Rondo swore he could see the chancellor grinning through the hood.
One of the network nodes next to the downed Andersonian glowed red and exploded, filling the corridor with black smoke. Osla cowered from the sound, chin against his chest.
Rondo asked in amazement, glancing at the parrot.
Crash said, as if he was explaining brushing his teeth.
Do birds have teeth? Is a beak just one big, curvy tooth?
Rondo shook his head, realizing he was going to have to adjust his way of thinking around this parrot.
He studied the smoke, keeping his pistol raised, in case one of the soldiers decided to push toward them through the haze.
A kinetic blast hit the pipework above Rondo’s head, and he ducked, cursing. More wild shots followed, hitting the deck and bulkheads. Rondo fired back.
“Don’t shoot if you can’t see your target!” he shouted, which earned him a three-round grouping in the deck a meter in front of him. He took a step back, still hunched down, and fired carefully in an imaginary horizontal, about a meter off the deck.
Someone grunted in pain.
Crash said.
Rondo said.
Crash spread his wings and bobbed his head, a motion that Rondo was starting to think indicated a shrug.
Rondo repeated, unable to hide the squeak in his voice.
Crash said.
Crash turned on Rondo’s shoulder, dug his claws in hard enough to make him flinch, and launched.
“Damn animals,” the big man cursed.
Remembering that it had been several minutes since he’d heard from Cara, Rondo sent her a ping.
he said when she accepted his connection.
Cara said.
Rondo accepted her correction. He avoided anything military whenever possible; of course, there hadn’t been time to explain to Cara or any of these new people why he felt that way. Fugia knew, but she wouldn’t tell the story without his permission.
he asked.
Cara said, sounding irritated.
He almost said ‘boss’, but she wasn’t his boss.
Technically, even Fugia was his peer. Maybe the urge came from Cara’s air of command, or that she gave enough of a damn to worry about him.
Rondo corrected himself. She’s worried about Osla.
Rondo assured Cara he would send updates, joined the tacnet, and closed the earlier connection. The flurry of voices on the new net made him want to pull his collar over his head. Feeling a little guilty, he silenced the tacnet as he realized Crash had nearly left him alone.
Grabbing the chancellor, Rondo pulled Osla alongside him and took off after the bird, who was already nearly out of sight around a corner.
After five steps, Osla stopped abruptly, forcing Rondo to jerk to a halt. As Rondo turned, he found the chancellor with his chest outstretched, head held high. The outline of his nose under the hood showed that Osla was sniffing something.
Before Rondo could grab him again, Osla spun and ran toward the smoke.
* * * * *
“Who do you work for?” Ngoba roared as he stalked the Andersonian prisoners.
A woman close to him hung her head, unwilling to meet his angry gaze.
“You,” Ngoba said, pointing at a man with oily, grey hair. “You work in the third transit district. I’ve seen you at the maglev station. I want to talk to you.”
Cara hung back with others as Ngoba had the man dragged out of the holding area. With the Security Forces lieutenant at his side, Ngoba searched through the prisoners until he had collected five he recognized from areas around Cruithne where the Lowspin Syndicate held sway. The lieutenant seemed to be enjoying the small bit of power radiating on him from Ngoba’s righteous anger.
When the five were lined up, a mix of ages and economic classes, but all wearing the blue jumpsuits, Ngoba stood staring at them with his arms crossed over his chest.
“What’s he going to do?” Cara asked Petral and Fugia.
“He feels personally betrayed,” Petral said. “I don’t blame him. The people on this station have it pretty good as long as Ngoba Starl is happy. Cruithne is an oasis in the middle of wicked world that’s only going to get worse. And these people want to throw everything into chaos for the Anderson Collective?” She shook her head.
Fugia was lost in her Link and didn’t answer.
“Who brought you in?” Ngoba snarled. “Who convinced you to join the Collective, and to come down here and attack me, of all things. Did you know I would be here? Did you?”
Staring at the ground, none of them dared answer. A rumble from the prisoner area drew Ngoba’s attention, and he raised his chin to address the holding area. “You’re not my people, so you’re walking out the airlock. You can bitch all you want.”
A gasp went through the crowd.
“What?” Ngoba asked. “Did you think life on Cruithne was free? Did you think you could attack me in the name of a foreign power and still be allowed to live here, where the air is sweet and the water cool, and commerce runs like clockwork because we’re family and we look out for each other?”
Ngoba jerked his head at the lieutenant, who spun on his heel to bark orders at his soldiers. With shouts and stun batons, they started herding the group of insurgents toward the cargo airlock at the end of the repair bay. Several tried to fight, and were shocked unconscious.
Cara felt her face go hard, not sure if she agreed with Ngoba, but understanding his decision as ship’s justice. The same would have taken place in the Scattered Disk, where there were no resources to spare on those who went against the crew.
“Now,” Ngoba said, turning his attention back to the five from Lowspin. “Let’s try this again, now that you understand the consequences of your actions.”
One of the men had started crying, tears running openly down his face. “I don’t want to die, Ngoba,” he said, sniffling. “I needed the money.”
“Money?” Ngoba’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Who paid you?”
The man looked at Ngoba and wiped his face with both hands. “I didn’t think it would turn into this. You have to believe me.”
“The time for begging forgiveness is over. Tell me who paid you and all these others to join the Collective, and maybe I’ll take mercy on you. It doesn’t do me any good to save your miserable life, but I’m only a monster when I need to be.”
“I know,” the man said quietly. “I know. You’ve always been good to me and my family.”
“Tell me.”
“I’ve only seen the money man a few times. I never saw him passing funds to the chapter leaders, but you knew he was in charge. His name’s Kamelon or Camelod, something like that.”
Next to C
ara, Fugia sucked in a breath. She was paying attention now.
“The support flowed from that one down to the chapter leaders. I think they honestly believe they’re doing right by the people under them. It’s a seductive story, Ngoba. You have to understand.”
Ngoba obviously didn’t like being told what he needed to understand. He bit his lip. “Keep talking.”
“Lowspin is good to most everyone because Lowspin has money. Lowspin controls the major operations. But all the smaller crews, they’re murderers. It’s always been that way. And the station admin and even you can’t protect the regular people from that kind of violence. Couldn’t save my brother. He was stabbed over his utility belt, and bled out in a side tunnel.”
“I’m sorry about your brother,” Ngoba said, softening his voice. “Tell me more about these chapter leaders. How many are there?”
“Probably twenty.”
“And how many per chapter?”
“Twenty to thirty as well.”
Ngoba shook his head, not liking this information. Cara could see the worry in his face, probably wondering how he could have missed such a large organization on his station.
“Tell me the names of these chapter heads,” he told the man.
“I don’t know all of them. I only know mine and the few that we worked with. This was only one chapter here. We were told about the mission a couple days ago. We’ve been prepping ever since.”
The group being pushed toward the cargo airlock reached their destination in front of the giant doors.
The lieutenant asked on the tacnet,
Ngoba answered.
the lieutenant said.
Ngoba gave a low laugh; he was still angry.
* * * * *
Standing in the tunnel with the parrot disappearing in one direction and Osla running blindly into roiling smoke on the other side, Rondo decided that he had left mole country on Luna, only to find himself in rat country on Cruithne. Not dirty rat country, more like regal, intelligent rats who live in the farmer’s rosebush and steal his drone fuel.
Rondo called.
the parrot said.
Rondo pulled his coat up around his face so he could hold it against his mouth, sucked a deep breath, and ran into the smoke after the chancellor.
The taste of burning plas immediately filled his mouth, and his eyes started watering. Something was still burning, and the heat washed over his face as he ran forward, shuffling his feet as Osla had done, to avoid tripping over something he couldn’t see.
Rondo tried to stay low, where the smoke might be thinner, which forced him to scuttle like a crab, his coat over his head. Adama yowled, claws digging into Rondo’s side.
For once, he was glad. The needles in his ribs let him know the cat was all right.
Rondo kicked something soft on the floor and reached out to find the uncovered head of the man he had shot, slumped against the wall. Rondo didn’t have time to see if the man was alive.
He shuffled forward, sliding his boots, as his lungs seemed to squeeze his heart. With his pulse pounding in his ears, he reached the far wall—where the tunnel turned—and risked opening his eyes.
The tunnel was still smoky, but it wasn’t thick. He had pushed through the worst. With watering eyes, he caught sight of Osla moving slowly ahead of him, hands still tied behind his back.
In the distance, a man in a blue shipsuit was running toward the chancellor.
Rondo told Crash.
The bird’s voice sounded pained, the first time Rondo had heard him upset.
the parrot said.
After his fight with the AI in one of New Austin’s shopping districts, Rondo wasn’t excited about causing another scene.
The Andersonian had pulled off Osla’s hood and was working at the cords around Osla’s wrists as the two of them walked quickly down the tunnel.
Rondo didn’t see the knife in the man’s hands until it was too late.
He slammed into the blue-suited man from behind. Osla grunted in pain and stumbled forward. The knife clattered on the tunnel deck, tip red with blood, and Rondo had the presence of mind to kick it away before the Andersonian swung at him.
Rondo blocked the punch with a raised forearm, and hit the smaller man in the stomach. Without his hood, hands still bound, Oslo lowered his head and charged Rondo from the other side, forcing him to turn or be knocked down.
Rondo debated pulling his pistol. The Andersonian was too close, so the best plan seemed to be for Rondo to use his superior size to crush the man against the side of the tunnel, but that relied on avoiding Osla, or hurting him worse than the knife already had.
Rondo assumed Cara wanted the chancellor alive. Why else go to all this trouble?
It was infuriating, really. Rondo knew the day would come when they would wish they’d put Charles Osla out an airlock.
The Andersonian took several steps back to give himself some room, producing another wicked-looking knife as long as his forearm.
“You’re dead, big man,” the insurgent growled, glancing at Osla. He obviously wanted to impress the boss.
With more distance between them, Rondo didn’t hesitate. He drew his pistol.
The man realized his mistake and turned to run, only to have Rondo fire a round into his shoulder. The Andersonian fell forward, face cracking against a box on the wall.
Rondo turned the pistol to Osla.
“You want to run again?” he asked. “Let me know so I can shoot you in the leg and just carry you.”
The Andersonian on the deck growled and rolled on his side, leaving a smear of blood.
Rondo kept his pistol aimed at Osla and squatted next to the other man.
“You want me to end your pain?” he asked.
“No. Please.”
“What’s waiting for us at the end of this tunnel?”
“Nothing. We were alone.”
“How do I know you aren’t lying to me?”
The man coughed. “I could be.”
“So I guess I should kill you, since it doesn’t matter.”
“No! I’m not a soldier. I’m here for Osla.”
Rondo glanced up at the chancellor, who was staring at the bleeding man.
“What do you think about that?” Rondo asked.
“What’s your name?” Osla asked the man.
“Oh no, you don’t.” Rondo reversed his pistol and brought the butt down on the man’s temple, knocking him unconscious. “I won’t have you making any martyrs today, Chancellor Osla.”
Rondo straightened, seating his pistol back in its holster. He looked around for the hood, but it was lost. Deciding not to waste any more time, he grabbed Osla by the arm and pulled him down the tunnel. The man on the deck behind them called after them.
“Keep your mouth shut,” Rondo said.
<
br /> “Does it make you feel strong to push me around like this? I’ve never done anything to you. My people are working to make Sol a better place for everyone.”
“I saw your people living like rodents underground in abandoned mines on Luna. Is that your idea of making life better? And now you’ve got people sacrificing themselves for your cause, with no leadership and no training. You think that man back there knew what he was getting into? If he doesn’t get to an autodoc, he’s going to bleed out. How often does the average human die of trauma these days?”
Rondo surprised himself with his anger. Osla’s flat, smug face made him more furious the more he looked at the man. How could one person cause so much damage? Sure, the Psion AIs were manipulating SolGov, but people like Osla were there to seize the crumbs left by greater powers, treating others like pawns in their scramble for any modicum of influence.
As much as Rondo loved the Mesh, believed in the idea of an inviolate body of human knowledge that could surpass any of the individual Data Hoarders who helped preserve it, he wondered sometimes if humanity would ever make anything from its potential as long as people like Osla existed. Or worse, if the systems that allowed people like Osla to exploit others would persist.
They made another turn, and Rondo nearly ran into a blank door with a pushbar lock.
“Hold on,” he told Osla, moving him a meter back.
Rondo drew his pistol and eased the door open. He relaxed slightly when he found the maintenance room Crash had told him would be there. In fact, the sight of several blinking server nodes and lengths of network filament filled him with a calm that he hadn’t really felt since leaving his safe room on Luna.
Rondo pushed the door completely open and pulled Osla through with him. He let Adama jump out of his pocket, and the black cat immediately began inspecting the square room.
There was a door on the opposite wall marked ‘Exit’ that Rondo planned to inspect in a minute. For now, he wanted to pause and catch his breath in a familiar space. He might even hardline into the network and see what he could pick up.
he said.
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