The Wrong Lance

by Sharon Lee

  She laughed.

  "I might've believed you if you hadn't added that."

  "Truly?"

  "Truly. Ask yourself if Clarence would've ever said that."

  "He would—he has! He places his hand over his heart, and—"

  Theo laughed again, remembering.

  "He does, doesn't he? And manages to look offended and coy at the same time, too!"

  "Perhaps there is a tone of voice that is both offended and coy," Bechimo said. "I will research the problem."

  "You do that," she said cordially. "I want to hear it when you—"

  The 'doc was flooded with brilliant light; Theo reflexively threw up one hand to shield her eyes, the binders tangled briefly, and she hit herself in the nose.

  Blinded by the light, she heard a grating noise, felt the movement of air against her face; started to sit up—

  And was slammed back on to the pallet.

  The breath left her lungs in a shout, and a hand came down hard over her mouth.

  "Miss me, Blondie?" said the unwelcome voice of Jake, with the scraped cheek and the red eyes.

  Theo bit his thumb.

  He swore, slapped her face with the wounded hand and twisted the binding cord in his other hand, jerking her arms over her head.

  Theo grit her teeth; her eyes were still dazzled, but she could make out a dark shape leaning close above her, feel his breath, coming fast, against her face.

  "So, you liked bein' left alone in the dark, didja? We'll see if we can't put you back, after we have some fun."

  He tightened the cord; she gasped, and tried to twist.

  "That's right; I like a feisty girl," Jake said, and jerked her sweater up, his fingers closing over her breast like a vise.

  Distantly, she was aware of Bechimo's fury; a paltry flame against her own bonfire of outrage.

  Jake was leaning over her, his weight on the pallet, controlling her by keeping the cord taut. She had to move before he brought his weight into play.

  "How 'bout a kiss for lettin' you outta the dark?"

  His mouth came down on hers; tongue invading—and his grip on the cord slackened, just enough.

  Theo twisted, got her legs up and kicked.

  It wasn't a solid hit, but it knocked him back—and he dropped the cord.

  "Why, you little bitch."

  She heard the snap of a flip-knife opening, and kicked again, knocking him back, using the momentum to snap upright, both fists before her, and punching as hard as she could.

  There was a snap, like a piece of plastic breaking. Theo kicked a third time and rolled out of the 'doc, landing awkwardly, one foot skidding on—

  Her eyes were mostly clear now, and she could see that she'd skidded on the flip-knife.

  Jake . . .

  Jake was down, his neck at a bad angle.

  The door to the alcove snapped open.

  Theo swooped, snatched up the knife, and came up into a crouch, hands close.

  Framed in the doorway, the captain gave her a nod.

  "You're no end spensive, ain't you, girly?"

  "He was—" Theo begin—and stopped when the captain moved her hand in a sharp abort!

  "I seen it. Din't say I blamed you, but I'm getting' low on crew."

  She paused, squinting.

  "Normal times, you'd earnt that knife, but you ain't crew; and times ain't normal. I can take it away from you—an' I can take it away from you—or you can slide it over here, polite-like."

  "Theo," Bechimo said in bond-space. "Do not risk yourself."

  But Theo had already bent over to send the knife skittering over the decking.

  "Smart girl."

  The captain picked up the knife and tucked it into her belt. Straightening, she nodded at what was left of Jake.

  "Place wants tidying. You stay right there, an' I'll send Lyn down to supervise that."

  * * *

  "Now," said Chernak, and swung out into the row of ships, walking briskly, satchel in hand. Stost, at her side, was similarly attired in coveralls with MACK'S stitched onto the right breast. He wore a tool belt.

  The coveralls were Andy Mack's contribution to pay-back, as he had it, and, with sleeves rolled and legs tucked into boots, could be made to look as if they fit.

  So, two of Mack's repair techs on their way to a job, tool-belts jingling.

  "Do you wish them to hear us coming, my Stost?" Chernak asked.

  "In the usual way of things, Elder, would repair techs not walk hard, tools ringing?"

  She considered that, and altered her own gait until her bootheels hit the 'crete smartly.

  "You are correct," she said.

  This was fully for the benefit of those who they might meet in the short walk down to the pad where Teramondi sat, outwardly innocent.

  Teramondi's sensors, as well as the sensors of all the other ships in this row, and the port's own sensors—failed to record their passage. This was Joyita's doing, with assistance from Clarence. But even they could not override the sensors for long. Soon or late, someone would note that the feed was blank, and try to reboot.

  Best they were done and well-away before that occurred.

  They arrived at the correct pad, swung under the gantry, and were immediately invisible.

  * * *

  Val Con finished his tea, carried the cup to the washer, and left the caf by the side door. It was a crisp afternoon, naturally enough, and the Trauma Center had been very warm, by Surebleak standards. He finished with the underarm pocket, sealed the jacket, turned the collar up and pulled on the gloves he had stowed in the cargo pockets. That done, he tucked his hands in those same pockets, and leaned against the wall, waiting.

  He let his attention touch the song that was Miri—the manifestation of the lifemate link—and allowed it to soothe him.

  Miri was not happy with the plan, which, truthfully, could scarcely be dignified by the word. At the moment, they stood very much at a disadvantage, forced to react to their opponent's moves, rather than setting the tempo themselves. That, of course, would need to change, but first, the board must be cleared of unnecessary pieces. Theo, for instance, was not meant to have been in the game at all.

  That she had been taken, and held at the whim of the Department—was, he admitted to himself—horrifying. And while he was reasonably certain that there was no agent of the DOI on Teramondi at the moment, he was far less certain that this would continue to be the case.

  Thus, an immediate extraction was called for.

  The odds of that succeeding were very good, indeed, he noted. The follow—well, there. They were forced to dance to a tune of another's choosing, and for the follow, he was reduced to—hope.

  A sound from the real world intruded upon his thoughts—a low, growling purr, moving up the street toward his place against the wall.

  He opened his eyes and straightened as the duocycle gently rounded the corner, and nosed in to park against the wall.

  A figure in space leather swung out of the saddle, landing somewhat unsteadily, and stood for a moment, hand on the bar, until she had her balance back.

  Val Con moved forward, and the Scout looked up, her face grim and weary.

  "Long shift?" Val Con asked her, in Comrade mode.

  She grimaced.

  "I've done longer, though not while dodging stones and sticks and garbage," she said. "The portmaster has us on short circuits, to diminish the opportunity for malice to spring up between sweeps. Not a bad plan, on the face of it. However, knowing the timing and the route does provide occasion for merriment among the ne'er-do-wells."

  "Riots?"

  "I judge not. Just the local bad element having a bit of fun at our expense."

  "Ah."

  He used his chin to point at the cycle.

  "It happens I have business down-port. May I borrow that?"

  She considered him frankly.

  "You are the reason I was ordered to break route at the Trauma Center for tea and a rest period, aren't you?"


  He smiled.

  "Yes."

  She nodded, and turned toward the cycle.

  "An innovation, perhaps, since the last time you rode."

  She pointed at a lever set at the joining of the handlebars.

  "Turn that as far as it will go to the left and the machine will produce a nerve-shattering roar, which even the local bad element are inclined to take seriously. Nudge it up just a mark, and the cycle produces that delightful low growl that alerted you to my presence."

  "Yes, thank you; that is a new feature."

  "Also," the Scout said; "the tires are Surebleak weight, for more traction in snow and ice."

  She looked back to him, and moved her shoulders.

  "Other than that, it's the same design you and I stealthily borrowed from the academy's inventory in order to go joy-riding 'round Solcintra Port."

  "Excellent," he said; "I have fond memories."

  "As I do."

  She gave him a brief nod.

  "If you wish to enjoy the ride, avoid the old refinery section. There are quite a number of ne'er-do-wells congregated there, and their target is the cycle. Rider down is plainly their goal."

  "I will be careful," he said, softly.

  She laughed.

  "I believe you."

  He watched her open the door and enter the caf before he swung up into the saddle and kicked the starter.

  * * *

  Theo was on her knees on the cold decking, cleaning out Jake's pockets, while Lyn leaned against the wall, stun-gun out, watching.

  Jake hadn't been a pilot, but his jacket had just as many pockets, and then there were more in his pants. Mostly, he had money—not much of any one kind, but at least a dozen different currencies, including Surebleak cash.

  He also had a complete set of finger-knives, a tin of vya, another tin of, according to the label across the top, All Fine, six flats of brightly colored pills, a smoke bomb, and a thumb-gun.

  Among other things.

  Theo finally sat back on her heels, and used both hands to push her hair out of her face.

  "I think that's everything," she said.

  Lyn shook her head.

  "Had a couple necklaces he always wore; an' the belt's got some kinda trick to it," said Lyn, not moving.

  Theo sighed, reached for Jake's shirt and unsealed it.

  Three chains in three different metals around his neck; a leather bracelet with a name burned into it—Sal Zar ter'Eazon—the belt, all required some persuasion, but at last Theo sat back on her heels.

  "Anything else?" she asked.

  Lyn peered in to the box.

  "Gods, he was still wearin' that thing?" she muttered, and looked up.

  "That piece o'space leather, there, tells you everything you need to know about Jake. Killed a pilot—first kill, the way he tol' the story. An' he made him a bracelet outta the jacket, with the name on."

  Shaking her head, she eased back against the wall.

  "People pay good money for spaceleather, 'specially the jackets. Don't matter it's some scratches or stains—space! some'd pay more for the damage. Coulda sold it for upwards of a cantra, all he hadda do was be patient and pick his port." She shook her head in disgust.

  "Not Jake, though. No, ma'am. He'd rather have that victory bracelet to prop up his legend."

  She snorted.

  "Legend. Somebody shoulda wasted his legend long years ago."

  Theo didn't say anything, but Lyn looked at her hard.

  "Don't be getting any ideas like I'm owing you. We don't play by them rules."

  "'course not," Theo said mildly. "Is that everything, now?"

  "Don't see nothing not there that oughta be," Lyn said; "an' you hit every pocket I could see."

  She straightened up and jerked the stun-gun at Theo.

  "On your feet and grab aholt, there, girly. Jake's going down to the 'cycler, where he'll finally be doin' some good."

  #

  Theo's ribs were aching by the time she got Jake to the recycling room, and she straightened slowly, taking a couple of deep breaths.

  "You need to rest," Bechimo told her.

  "What's the hold-up?" Lyn snapped.

  "Taking a breather," she said, keeping her voice mild.

  "You can get your breather after you get Jake situated."

  Theo held up her hands, showing the cord that bound them together.

  "Can I get some help? Maybe you could take off the bindings?"

  Lyn shifted, showing the stun-gun.

  "Or maybe you could stop stalling and get the job done? It'll be tougher after you come up from bein' stunned, but if you're workin' the challenge level, I'll help you, sure."

  Theo counted to twelve, which didn't do anything at all for her temper, and visibly increased Lyn's irritation.

  "I can't operate the mechanism with my hands bound like this," Theo said. "That's just a fact, and it won't change, no matter how many times you stun me."

  She waited, already feeling the bolt crackle along her nerve endings.

  Lyn huffed, reached into her pouch and jerked her head.

  "Come over here and hold out your arms."

  Theo stepped forward.

  "That's close enough!"

  "Right." She extended her hands.

  Lyn raised a little device that was barely any bigger than her thumb, and pressed it.

  There was a slight sigh, and the binders fell from Theo's wrists.

  "Thanks," she said.

  "You're on borrowed time, girly, and the minute Jake's took care of, it's going back on, right?"

  "Right," muttered Theo, turning toward the recycling unit.

  THUMP

  "What the—" yelled Lyn, spinning around toward the door, stun-gun ready, like she'd fire at the next noise.

  "Theo," Bechimo said inside her head. "You must go now to the nearest exit. It will be open."

  "Which will be open?" she demanded, stepping around Jake's body.

  "All of them."

  "Right," she said aloud.

  Lyn turned.

  "Get away from me, girly," she snarled, raising the stun-gun.

  Theo socked her in the jaw.

  * * *

  THUMP.

  On her way to the bridge, Captain Lisle staggered, straightened, and broke into a run.

  "All hands, all hands!" Ruzo's voice came over the intercom. "We have a breach. Repeat, the hull has been breached!"

  She hit the wall-switch.

  "Lisle. Details."

  "Captain. Hull breached at four pressure points, internal and external."

  "Recording?"

  "Camera's dead," Ruzo said.

  Lisle swore.

  A gentle bong sounded in over the speaker, reverberating slightly. The door on the tool station next to the intercom silently swung open.

  "Breach!" Ruzo snapped again. "All hatches open!"

  "What!" Lisle stared down a hall lined with open doors—utility stations, the door to the galley; the door to her own stateroom . . .

  "Interior hatches?" she asked Ruzo.

  "Negative—all," came the reply; then—

  "Visitor at the main hatch," she said, just as the annunciator sounded.

  Captain Lisle turned and ran toward the main hatchway.

  * * *

  Chernak pressed the annunciator button once more and settled comfortably at a slight angle to the hatch. She had not taken cover, but she was not precisely where she would be expected to be, and that was all the advantage she needed, should the person who eventually arrived from inside the ship fire before thinking.

  There came from within the sound of hasty feet, and a well-grown woman of the sort called Terran rounded the corner and approached the hatch.

  She slowed, gun in hand, and—stopped, just inside the open hatchway.

  To her credit, she did not fire.

  In fact, she froze, looking at Chernak's face, her own gone pale.

  "Soldier," she croaked.

&
nbsp; "My reputation proceeds; it is well," said Chernak affably. "Surrender your weapon."

  She was obeyed without hesitation, which was interesting, Chernak thought. According to the records Joyita had found, this woman did not surrender easily.

  Chernak took the offered weapon by its butt, and slid it away into a pocket. There was a slight tremor under her boots, and Stost arrived on the gantry at her side.

  "Star hammer!" he cried, brandishing that tool in both hands.

  Chernak smiled.

  "Do you claim it as a prize? Kara will be pleased."

  "Put that down!" snapped Captain Lisle. "I gave my gun to this soldier; I'm unarmed!"

  There was a moment of silence before Stost hefted the hammer, grinning like the fool he was not.

  "As I am!" he said jovially. "Shall we try, unarmed, each against the other?"

  Chapter Ten

  Surebleak Port

  Val Con had quite liked duocycles when he had been a hopeful Scoutling at academy. Indeed, he had taken the prize in several duocycling competitions—both illicit and academy-sponsored.

  Even as a Scout about his duty, he had retained a fondness for the little machines, which could move so quickly, and so quietly, over many kinds of terrain.

  Today, however . . .

  The frigid wind slapped his face until it burned; his nose went numb, and his eyes teared, despite the goggles, which led to the lenses steaming up and providing a serious impediment to safe duocycling. He yanked them down to dangle 'round his neck, and crouched low over the handlebars.

  Perhaps he was growing old.

  Ahead, a cluster of people.

  Val Con made use of the innovation, producing a roar that echoed off the buildings on either side, and had people scrambling for positions of lesser peril.

  "Hey!" one woman yelled as he raced by. "Watch where you're goin'!"

  He grinned into the wind.

  Well, perhaps not quite so old as that.

  "Turn left at the next intersection," Jeeves said into his ear.

  He took the corner fast, nearly putting the cycle on its side, straightened, and roared again, hearing answering roars from ahead, behind, and to the side.

  Turning his head slightly, he saw two duocycles on his right hand; two more on his left—and even more racing in from the side streets as he stormed past.

  "Jeeves, am I part of a parade?"