A Night Without Stars (43 page)

“But it's possible?”

“Yes.”

The knowledge allowed Florian to gather some confidence. There was a possible way out; that gave him an edge.

“I'm sure you're an excellent protector,” Roxwolf said. “After all, not everyone could elude the PSR for nearly ten days. Congratulations.” He began to walk around the edge of the furniture, keeping the same distance from Florian and Essie.

Florian watched him carefully; he felt like he was being stalked. “What do you want?”

“I offer you a deal. I am in touch with my own kind. My current activities make me extremely useful to them. They consider me completely expendable, of course, but I can achieve many of their goals—for a price. By now they will know I have acquired her.”

“Rasschaert,” Florian murmured.

“Indeed. An interesting constant is Rasschaert, an asshole in both his incarnations.”

“So what do the Fallers want with Essie?”

Roxwolf emitted a soft hiss of amusement. “Why, they will feast triumphantly on her flesh, of course.”

“They are monsters!”

“When faced with genocide, a species will do whatever it needs to in order to survive. And to me, your death is necessary; it is how the universe works. You occupy a planet where we could be living. There is no question, no ambiguity. Our life is superior in so many ways. It is right that we emerge victorious.”

“Monster!”

“I love studying humans. So few of my kind bother. I love your anger. It is supremely irrelevant, yet you all possess it. I find that so curious. Why has evolution not eradicated it? It is not a survival trait, not in a true sentient. Do you know what my conclusion is?”

“Do I crudding care?”

“I believe it is a short circuit. It allows you to overcome your vaunted ethics, to justify your own horrific behavior in extreme situations.” Roxwolf smiled, exposing even more of his fangs. “And I have seen a great many of you in extremis.”

“You think you're so clever?” Florian raised his arm. Targeting graphics focused on Roxwolf. “Think you can outsmart me?”

“You haven't heard my deal. But I'm interested in this development, your resurgence of confidence. Do you believe you have a way out? What could it be?” He turned to the backpack. “What are the machines you said were in there, I wonder? Weapons? No. Something you can modify after you've killed me?”

“What deal?”

“Ah, now that, you see, my creepy alien friend, that is your survival instinct coming to the fore. Sentience mixed with animal desperation, analyzing the options. But first you need to know all those options. So you tell me, what is it that you want, Florian? I live in both worlds, human and Faller. There is nothing I cannot acquire for you.”

“You know what I want: to be free.”

“Free of what, though? The PSR? The Fallers? Me?”

“Yes! All of you. Just let us go. Leave Essie alone.”

Roxwolf nodded. “A reasonable request. I presume this freedom is for the duration of your infamous ‘month,' until Essie has finished growing. Until she is a fully developed Commonwealth human. Until she declares war on the Fallers.”

“How do you know about the month?” Florian gasped.

“My position is not dependent on violence and intimidation alone.” Roxwolf gestured at the telephone exchange cabinet with his animal arm. “Knowledge, you see, is the true power in any society. And that power is how I survive. I've been listening to Captain Chaing's phone calls to his section seven superior: Stonal. You should hear Chaing making the most pathetic excuses for his lack of progress finding you; I can play you the tapes if you'd like. Essie was mentioned a lot. Someone called Joffler said she grew quickly.”

Florian gave the tape recorders with their slowly revolving reels an astonished glance. “You bug the PSR phones?”

“Absolutely. Among others. A most useful source of information. The PSR's arrogance forbids them to believe anyone would dare attempt such an action.” Roxwolf bent down and picked up the backpack.

“Hey,” Florian cried. “You leave that alone.”

“Would you like to hear my offer?” Roxwolf held out his human arm, dangling the backpack by one of its straps.

Florian stared at him, breathing heavily. His old anxiety reaction was returning; he could hear his heart hammering. Exovision medical displays were flicking to a mild amber. A list of suggested medications popped up. “What's your offer?”

“The spacecraft. It gave you Essie and the machines. What else?”

“Nothing. That's it.”

“You're lying again, Florian. For a start, it gave you the weapon. Perrick described it in great detail for me.”

Florian shrugged, wishing he didn't feel so light-headed. The stress of negotiating with Roxwolf was terrible; his skin was growing ice-cold as he started to sweat. “Well, yeah.” He shrugged.

“What did it tell you, Florian? You have Eliter abilities for communication and memory. It gave you information, didn't it? It gave you files that came from the Commonwealth itself.”

“No.”

Roxwolf raised the backpack. “Then how do you know how to operate the machines?”

The blood was roaring in his head, heartbeat pounding like a hammer. “Well, it gave me those instructions, but that's all.”

“They'll do for a start.”

“What?”

“You have information that is unique, Florian. Knowledge that humans lost when they were captured by the Void. Technology that has passed into legend. Tell me what you have.”

“None of those things,” he said, starting to panic.

“You are a terrible liar. Think what we could build together. Anything Opole's factories can produce can be brought to us here within a day—any piece of engineering, any electrical component; chemicals, metals. I can acquire it all. First we make the tools that make the tools. You just have to share the knowledge.”

“I don't want to build anything.”

“Are you sure, Florian? Look into your heart. Look into your Commonwealth knowledge. What could be done to improve the life of every human on Bienvenido? Are there medicines in there? Eliters always claim Commonwealth humans can live forever. Can you give that to your family, your friends? Would they thank you for keeping it to yourself?”

“If I had that kind of knowledge, it would be used to destroy the Fallers!”

“Yes, but if I had it, I would be able to survive. I told you, that's what I am. Every day of my life is a battle to survive. And I have won. I am
alive.
I live against every obstacle and challenge this world has thrown at me, despised and shunned by my own kind, hunted by yours. I will not give up my life simply because
she
has arrived. Why should I?”

Tremors were running along Florian's limbs as Roxwolf's words beat against him. It would be so easy to give in, to make some kind of deal. Say anything just to make this torment stop, to walk out with Essie. “You can't offer us sanctuary.”

“Oh, but I can.” Roxwolf threw the backpack. It took Florian completely by surprise. He cried wordlessly as it tumbled through the air. It was a powerful throw, taking it the length of the hall. Exovision graphics sprang up, projecting the territory. “Nooo!” The backpack landed in the stream with a loud splash. It sank as the current carried it sluggishly to the drain arch.

Florian sprinted along the line of pillars, desperate to reach it before it was swallowed by the black drain hole at the end of the channel. His targeting routines picked up Roxwolf's movements from his peripheral vision. The malformed Faller was leaping toward Essie as she lay dozing on the settee.

Florian fired a stun pulse.
I can't kill him, he's the only way out now!
The slender dazzling beam flashed out, missing Roxwolf by centimeters. Hitting the wall, and blowing a small crater out of the stone.

Roxwolf landed beside the settee and rolled fast, his animal arm curling around Essie, pulling her with him. Using her to shield him from Florian. There was a pistol in his human hand, swinging around to slap its muzzle against her head.

Jerked so savagely from her slumber, Essie started to wail.

“She would have wiped us out,” Roxwolf said. He pulled the trigger.

Florian began to scream. His u-shadow accelerated his perception. There was a flash from the pistol muzzle that seemed to ripple out at right angles, rising to a searing white wavefront. The sound of the shot pummeled his ears, numbing him. Then Roxwolf's hand was snapping backward, breaking the wrist bone. Confusion bloomed across the Faller's features as his grisly mouth opened; the roar that emerged was almost as loud as the pistol shot, combining pain and dismay. He staggered backward.

And Essie was standing there in her disheveled green dress, completely unharmed. A tiny haze of purple light covered her entire body.

“Force field,” Florian said dumbly as secondary routines dumped the information into his mind.

He shot Roxwolf with another stun pulse. The Faller shrieked, and collapsed to the ground, spasming.

An incredulous smile lifted Florian's face. “You have an integral force field. Biononics!” Then his knees gave way, pitching him onto all fours, and he threw up.

There were seven cars and four vans in the convoy that raced across Opole. The cars carried most of the investigation team while the vans held Captain Franzil's entire assault squad.

Chaing sat in the front passenger seat of the lead Cubar, urging his driver on through the traffic on the main road to the river Crisp.

“Do we sneak up on them?” Jenifa asked from the rear seat as they neared the intersection with Midville Avenue.

Chaing looked around. She was sitting on the backseat next to Nathalie Guyot. When he mobilized the assault squad, she'd eagerly exclaimed: “I'm coming with you.” But the deal he'd made with Yaki was that she'd be restricted to office duties. He hadn't mentioned that to her as they all hurried down to the garage.

“Nathalie?” he asked.

“This is Roxwolf,” Nathalie Guyot said. “He'll know you're coming by now. Most of the city knows with this racket.”

“Okay.” He raised the radio microphone to his mouth and pressed the button on top. “Franzil, we're going in hot.”

“Roger that.” Franzil's voice crackled out of the dashboard speaker.

The driver turned into Midville Avenue.

“Crud,” Chaing grunted as he tried to study the tall buildings that were obscured by the big walwallows. “Which one is it?”

Nathalie pointed ahead. “There.”

Chaing saw the gap where a couple of the trees had been removed. “Pull in just past it,” he told the driver. That would allow the vans to stop directly in front of the club, enabling Franzil's people to deploy quickly.

He had a brief flash of a nice old brick townhouse with a stylish neon sign above the front door. Then the Cubar stopped with a hard lurch. He opened the door as fast as he could and got out, pulling his pistol from its holster. Behind him, the vans were braking to a halt. “Move in,” he called.

“Chaing!” Jenifa yelled. She barreled into him, knocking him to the ground. As he went down he saw three men racing off the top of some metal stairs that led down into a narrow sunken courtyard at the side of the townhouse. They were carrying semi-automatic rifles.

As his shoulder slammed painfully into the cobbles, the rifles opened fire, strafing the assault squad vans. Answering fire erupted from the PSR officers and squad members already out of the vans.

Glass shattered above Chaing as the Cubar's windscreen was hit by bullets. He cowered down, pressing himself into the uneven cobbles as gunfire raged and agonized screams cut through the air. His pistol had skittered away. He could see it a meter away, and reached for it.

The gunfire ended. Chaing snatched up the pistol, then risked a glance around the front of the car.

He saw five black-clad, helmeted members of the assault squad lying on the road, one of them with his legs still inside the van. Screams were coming from inside the vans, which were riddled by bullet holes. Two PSR officers were facedown on the street, unmoving.

The three gangsters were dead, their bodies torn apart by bullets, blood spreading around them. “Oh, great Giu,” he moaned. One of them was surrounded by a pool of blue blood. “Nest. It's a crudding nest!” Then he saw the face of the Faller gangster and started in shock as he recognized it from the records division photo. “Rasschaert?”

“What do we do?” Jenifa shouted. She was still crouched down behind the car, shaking violently.

“Cover the club,” Chaing said. He realized he could barely hear his own voice above the ringing in his ears, and shouted: “Cover the club. All active squad members, cover the club! Jenifa, find a radio. Call for ambulances. And get us some crudding backup. Franzil? Franzil!”

“Here.” The assault squad captain scuttled out from behind one of the vans, keeping low.

“We've got to get down there.”

“Okay.” Franzil started shouting orders to survivors. Four squad members took cover behind the vans and watched the club, carbines held ready for any sign of movement—hostile or otherwise. Chaing split the PSR officers. Half were designated to help the wounded, the rest to provide cover as Franzil led ten of the assault squad down the metal stairs.

They deployed perfectly, the two taking point duty edging up to the railings along the top of the sunken courtyard, swinging their carbines over the top as they scanned around.

“Clear!”

Franzil led eight squad members down the metal stairs. A shotgun took out the hinges on the door at the bottom. A barrage of semi-automatic fire slammed out from the gangsters in the basement corridor.

Chaing flinched back from the railing along the top of the sunken courtyard. Franzil himself flung two grenades through the ruined door. Chaing took a couple of paces back, waiting for them to go off.