A Night Without Stars (40 page)

“Irrelevant to this case,” Yaki said sharply. “What's Rafferty's story?”

“Castillito defended him in three court cases. Standard acts of petty civil disobedience. It would seem Rafferty was something of a hothead thirty years ago.”

“Like father like son,” Jenifa muttered.

“That's Lurji,” Chaing said. “Not Florian.”

“Where is he now?” Yaki asked patiently.

“The Cannik Mine in the Transo Mountains—that's a yellowcake operation. Castillito couldn't get him off the last case; he was organizing a blockade at the rocket engine factory to call attention to some perceived injustice against Eliters. The judge took a very dim view of that. It was a fifty-year sentence.”

“Crud, so he's still there?”

Kukaida pulled a face. The clerk came back into her office, holding a slim folder. Chaing groaned when he saw it; the cover had a big scarlet
DECEASED
stamp on the front.

“He was buried there,” Kukaida said, opening the proffered folder. “Yellowcake is radioactive. Not many survive ten years, let alone fifty. He died from radiation sickness seventeen years ago.”

“Again!” Chaing protested. “That crudding Florian has done it to us again.”

“I don't think having your father die of radiation poisoning is exactly a victory,” Jenifa said.

“But it helps him.”

“Not for long,” Yaki said. “There are records. Not as detailed as the ones we keep on Eliters, but we can track down Rafferty's family. It has to be one of them sheltering Florian. There's no one else.”

“There's another possibility,” Jenifa said. “Rafferty was Castillito's client. She'd probably know he was dead. And now we can't confirm he was the father. Not from his mouth.”

“She did it to deflect us,” Yaki said. “Florian is her son, after all.”

“No,” Chaing said as a sudden sense of guilty relief flooded through him. This was going to be a disaster for the case, but with Castillito gone…

“Why not?” Yaki said. “It makes perfect sense to me.”

“She knew we'd suspect the parentage as soon as we discovered Rafferty is dead,” he said. “So she knows what we'll do to her now. She wouldn't risk that.”

“Unless…” Jenifa groaned as she realized the deception. “She knows how desperate we are to find the father. I made that pretty clear. This was all to buy herself time.”

“Time for what?” Chaing asked, trying to sound genuinely bewildered. Then he made a show of wincing. “Oh, crud!”

Chaing and Yaki were in the lead car, with the rest of the convoy following hot behind, all of them racing along Broadstreet with lights flashing and sirens wailing. They'd already radioed ahead to the surveillance team to check if Castillito was still in her apartment.

Strangely enough, Chaing felt remarkably calm. Even the pain in his wrist seemed subdued. With Castillito gone, the threat to him had vanished with her. Ruining one PSR officer wouldn't save her now; she would have to stay in hiding for the rest of her life. He was in the clear.

So he kept a calm expression in place as they pulled up outside the tenement on Quilswith Road. One of the surveillance team officers was hurrying out of the entrance, looking scared.

She's gone! And she has the contacts to make sure there's no trace of her.

“I'm sorry, sir,” the officer blurted. “We were watching the building the whole time. I don't know how she got out.”

“I need your operation logs. Now!” Chaing shouted at him. “We need to trace every vehicle that used this road this morning,” he told Yaki.

“On top of hunting Florian?” Yaki muttered darkly. “We don't have the resources. Not for a fast result.”

“Crudding Uracus!”

Yaki watched the other PSR cars pulling up, blocking the street. “Get our people inside. I want every apartment, every room, every bussalore hole in that building ripped apart.”

“I'm on it.”

“Stonal will go crudding crazy! You were specifically told to bring her in.”

From some weird distance, Chaing heard himself saying: “Yes, that's what Corporal Jenifa was ordered to do.”

Yaki stiffened, giving him a surprised glance. Both of them looked at the second car; Jenifa was just climbing out of the back.

“Seriously?” Yaki asked.

“I logged the order,” Chaing said. Making it official that the order was to be carried out as Stonal instructed. What wasn't in the log was his suggestion that Jenifa threaten Castillito to get the father's name quickly. That would now be her own initiative.

Jenifa hurried over to them.

“She's gone,” Yaki said. “Corporal, were you told to bring the suspect in for questioning?”

“I…” Jenifa gave Chaing a sideways glance. “I was told to find the father's name.”

“Castillito was our last valid lead to the fugitive,” Yaki said coldly. “She fed you false information in order to escape.”

“You were perfectly happy with what I did,” Jenifa said hotly.

“Until I realized just how big a mistake you made. Corporal Jenifa, as of now you are suspended, pending an inquiry into your actions.”

“That's—” Jenifa stopped herself from saying anything more. Her face was flushed with anger. “Yes, Director,” she said formally.

“Report back to the office. We'll try and salvage something from this mess.”

Jenifa turned, not making eye contact with Chaing, and walked back to the convoy of cars. She stumbled on the curb.

“Too harsh?” Yaki asked.

“Not at all,” Chaing assured her.

“So what the crud do we do now?”

“What the PSR is good at. All those people Rasschaert knew that we have in custody: Stop playing nice with them.”

Yaki gave him an intrigued look. “You want to begin increased interrogation on all of them?”

“No. Just send a sheriff team to each of their homes. Tear them apart. Florian has to be somewhere.”

Essie had spent most of the day eating. She had always been hungry, but this new phase was worrying Florian badly. The cravings were strong enough to overcome the constant growing pains and joint aches. She ate her food, then his. Matthieu brought some more, then a further batch.

The food processors were working almost nonstop, and they were struggling to keep up. She now ate all the fruit directly, using it to graze between the batches the cylinders churned out.

“Perhaps you should stop for a bit,” Florian suggested at midday. Her stomach was badly distended, making him think of a pregnant eight-year-old—a perturbing thought, given her body wasn't exactly normal. She was sweating copiously, too. And the med kit reported her temperature was high.

Essie's lower lip trembled as she gave him a remorseful stare. “I's so hungreee, Dad.”

“I know sweetheart, but you'll make yourself ill if you eat too much. Don't do that, please.”

“I'm hardly Daniel Lambert,” she said in a suddenly clear voice.

“Who?” She was doing that several times a day now, coming out with strange little phrases or names in a perfectly rational voice that made him question if he was the stupid one for not understanding.

“One more apple, Dad, please. I'll stop then. Promise.”

The pleading, adorable smile she hit him with was an unstoppable force. “One, then, that's all.”

“Thank you. You're the best dad ever. Much better than Marcus.”

“And you're the best daughter in the world. Uh, who's Marcus?”

“Daddeee,” she crooned, snuggling up against him.

He took an apple out of the wicker basket and handed it to her. As she munched slowly he gathered her hair up into cute braids and used a strip of fabric as a ribbon to tie it. “You look lovely,” he told her.

Her hair was matted and greasy, like his. Washing was tricky in the mod-stable, and Matthieu hadn't brought a lot of soap to them since they'd arrived. And the sink in the corner was tiny, anyway.

She finished the apple and lay on the bedroll, wheezing. Another cause for concern—though when he applied the diagnostic sensor pad from the medical kit, it reported her lungs were okay.

You're getting far too paranoid,
he scolded himself.

As the afternoon wore on, Florian became aware of loud noises echoing along the passage back to the office. It sounded like furniture was being smashed up. He held his breath while Essie slept on blissfully. Sure enough: the distinctive sound of glass breaking. Raised voices, one of them Matthieu's.

They're in the club! They're here for us.

His u-shadow armed the defense bracelet. Its targeting program went active, and he pulled up his shirtsleeve. Staring at the pearl-white alien band around his wrist made him all the more determined not to let them capture Essie. He was wearing a weapon from the Commonwealth.
It's all real. She can save us, if she just has the chance.

Tactically, the mod-stable was a disaster. Only one way in or out—and even with the Commonwealth weapon, breaking through a room of armed PSR officers would be nearly impossible. He glanced up at the window. Essie could fit through; he probably wouldn't. He started examining the floor. The old wooden boards were firm and dry. He had no idea what was underneath. If he had an ax it would take barely a minute to chop through. If he had an ax…He glanced at the bracelet again.
Will it be able to shoot through wood? If it can, they'll hear it.

But the sounds of the club being broken up were diminishing; they hadn't found the passage entrance. He sat at the top of the short ladder into the mod-stable and listened for a long time. All the noise had died.

Essie woke up an hour later. He let her eat another meal from the processors, which finished the last of the food Matthieu had brought. He was getting hungry himself now.

Light was starting to fade from the window above when he heard the distinctive sound of the panel door in the office being opened. He woke Essie, who looked around in concern when he put his finger to his lips. Someone was crawling along the passage. He pushed Essie behind him and held his arm out rigid, ready for battle. Slim violet exovision targeting graphics sprang up around the top of the short ladder.

Aunt Terannia stuck her head up through the hole. “Only me,” she said briskly. Then blinked. “What is that on your arm?”

“E-beam pulsor,” Essie said matter-of-factly. “Far Away's favored Saturday-night special.”

Florian hurried over to help his aunt up. “Are you all right? Matthieu said the PSR had taken you.”

“They did. I met a nasty little girl in there who'd better pray to Giu she never sees me again. They let me go an hour ago.”

“What did they want?”

“As we suspected, Billop ratted Rasschaert out. But that's not surprising. Nobody can hold out against the PSR in the end. So they rounded up everyone Rasschaert knew to see if they know where you are.”

“Crudding bastards!”

“Smart and efficient bastards, actually. They got close this time, Florian. Next time…”

“I heard people in the club earlier. It sounded like they were smashing the place up.”

“A sheriff raid; they did the same for everyone they'd taken into custody. And yeah, they knocked the club about.”

“I'm so sorry. It's all my fault.”

“Stop saying that. It's not their first visit here; it won't be the last.” She gave him a gentle hug. “You can't stay here, Florian. Not anymore. They came close today. And if they take me in again and go to work on me, I won't be able to hold out. It's not safe for you and Essie.”

“Are bad people coming?” Essie asked.

“Not here, darling, but we have to get you away to be sure.” Terannia gave Florian an anxious look. “Besides, Matthieu and I don't think it's only the PSR that's looking for you now.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“There's been an upsurge in encrypted file traffic, similar to just before Chaing exposed Xander Manor.”

“There are Fallers hunting me?”

“Nobody can say for sure, but it's best to be safe.”

“They can't be that well organized, can they?”

“Come on, Florian, you're not a kid anymore. We all know the Faller Apocalypse is coming.”

“But…that's the one thing the PSR are good for, taking out nests.”

“Yes,” Terannia said. “And they probably uncover ten a year, have been for decades. It's a good record they have, no one is disputing that. But, tell me, where do those nests come from?”

“What do you mean? It's the eggs. There's a Fall from the Tree Ring just about every week somewhere on Bienvenido.”

“Yes, there is. And you served in a regiment. How many eggs did you find?”

“I didn't. But one of the squads on our sweep did, once. They're real, Aunt Terannia.”

“Very real. So is our Air Defense Force. They're good, those flyboys, and the Space Vigilance Office as well. Nothing lands on Bienvenido these days without us knowing about it. The squadrons are scrambled in time to reach the eggs when they Fall through the atmosphere, and the guns that blessed Mother Laura designed for us blast the alien cruds apart before they even reach the ground. Officially, it's only about one in fifty that ever actually lands intact.”

“Yeah,” Florian nodded earnestly. “It's true, too, not just propaganda.”

“So where are all the nests coming from? Do the math, Florian.”

“Well, they're…” He stopped, frowning, suddenly and unnervingly uncertain. “Uh, the breeder Fallers?”

“Yes. The Fallers that are here are reproducing, Florian; they were doing that even back in the Void. Their numbers are growing despite everything the Air Force and regiments are doing; even the Liberty flights are just about irrelevant. They're
here,
Florian; they've been here for centuries. Back in the Void we were better off. Our telekinesis and psychic sight gave us an advantage, and we managed to contain them. Without those assets out here in the real universe, all we have is guns and PSR paranoia. It's not enough.”