Rada's stomach sank. "Do you know why their relationship was strained?"
"He thought she worked too hard when she should have been caring for Dinah. Resented having to shoulder the load himself."
"I see." Rada couldn't bring herself to make eye contact. "Well, the people who knew him. Would you mind drawing up a list?"
The woman nodded, got her device from the coffee table, and started tapping its cracked screen. A minute later, she looked up sharply. "Look, this is a long shot."
Rada leaned forward. "Lately, that's the only kind of shot we've had."
"Well, this part of the warren, it's pretty close to the surface. But there's another place. Way down deep. We're supposed to go there if there's ever an attack or an asteroid or anything that could compromise the upper level."
"The kind of place a rabbit would hide if it saw a hawk."
"Renters have communal shelters. But everyone who owns a hole gets a cabin of their own." Xixi got up and shuffled to a dresser. "Got the key around here somewhere."
"Do you think there might be something there?" Simm said. "Something Jain left?"
"I don't know. After we moved in, I haven't been to it since."
After a detailed search, she located the key—a small magnet set to the same frequency as the lock—and transferred the list of Pip's friends to Rada's device. At the door, Rada thanked her, smiling wanly. Xixi nodded, expressionless, and closed the door.
They started off to the elevator to the shelters. Simm glanced back down the tunnel. "Well, that was depressing."
"But we've got something. That's worth every moment, isn't it?"
"No doubt."
She felt lighter than she had in days, and it wasn't just the undemanding Martian gravity. As they navigated the tunnels with the aid of her device, moving deeper and deeper into the warren, she told herself that there was a good chance the shelter was nothing more than coincidence. Even if there was an answer in it, like Xixi had said, it would probably turn out to be nothing more than Jain reminding herself of better days.
There was hope, though. It sounded like Jain Kayle had been devoted to her work. To the point of alienating her own kids. Tragic, to be sure. But it gave Rada the idea that Jain would not allow her life's work to be lost.
The tunnels grew dim, quieter yet. Even when they opened on large caverns, the spaces were subdued, occupied by worn-looking people drinking from bottles and fiddling with their devices. Rada hurried along.
Two turns later, Simm slowed, gazing behind them. He murmured, "I think we're being followed."
"By who?"
"Not sure. Do you want me to go ask?"
Simm being Simm, she took a second to ensure he was being sarcastic. She forced herself not to look back. "Have we committed any crimes since getting here?"
"To the contrary, we've been model visitors."
"Then we can reasonably assume that crimes are about to be done to us." She detached the button-sized camera from her device, breathed on its back to activate its adhesive, and thumbed it to the wall. "Let's get a look, shall we?"
Simm bit his lip. "Why don't we call the cops?"
"Because they won't get here in time. But if it makes you feel better, go ahead."
"That sure doesn't make me feel better," he mumbled, punching something into his device. "How about we hurry?"
"I don't think there's any getting out of this," she said. "Not when it's their turf. But if you've got ideas, I've got ears."
They turned another corner. At their current pace, Rada's device estimated they were less than three minutes from the elevator, but the system was so old it wouldn't allow her to summon it to be ready on their arrival.
Her video feed flashed, insistent. She switched over. The wall-mounted camera showed four figures striding down the tunnel, faces concealed by the red-orange bandanas favored by Martians whenever there was a chance they'd be exposed to the planet's powdery dust. She thought they all had male builds. One carried a pipe or a club. The others appeared unarmed, but that didn't mean much. They swept past the camera in perfect silence and turned down the same corner Rada and Simm had taken seconds before.
"Too late," she said. "Hope you're wearing your scrapping shoes."
Simm turned around and glared down the hallway. It was dim and slightly curved. "This is outrageous. What do they want with us?"
"They look like hoods—or someone who wants us to think they're hoods."
"Armed?"
"It's a safe bet."
They planted themselves in the tight hall, spaced three feet apart. The four men rounded the corner. Eyes glittered above the bandanas. Two of the men flicked out batons, the heavy synthetics clicking into place.
One of them took a step forward. A beard bristled beneath his orange bandana. "Let's not make this hard."
"Agreed," Rada said. "In my pocket, there's a card. On the card, I've got four hundred and change. Here's my proposal: I give you the card, you turn around and walk away."
"You can't just give him your card," Simm said. "What'd he do to deserve it?"
The man narrowed his eyes. Rada rolled hers. "Simm, the sooner this is over, the sooner we can resume the rabbit hunt."
Simm folded his arms at the hoods' leader. "In that case, I insist you take the card."
"Four hundred," the man said.
Rada nodded. "And change."
"Pretty good haul for fifteen minutes of work," Simm said.
The man turned to his crew. "What do you think?"
To his left, a short man lifted his nose to the air and sniffed. "Hey. Hey, Pads. You smell that?"
"What've you got?"
The short man inhaled deeply. "Smells like money."
The leader frowned, sniffed. "Know what? I think you're right." He turned to Rada. "We'll take all of it. Cards. Devices. Everything you got."
"You're one shitty fortuneteller," Rada said. "And I'm rescinding my offer. Here's my new one: walk away with nothing."
"Okay," the bearded man said. "Let's show them how we do in Neucali."
His crew advanced like they'd choreographed it. Rada's heart shrank. She lowered her stance and raised her hands. The bearded man jerked his chin at the short man, who shuffled toward Rada. The other three, including both of the guys with batons, headed for Simm.
Sadly for them, they would have been better off coming at him unarmed. Simm was every bit as nerdy for Rainese fighting as he was for his space empire simulation games.
A man came at him, swinging the baton down at a three-quarter angle. Simm shifted toward it and lazily whipped his forearms at the incoming weapon, keeping his arms so loose that he seemed to be trying to throw his fingertips across the room. The baton cracked into his arms a short ways above the elbow. He dropped his left palm, grabbing the arrested baton, and swung a right backfist at the man's face.
The punch landed with a thud. The man groaned. Something small and white tumbled through the air and clattered on the stone floor.
Then Rada stopped paying attention, because the little dude was coming at her, and he suddenly looked very serious.
He shuffled, feinted, and threw a left jab at her jaw. Rada sidestepped stiffly. She had practiced just enough with Simm to recognize the short man had some training. She was either going to have to hang on until Simm finished with the others, or put the guy down before his advantage in skill won out.
He jabbed again. She slapped at his fist, knocking it to the side of her head. He threw a right, stepping into the punch; she pulled the same trick, deflecting it with her right hand. As soon as she did so, opening a hole in her guard, he drove a left hook into her gut.
The wind left her in a whoosh. Beside her in the dim tunnel, a baton struck bone with a distinctive crack. The yelp that followed was not Simm's. Two men fell back and Simm followed them in.
The short man hit her a second time. Her stomach was clenched, but it still hurt. She dropped, gasping for air, unable to get more than a tiny swallow past her un
cooperative throat.
Her opponent was wearing shorts. His shins were almost white, speckled with dark hairs. As he drew back his right leg to kick her in the head, she clamped her teeth down on his left calf.
He shrieked, jerked, and fell. Rada tasted warm iron. She released her jaw, spitting blood, and swayed to her feet. The short man clenched his leg and swore. Rada's diaphragm had finally quit squeezing her and she took deep gulps of air. Her opponent scrabbled away, finding his feet.
Behind him, Simm knocked his last foe to the ground, spun, and charged the short man. He jabbed the hood in the kidney. The man yelled and staggered. Simm grabbed his wrist and bent up his arm, forcing the man to point his face at the ground.
Simm shoved his baton across the man's elbow. "Who do you work for?"
"Pads," the man said. "Guy who's snoring behind you."
Simm bore down harder. "Who?"
"Sonny Marbles!" the short man gasped.
Rada pulled the name up on her pad. "He's local. Nobody chased us here, if that's what you're thinking."
"That's a relief." Simm released the man, then struck him in the gut, crumpling him. "Now where are those damn cops?"
~
It was another ten minutes before the authorities rolled in on their closed-roofed cart. They cuffed the thugs who were conscious and lifted those who weren't into the cart's back. A second vehicle carried Rada and Simm down to the station, which was blindingly bright after the dark tunnel. The cop who took their statement was overweight and had a habit of holding his elbows straight out to the side as if he were trying to balance plates on them.
"You said you're from the Hive," he said.
Rada nodded. "That's right."
"And that you were on your way to the Sanctuary."
"That's right."
"Problem," the cop said. "Only residents of Neucali are allowed in the Sanctuary."
"We have a resident's permission," Rada said. "Xixi Wells. Check with her."
"Think I'll do that." He reached for his device, called up Xixi, held a brief conversation, then clicked off and eyed Rada. "Why do you want to go to the Sanctuary?"
"We think one of your former residents may have left something in his shelter. Something his mom was asking for."
He frowned. "And if I call Ms. Wells back, she'll confirm this?"
"The resident in question is her ex-boyfriend."
"This sounds about a hundred times more convoluted than I'm obliged to care about." The man breathed out, deflating. "Officer Barres will escort you down. For your safety."
"What about the hoods?" Simm said. "Will you need us for the trial?"
"Trial?" The cop hooted. "You already beat them to hell and gone. You think we're gonna waste space boarding those idiots?"
Simm frowned. Officer Barres showed them out, loaded them into a cart, and brought them to the elevators down to the Sanctuary. At the bottom, an open airlock fed them into blank tunnels gritty with dust. He led them to Xixi's auxiliary apartment and Rada keyed open the lock.
The shelter consisted of three rooms: a bedroom, a bathroom, and a combined kitchenette/lounge. Sheets and linens waited in vacuum-sealed bags. So did the food. Rada made a quick sweep, turning up nothing else, then reconvened in the lounge with Simm.
She brushed dust from her pants. "See anything?"
"Nope."
"Check the computer."
"That was the first place I looked."
"Well, look again."
He rolled his eyes, stooped over the terminal, and swept his fingers across the controls. A minute later, he stood up, shaking his head. "Nothing but an operating system. Mailer hasn't sent a single message."
"That can't be true. It has to be here."
"No, it doesn't. This shelter, the warren, it's just a coincidence. Doesn't have anything to do with Jain Kayle's message."
"I mean that it has to be here." Rada lowered herself to a chair. "Because if it isn't, I don't know where else to look."
She made a second pass, then a third, then Officer Barnes informed her their time was up. She wanted to argue, but there was no point.
They spent two more days in Neucali interviewing Peregrine's friends. This turned up nothing of obvious interest, but Simm filed away the conversations anyway. With no other leads, they hopped a shuttle back to orbit, then launched the Tine.
"Do we have anything left at all?" Rada said once they were underway.
"I think we've exhausted our end of things. According to Toman, they haven't turned up anything with regards to the Piper, either. I'm thinking that's a dead end."
"Then we're done, aren't we?" She leaned back, gazing at the stars on the screen. "Nothing else to do but file it away, leave a few spiders on the net to be watchful for references, and see what other jobs Toman has for us."
"I hate this," Simm said. "There is nothing worse than feeling like the answer's slipped through your fingers."
"It's only a dead end for now." The words were far more optimistic than she felt. "Maybe we can pass it off to someone smarter at the Hive and they'll bring it back to life."
Simm frowned, staring at the screen as well. "We should turn this off. All those stars make me believe anything is possible if you hunt hard enough."
"What would you rather look at?"
"A big black box," he said. "That would be closer to the truth."
She snorted. "You're cute when you pout."
He smiled, but a distracted look had entered his eye. He bent over his device and resumed work. Dead tired, Rada closed her eyes and napped. She didn't wake until hours later, when the ship quit accelerating and she began to float up from her reclined chair.
The cabin was dark except the instrument lights and the glow of Simm's device. He was still hunched over it, tapping and scrolling. Seeing her stir, he blinked, returning to the physical world. An odd grin took control of his mouth.
"Oh no," she said. "You have a new idea."
He cleared his throat. "I think we've been going about this all wrong. Why tear around the system chasing down friends and relatives for answers? Why not just find Pip Lawson?"
"So your grand idea is we retire as bug-hunters and start hunting ghosts instead."
"You are making the worst assumption of them all: that what we understand to be true is actually true."
Rada raised the back of her chair to get a better look at him. "What have you got?"
"A whopper of a question," Simm said. "What if Pip isn't really dead?"
10
Webber slowly raised his hands. "Hey, there's no need for this. I thought Ikita and I were cool."
The gunman gawked in equal parts outrage and scorn. "Webber, you idiot. Don't tell me you did something to piss off Ikita, too."
"What would you care?"
"Because it would be significantly more difficult to collect our money if he puts you in cement shoes and flings you into Uranus' gravity well."
Webber lowered his hands. "You're with collections. You're here for money."
"Aren't we all?"
"Something wrong with mail?"
The man stared at him. "We tried that. You ignored them."
"That's because I didn't have any money."
"You think I don't know that?" The man gestured down the street. "Time to figure out some other way to settle your debt."
"That won't be a problem," Webber said. "I just got paid. I mean ten minutes ago. Right before you pulled a gun on me."
The man located an expression even less impressed than his previous one. "How convenient."
"It really is, because I feel like it's about to save me from a broken leg. Which would have been a counterproductive move, by the way. How am I supposed to pay you back when you add a hospital bill to my debt?"
The gunman sighed. "If this is a put-on, it's not going to make any difference."
"What's your goal here? To extract money? Or a pound of flesh?"
"Cash. Unlike flesh, it never goes bad." He gestured do
wn the street. "Let's find somewhere quiet, shall we?"
"Why bother?" Webber said. "This is the Locker. If you rob me in the street, someone will probably offer you a job."
The gunman brought him two blocks to a plain apartment building. The collections agent swiped his key and tromped up the stairs to a third floor apartment that sported a few chairs, two tables, two devices, and a whole lot of nothing. Webber sat at a table and logged into his account.
His balance showed a smidge under two hundred. Enough to get by for a couple weeks in most places, so long as you had a place to stay. He was used to being financially embarrassed, however, and under normal circumstances, the numbers wouldn't have fazed him.
"Funny story," he said. "It isn't here."
The gunman leaned in for a look. "That isn't enough to pay the interest on your interest."
"My captain hasn't had time to make the transfer. Know what, she probably hasn't finished tallying expenses. I'm working for a percent of net."
He meant this to be impressive, but the agent didn't bat an eye. "Or you are a weasel in a human body. Know what farmers do with weasels?"
"Feed them cookies?" Webber spread his hands. "Hey, I'm as mad as you are. I should be out getting drunk and convincing women I'm rich, not sitting around a hovel having a gun pointed at me by somebody who wants to take all my money."
"This isn't a hovel."
"Call my captain. Kiri Gomes. She'll confirm everything I've told you."
The man gritted his teeth, paged through Webber's contacts, and transferred the number to his device. Staring daggers, he called up Gomes, setting the device on speaker.
"This better be an emergency," she said.
The gunman leaned over it. "That all depends on how much you like Mazzy Webber."
"My ex-janitor?" Gomes laughed into the camera. "He can't seem to keep himself out of trouble, can he?"
"Much to my disappointment. My name is Winslowe. I'm with Universal Debt Services. I'm here with Mr. Webber right now. I'm calling to confirm that he is indeed to be the recipient of a pending payment."
Gomes leaned forward, staring into his eyes. "Are you intending to hurt him?"
Rebel Stars 1: Outlaw Page 9
