A Night Without Stars (11 page)

The wipers smeared water across the windscreen. This wasn't the best of the city's neighborhoods. The streets were narrow, their timeworn buildings small and densely packed, but without the antique quirkiness of the Gates. This was where the poor sank to live their overlooked lives of no consequence. He drove along slowly, looking for the junction with Frikal Alley. The streetlighting was inadequate, and his headlights struggled against the gray rain. A strange bass noise rose over the engine's low growl, thudding in the fast rhythm of an excited heart.

Chaing spotted the junction and pulled in just past it. He got out. The sound was music coming from an open club door that glowed red, as if its steps led down into a cave of lava. It was awful—the new electrically amplified guitars pounding out a fast beat that youngsters listened to these days. Farther down Sedto Street, a group of youths loitered in another doorway, the glow of narnik pipes illuminating their faces in spectral shadows.

He unclipped the leather strap on his shoulder holster but didn't draw the pistol as he walked cautiously back toward Frikal Alley. He couldn't see Corilla anywhere.

Frikal Alley itself was a gulf of blackness as deep as the empty night sky. There were no streetlights at all. A few glimmers came from windows that weren't properly shuttered, but that was all. He peered forward, unpleasantly conscious that he was presenting a clear silhouette to anyone in the alley.

His eyes adjusted quickly to the low light, revealing the outlines of walls and abandoned crates. Rubbish littered the uneven cobbles. Maybe this hadn't been the best place for a rendezvous.

“Corilla?” he said quietly. It was no use against the racket coming from the club. “Corilla?” Louder this time.

A couple of the narnik youths looked his way.

Chaing took a few tentative steps down the alley. “Are you there? Come on, let's go.”

Something moved up ahead—a black wraith emerging from the cover of a doorway.

“Corilla?”

The indistinct shape moved toward him.

“Chaing?”

He hadn't realized how tense he was until his shoulders sagged at the relief of hearing her voice. “Yes. Come on. Hurry.”

His night-adapted eyes saw her nebulous shape resolve into a more solid outline as she quickened her pace. Then something else moved in the alley behind her—a smaller shape, lower to the ground, a liquid shadow flowing through the chilly drizzle. “Who's that?” He tugged his pistol from its shoulder holster.

Beyond the spooky shape, a bright-yellow muzzle flame flared. The pistol's discharge echoed down the narrow alley, overpowering the wretched music. Its muzzle flash illuminated Jenifa's intense face. She fired again, and again. Bullets whined as they ricocheted off walls.

Chaing shrank down instinctively, his own pistol waving around as it sought a target. He saw Corilla hit the cobbles, crying out in shock. And behind her, exposed by the flashes—

An animal, bigger than any terrestrial dog. Streamlined, brutal, its equine head half mouth with sharp curving fangs. Powerful squat legs, ending in dark claws that could tear any human apart in seconds.

He managed a wordless shout of warning, trying to bring his pistol around. But though Jenifa had stopped shooting, his precious night vision was still impaired by the sharp flashes. He saw the creature jerk sideways as if it was bouncing, scooting up a low wall. There was a clatter of rubbish being dislodged. He shifted the pistol, lining directly onto the sound. Then glass shattered above the rubbish. The pistol went up. But there was nothing. No movement. No sounds.

Jenifa was running down the alley. “Did you see that?”

“Yes.” Chaing hurried over to Corilla, who was curled up on the cobbles. “Are you okay? Can you move?”

She let out a sob.

“Come on,” Jenifa snapped at the whimpering girl. “We don't have time for this. Either get up or we leave you. Because we are out of here,
now.
”

Chaing bent down and grabbed the girl's shoulder. She half cooperated as he pulled her up. She was groggy, swaying.

“Move!” he shouted.

The three of them came careering out of the alley. Chaing was swiveling around, trying to look in every direction at once. Trying to see if the creature was closing, ready to pounce. The narnik gang members were standing perfectly still, staring at him.

“Get out of here,” he yelled. “There's a…a roxwolf loose.”

They started jeering.

Chaing caught a slither of motion above. Froze. Scanned the roofline, his pistol in a two-handed grip, pointing up.

Nothing.

They ran for the Cubar. Jenifa and Corilla dived into the backseat and Chaing turned the ignition key, praying to Giu to smile on him just once this night. The wonderfully reliable engine caught immediately, and he slapped it into gear, shoving his foot down hard on the accelerator. The wheels spun, sending up small puffs of rubber smoke, and they lurched forward.

“Is it there?” he yelled. “Is it following?”

Jenifa was craning her neck, looking through the clouded rear window. “I don't think so. I can't see anything.” Her pistol was held ready.

He slapped the switches for the siren and blue flashing lights. Shoved the gear stick into third, still accelerating. Sedto Street became a blur.

Corilla slowly sat up. “Thank you.”

Chaing grunted in satisfaction. Despite it all, they'd done what they set out to do: save the asset. Score one for the PSR. “You okay?”

“Crud, no! But I'm alive.”

He turned out of Sedto Street and eased off the accelerator slightly. “We'll take you back to the office. You'll be safe there. I'll debrief you myself.”

“Safe from what?” Jenifa demanded angrily. “What the crudding Uracus was that?”

“A roxwolf?” Chaing suggested. But he didn't believe it for a second.

“That's bollocks,” Jenifa retorted angrily. “It was—crud, I don't know what we saw, I was so hyped up. Could have been an Uracus-damned cat for all I know.”

“It was a breeder Faller,” Corilla said in a flat tone. “That's what the bastards set on me.”

Jenifa gave her a sharp look. “There's no such thing.”

Chaing glanced into the rearview mirror. Corilla was staring right at him. He didn't say anything.

They made good time back to the PSR office.

“Take her to an interview room,” Chaing told Jenifa. “She's not under arrest, but don't let her leave.”

“Got it, boss.”

“Chat to her, make friends, and keep the tape recorder running. I want to know everything she says.”

He found Major Sorrell in the command room—a grand name for a windowless room consisting of five desks with telephones, and two further desks with radios to talk to the PSR's mobile units. There was a bigger version of his office's city map on the wall behind them. He was surprised to see there were only three communications staff inside.
We'll need everybody at their station to deploy the assault squad.

The transport manager was just leaving the command room. She scowled at Chaing.

“What happened?” Sorrell asked. “The sheriff patrol cars are reporting gunshots fired.”

“That was us,” Chaing said. He explained what had happened, what he'd seen.

“An animal?” Sorrell asked. “What sort of animal?”

“I don't know. It was big.”

“So we don't know that the informant was being pursued by Fallers. You couldn't confirm that?”

Chaing felt his shoulders tensing up again. “No, sir. But something was after her; that could not have been a coincidence. It wasn't any kind of natural Bienvenido animal. It had…purpose.” He couldn't quite bring himself to say
breeder Faller,
not here in the center of the PSR office.

“I see.”

“I'd like to tell Director Yaki about the incident.”

“So would I, Captain.” Sorrell gestured to one of the telephone operatives. “But we haven't been able to get ahold of her yet. She seems to be between engagements.”

Chaing stared at him in astonishment. As director, Yaki was supposed to leave her itinerary with the command room so she could be contacted at any time, day or night. “What about the assault squad?” he asked lamely.

“Right now they are officially on standby, but I've authorized their vehicles to be released. Major Borlog is their commander tonight. She's down in the armory now.”

“Good. Thank you, sir. Has Lurvri checked in?”

Sorrell checked with one of the communications staff, who gave a small shake of her head.

Chaing frowned. “But—” He looked at the big city map. Deneriov's flat on Veenar Avenue had a bright-green pin stuck in it. “Deneriov's residence is closer than Sedto Street; he should have been there a long time ago.”

Sorrell held up a clipboard, his index finger running down the entries. “He confirmed his arrival at the address thirty-seven minutes ago.”

“And there's been nothing since?”

“No.”

“Sir, that's not right. Lurvri knows how urgent this is. All he had to do was see if Deneriov was at home. That's five minutes maximum.”

“He's one of us. He knows to radio for backup if there's any trouble.”

Chaing turned to the radio operator. “Have the sheriff patrols reported any disturbance on Veenar Avenue?”

She lifted up her earpiece. “No, sir.”

“Something's happened.” All Chaing could see was that weird savage creature moving with eerie grace, big mouth opening to expose those evil fangs. “And we need to find out what.”

“Very well,” Sorrell said reluctantly. “I'll order a sheriff patrol car to investigate.”

“No, sir! They're not equipped for this, and they're certainly not prepared. I'll go.”

He took the Cubar out again. This time he didn't use the siren or lights, but still drove fast. The rain was a lot heavier now. Even the tuk-tuks were off the roads, although the city's trams were still going, rattling down the center of the major thoroughfares. The occasional car or truck passed, headlights shimmering off the slick cobbles.

Chaing arrived at the address on Veenar Avenue eleven minutes after leaving the PSR office. He drew in behind a parked Cubar, and checked the number plate. It was the one Lurvri had signed out. The lights were off. Nobody was inside.

He pulled the radio microphone off its dashboard clip. “This is car 37-B. Has my partner checked in yet?”

“Negative, car 37-B. No contact.”

Lurvri had been out of contact for almost an hour now. That was bad. Lurvri wasn't a man who took risks. “Roger that. I'm at the address. Will contact you again in ten, one zero, minutes, no matter what.”

“Confirm received, car 37-B. Contact in ten minutes.”

Chaing glared at the radio as he slapped the microphone back onto its clip.
Confirm—my arse.

There were no pedestrians on Veenar Avenue. Chaing stood on the pavement, taking his time as he surveyed the area, hunting for any sign of that unnatural beast. A tram trundled down the middle of the street, a disconnected row of bright-yellow windows, revealing empty seats inside. Sparks scattered from the overhead cable as its pantograph crossed a junction.

He waited until it was gone before walking up to the broad doorway of a grand old apartment block. Deneriov lived on the second floor. The big lobby was all polished marble and ornate pillars, brightly lit by electric bulbs wired into the original chandeliers. There was no one behind the concierge desk, which was unusual on a well-to-do block like this. He walked across the tiles toward the stairs, leaving wet footprints as he went.

Deneriov's door was ajar. Chaing flattened himself against the wall at the side of it. No sound from within. He spun around, kicking the door open. Into the flat fast and low, identifying potential hostile locations, pistol held in front, moving smoothly from one threat point to another, just like he'd done in a hundred training exercises. Nobody there.

A low table had been overturned in the lounge.
Struggle?
He moved into Deneriov's study. It had been ransacked, papers strewn everywhere.

He jogged back out to the Cubar and plucked the microphone from its clip. “This is car 37-B. There's been a fight at the flat. The opposition was here tonight. There's no sign of my partner. They must have taken him.”

“Do you have confirmation of that, car 37-B?”

“Oh, for Urac—” he grunted, then took a breath and pressed the microphone button. “If he's been taken, we don't have much time. I am proceeding to the manor to verify. Request backup.”

“Negative, car 37-B. Duty officer will come to your location to assess the scene.”

“No time, control! I am proceeding to Manor. Request urgent backup!”

“Car 37-B, you do not have authoriza—”

“He's one of us. I'm going. Back me up!” Chaing switched the radio off and pulled out from the curb.

Anger made him a surprisingly calm driver. He was totally focused on getting there alive and quickly. Lurvri's life depended on that, so no risky charging across junctions, no reckless speeding on the rain-slicked road. Just
get there.

It took nearly thirty minutes, which was a good time. The Fallers wouldn't have driven so fast, so he should have cut their lead down considerably.
Lurvri could still be alive. They'll want to know what we know. They'll ask—hard. But they won't kill him immediately.

The siren and lights had been turned off for the last couple of kilometers. He drew up a hundred meters short of the gates leading to Xander Manor and hurried out. The rain soaked him within a minute. He took his jacket off; the wet cloth was just too restrictive. Reaction times were going to be critical. Fallers were a lot faster than humans; he'd seen that for himself both times he'd actually encountered them.