's ears. What—?
He moved back and turned Cteel over. Blood also came from the man's nostrils and eyes. His expression was one of intense pain, of terror. After a few seconds, he went limp.
"This one's dead," Bork said. "Sorry, I didn't mean to hit him so hard."
Khadaji stood, glanced at the other corpse, and shook his head. "It wasn't you.Some kind of minibomb in his skull. Same thing happened to Cteel here." He nodded at the body.
"Mother!"
Veate ran to her mother and they embraced.
Behind Bork, Dirisha and Geneva arrived. "This aprivate party or can anybody play?"
"Mother, this is Bork," Veate said.
"Hi," Bork said."Nice to meet you. I, uh, love your daughter." He glanced over at Khadaji. "If that's okay?"
Khadaji laughed. He and Juete exchanged looks.
Sleel sauntered down the hall. "I got better things to do than sit around out there waiting for you guys to finish taking care of business," he said. "Are we done here?"
"Yes," Khadaji said. "We're done. Except I've got to go see a computer about a man."
"Huh?" Sleel said. "Veate will explain it," he said.
Chapter Twenty-Six
THE FLITTER DIDN'T have the capability to reach orbit, but Khadaji had access to a ship that did, courtesy of Rajeem. He flew to the spaceport at Fortaleza on the coast and found the little vessel, a six-passenger lighter formerly owned by the captain of a deep space liner, now owned by the Republic.
The captain's tastes had apparently run to the plush side—most of the inside surfaces were carpeted in dahlteen, and to step onto it was to sink to the ankles in the soft green furlike material.
Khadaji checked the launch window he needed, found he had less than ten minutes, and so didn't have much time to worry about what he was going to do. He plugged in his orbit request and he rechecked for the fifth time the small pack he'
d brought with him from the flitter. This would be a tricky operation, no doubt of that, and a mistake would probably be fatal. So many things he had done over the years would have been fatal, had his luck not been strongly good. He had cheated death dozens of times, but that did not mean he could take it as a given. A man needed only one fatal mistake to end the game.
The traffic computer gave him a three-minute launch warning, and Khadaji turned his attention to making certain the lighter's systems were all functioning properly. The previous owner's logo still graced all the computer reads, and apparently the Republic hadn't gotten around to reprogramming the system. Jacob's Ladder, it was named. Khadaji didn't know what the significance of the lighter's name was.
"Launch in one minute," the computer said.
Khadaji vocally affirmed the notice. What a convoluted trip this had been.About to be over, one way or another. At least Juete was safe. And he had come to know a daughter, no small accomplishment.
"Launch in ten seconds. Counting to one. Nine. Eight. Seven."
Khadaji took a deep breath. Five seconds later,Jacob'sLadder took him into the heavens.
He was coming, Wall knew, just as he had known all along. He didn't have the vessel located yet, but he surely would soon. Most of his not inconsiderable attention was turned to tracking everything he could see leaving the Earth. There were hundred of ships, but most of those could be ignored. Within a matter of seconds, Wall had narrowed down the possibilities to a handful. Of course, other ships were leaving all the time, and those were also observed and plotted. The handful waxed and waned as destinations were logged or arrived at. No ship claimed a matching orbit with Wall's own, but he hardly expected Khadaji to announce it that blatantly.
If I were him, I would move into a higher or lower orbit and work my way down or up, Wall thought.
With that idea, he expanded possibilities.
He was coming; hehad to be coming. The bait had been taken, the game had run its course when the albino had been retrieved, and all the tactics Wall had used were narrowed down to the final moves of the game. Khadaji had to come because of who and what he was. He had been given sufficient clues to solve the puzzle, albeit the clues had been oblique enough to make it difficult. Wall knew what made the man work; he had studied every scrap of information available on him, including his own brief meeting before it all fell apart. Khadaji was a hero; he wore the psychologically flawed psyche like a cape, he was a slave to fair play and the belief that the universe was an innatelygood place. Khadaji made it a point not to kill during his revolution, not with his own hands. He could have snuffed Wall like a flickstick when first they'd met, but he had not; he had given Wall a chance to consider the error of his ways. What a fool. True, he had engineered the assassination later, but even so, he had chosen as his tool someone who would have gladly killed Wall on her own, had she possessed the means.
Of course, the Republic had enough weaponry to blow Wall out of the skies, yawning all the while, but it would not happen that way—at least not until it was too late. No, Khadaji would feel the need to confront him, thinking that he somehow would prevail. He would walk into the den to beard the lion, certain of his own invulnerability, positive he would triumph. That would be his last error. The lion would take his soul.
Come to me, hero. Come and meet your match at last. I will not make the same mistake I made before.
Wall stole a few seconds from his concentration to construct a brief affair with another of his delicate flowers. Soon, he would be able to hunt for them in the flesh again. It was his most pleasant thought.
What a garden he would sow!
• • •
The first orbit Khadaji hung was tricky. It had to be exact, the speed and angle could not be off, and he could hold it for only seventy seconds at the most. If he could not manage what he needed to do by then, he would have to break it and try again.
It took sixty-nine seconds to accomplish his task.
Still shaving things right to the edge, eh?
Well, said his little interior voice, a second is as good as an eon, if you succeed.
Yeah, and as good as forever if you fail.
Jacob'sLadderscooted from the first orbit and spiraled outward.
Wall checked his input, crosschecked, and crosschecked again. He ran all the numbers, crunched all the data, and became satisfied with his conclusion:
There he was!
The ship was matching his orbit and moving closer, past the Duralum Wall, and there was nothing else within a dozen klicks with which to rendezvous.
Wall had an armory built into his vessel, of course. He couldn't wear battleship plate on the outside without arousing suspicion, but nobody could see what hid behind the standard ship-sandwich skin.
Tracking lasers and railguns could come into action in less time than it took a man to blink. He could knock Khadaji's little ship to pieces with less effort than solving a nine-level spakulus equation, had that been his desire. Of course, that wasn't part of the plan, but in the remote chance that Khadaji brought help, Wall had the means to protect himself, at least for a while. He could go out in a blaze of glory.
He had no intention of so doing, however; he was certain he was right, and so it seemed. Khadaji's ship was alone, and there were no other vessels within close range. He continued to track anybody who might venture near, of course, but he was certain he was right.
The ship drew nearer. It rolled to match its docking plate with Wall's. Wall allowed it to come.
This was the one variable about which he could not be positive. Out here against the black of space with the needle points of the stars and planets unblinking, there was a slight chance—very slight—that Khadaji might be willing to sacrifice himself to take Wall with him. Get within range, trigger a backpack nuke, and die in the fireball that would shatter both ships.
But, no.Not until he had a chance to talk, to see if Wall had a way out. It wouldn't do him any good to destroy the ship if there might be another computer hidden somewhere, ready to take over. There was not, but Khadaji couldn't know that for sure. And once he thought he knew, it would be too late.
The smaller ship, tiny against the bulk of Wall's, neared the dock. Wall extruded the link.
Come into my web, foolish fly.
When Khadaji stepped into Wall's domain, Wall stood there waiting for him. A holoproj, of course, as good as any he'd ever seen. Just as he remembered Wall from years before: dark skin, blue eyes, black hair. He looked a fit forty T.S., and the image wore red silk and platinum fittings. He was braced by a pair of vaguely anthropomorphic dins, man-high, with heads and arms, each pyramiding to a wheeled base.
"Well, well," Wall said. "The hero arrives." Khadaji still had his spetsdods, but they wouldn't do him any good against the holographic Wall or the dins. He could have loaded explosive pellets but he was sure that he wouldn't have been allowed on the ship if he had been carrying any weaponry that might cause major damage. He'd recognized HO scanners, bomb and poison sniffers, and fluoproj gear in the lock.
His one hidden ace was partially scan shielded, but wasn't a weapon in the real sense—it occupied the slot normally taken by his left spetsdod's magazine.
"Marcus Jefferson Wall," Khadaji said.
"Not exactly in the flesh, but, yes."
"You are very resourceful."
"Especially considering that I am dead, eh?" Wall waved his hand and the ship rocked slightly.
"If you were planning on using anything in your ship in this encounter, think again," Wall said. "I've just kicked it loose and already it is on its way into deep space."
"You've gone to a lot of trouble just to get me here."
"No trouble at all. I've had a lot of free time on my hands of late. Care for something to eat or drink? I don't have much use for it myself these days, it's not very fresh, but I can have one of the dins thaw something."
"A last meal?"
"I am civilized."
"I'll pass."
&n
bsp; "This way, then."He turned, flanked by the dins, and walked away.
Khadaji followed him. He glanced at his chronograph.
Wall led him to a wide door that slid back to reveal an operating theater. The centerpiece was a sealed unit the size of a small room.
"A Healy?"
"Of course.Only the best.You'll have questions now."
"And you will give me answers?"
"Why not?It won't matter, and as I said, I am civilized.Even to my enemies."
"I think I've got most of it," Khadaji said. "Stop me if I go wrong."
Wall smile.
"After you were assassinated, this ship became fully operational."
"Yes. The recordings run right up to the moment of my death. My old friend Cteel, a later incarnation of whom you met, was my security computer at the time. He kept the attacking forces out of my sanctum long enough to finish the final transfer."
"What took you so long to begin this operation? It has been five years."
"Well, I had some learning to do. Plus there was the question of reversing the technology that put me here.Rome wasn't built in a day, you know."
"And I was always the goal?"
"From the first.It is only fitting, don't you think?"
"I could have been dead or injured."
"The Man Who Never Missed? Hardly. I needed to draw you out; you were hidden rather well, I must confess I could not find you."
"And all the rest of it was just to keep us off balance."
"Yes. With the Republic running around putting out a lot of little fires, it kept them out of my hair, so to speak. I merely had to make sure my timing was right for the main show."
"You could have done it all so much easier."
"Of course.But when one has a muscle, one uses it. It hardly seems fair to waste such brainpower as I have in a straightforward manner. Much like playing fugue, the fun comes in the indirectness. Occam's Razor is such a bore when you control millions of blades."
Khadaji nodded. "And you think I'm stupid enough to walk into your trap unprepared, knowing what you intend?"
"Dear boy, no. Iknew you would come, but I also figured you would have some kind of inept and inane plan to save yourself. My scanning gear is second to none, much better than what I had on Earth. You have nothing with you that can hurt me. A poison spew won't slow my dins a microsecond, they are sealed against corrosives, and I already know that you don't have any inert components that can combine to make either, anyhow. I, on the other hand, could flood this ship with sleepgases should I so choose.
