Marauder (25 page)

‘Fuck you,’ she rasped. ‘I left you for dead. You should have stayed that way.’

She glanced past him, towards the truck, where two men, both clearly Freeholders, had also disembarked. They stood on either side of a girl, in her early twenties perhaps, her eyes wide and
visibly frightened above her breather mask. From the way the two men held her, she was clearly a prisoner of some kind. The tufts of roughly cut hair sticking out from her scalp could not conceal
the fact that she was also a machine-head. Megan instantly tried to link to her but found that she couldn’t.

There was something hauntingly familiar about the girl, and after a moment it hit her. She had seen the girl’s face regularly via the Tabernacle’s news feeds. Here in front of her
stood the Speaker-Elect of the Demarchy of Uchida . . .

Just as Megan herself had once been, until she found a way to escape.

The two Freeholders left the other girl in Tarrant’s care while they hauled Megan up from the ground, before carrying her into the back of another truck that pulled up
next to the first. They strapped her into a seat in the rear and climbed into the front cabin.

The truck reversed, then turned to rejoin the rest of the convoy, which had meanwhile come to a halt. Every time the vehicle bumped over a rock, a spike of agony shot through Megan’s
injured shoulder.

Seeing Tarrant again was one thing. Seeing him in the company of the supposedly deceased Speaker-Elect was something she was having trouble either processing or understanding.

Megan watched through a window as they bounced along the valley floor. The convoy got under way again and, after another hour, they began to make their way down through a narrow gulch, following
the course of a dried-out riverbed before finally arriving at the base of a high cliff, above which mountainous slopes became lost in misty clouds.

A huge tented shape sat on the floor of the riverbed, immediately beneath a broad overhang of the cliff. It was only as the truck drew closer to this vast canvas shroud, painted the same colours
as the surrounding landscape, that Megan could see the stanchions of a dropship peeking out from underneath. She guessed immediately it was the one that Sifra had used to transport her to
Redstone.

The truck continued past the dropship, following a trail leading into a wide passageway carved out of the mountainside right beneath the overhang. The passageway angled downwards, its interior
illuminated by a long sequence of lights strung from the arched roof, and eventually dwindling out of sight. A subtle shift in the pitch of the truck’s engine noise told Megan they had passed
through a pressure field.

The truck continued through a number of caverns, some natural and some clearly drilled out of the bare rock, before coming to a halt in a low, wide tunnel that clearly doubled
as a makeshift hospital. A few dozen canvas cots had been arranged in rows against a wall, along with – of all things – an actual operating table, surrounded by trays of surgical
instruments and bits and pieces of ancient-looking equipment. The two Freeholders left Megan in the charge of a single watchful guard and a gaunt, elderly-looking man who told her he would tend to
her wounds.

She pulled off her breather mask as she perched on the edge of a cot while the doctor – at least, she
assumed
he was a doctor – examined her shoulder. She sat with folded
arms concealing her breasts, her shirt lying by her side, till he informed her she had nothing more than a sprained shoulder and some severe bruising. It seemed the drone had used gel-capsule
bullets, good for incapacitating people while leaving little in the way of actual physical damage.

He pushed an ice compress against her shoulder, then gave her some bitter liquid to drink before telling her to catch some sleep. The guard then cuffed one of her wrists to the rail of the cot
and left her there.

At least they weren’t going to kill her instantly. That had to count for something, even if she suspected that Sifra was behind this decision. He had made it clear, after all, that he
still had need for both herself and Bash.

Studying the ancient scars on the hands and face of the Freehold doctor, it had occurred to Megan that if the man had ever visited a body clinic, he hadn’t been back there for a very long
time indeed. It wasn’t really until her guard cuffed her to the cot, giving her an opportunity to notice that one of his ears consisted of little more than scar tissue, that she understood
how little access these people had to modern medical technology. All they had were primitive, half-forgotten surgical and medicinal techniques that spoke of dreadful deprivation.

She glanced towards the nearby operating table and shuddered to think of what they might have done to her if her injuries had been more serious.

Megan awoke some hours later, to hear the distant booming and hissing of what might be machinery, or equally well some subterranean river coursing through the bowels of the
Montos de Frenezo.

Someone nearby cleared his throat, and she stifled a grunt of shock when she saw Tarrant sitting on the edge of a cot next to her own.

‘Hello, Megan,’ said Tarrant. ‘Long time no see.’

He had changed since she had last seen him: any fat on his face had diminished with age, leaving him hollow-cheeked and hungry-looking. But his eyes remained just as startling as on their first
encounter aboard the
Beauregard
.

‘Gregor,’ she acknowledged haltingly. ‘Come to gloat?’

There was no sign of her guard or anyone else. They were all alone.

‘Anil made the mistake of underestimating you when he left you alone on that dropship,’ he said, then shook his head slowly. ‘He won’t make that same mistake again, and
neither will I. The only thing keeping him from killing you is his loyalty to the General.’

‘That girl . . .’ said Megan. ‘The one who came out of the truck with you . . . ?’

‘Is none of your business,’ Tarrant replied. He stood up and came to stand beside her, reaching down to stroke her cheek with one finger. She flinched away.

‘Do you know, Megan,’ he said, ‘how very easy it would be for me to kill you right now?’

She squirmed as far away from him as she could get, given she still had one hand cuffed to the cot’s metal rail. ‘You had something to do with what happened to the Demarchy,
didn’t you?’ she asked him. ‘That’s why you’re working with the Freehold. You’re even more of a murderous, deceitful, untrustworthy son of a bitch than I
thought.’

‘Mr Tarrant can’t take all of the credit for the Demarchy,’ said another voice, coming closer.

Megan twisted the other way to see a man with bristly white hair approach from out of the shadows. Anil Sifra and several heavily armed Freeholders followed in his wake.

‘As a matter of fact,’ the white-haired man continued, as he came to a halt before her cot, ‘it took dozens of people working in unison for over two years to bring about the
events of the past few days.’ He nodded towards Tarrant. ‘That’s not to say that Gregor’s role wasn’t vital.’

‘You’re Otto Schelling,’ Megan said, realizing. ‘You disappeared along with a bunch of nova mines, right after strenuously denying they ever existed.’

Schelling gazed down at her. ‘I prefer to be addressed as
General
Schelling. You’ve caused me more trouble than I could have believed was possible, Miss Jacinth. You
wouldn’t be alive right now if not for the fact we still have a use for you.’

‘Worse luck,’ said Sifra tonelessly.

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ said Megan.

‘Gregor,’ said the General, ‘get someone to uncuff her from that cot, would you?’

Tarrant gave him a tight-lipped glance. ‘Sir, it’s too much of a risk having her here. We don’t need her, and it’s better all round if we find some other way
of—’

‘You’ve already made your objections abundantly clear,’ snapped Schelling. ‘Now do what the hell you’re told.’ He gave Megan a brittle smile. ‘And then
we can find somewhere comfortable to continue our conversation.’

Two heavily armed Freeholders led her downslope, with Sifra, Tarrant and General Schelling taking the lead. They passed a cluster of digging machines that stood quiescent
amidst piles of rubble, before turning into a cathedral-sized cavern made eerily beautiful by patches of bioluminescent algae clinging to its walls and ceiling.

They were heading, she realized, towards a huddle of prefab buildings erected in the centre of the cavern. Standing on a platform next to one of these buildings was a huge industrial-scale
fabricator that looked both newer and in far better condition than anything else she had seen since entering the Freehold base.

Tarrant led her inside one of the buildings, while the soldiers waited outside. She found herself ushered into a small bare room, followed by Schelling and Sifra.

‘Are we secure in here?’ Schelling demanded, as Tarrant pushed the door shut.

Tarrant nodded. ‘It checks clean for listening devices, General. Our hosts won’t be able to listen in.’

Megan wondered what they had to say that they didn’t want even the Freehold to overhear.

‘Good,’ said Schelling, stepping over to a small table in one corner and picking up a bottle. He poured a splash of its contents into three glasses, before handing one each to
Tarrant and Sifra. Then he turned to Megan and gestured with his own glass towards a chair set against the wall. ‘Sit,’ he said.

‘I’d rather stand,’ said Megan.

‘You can either sit,’ said Schelling menacingly, ‘or I can ask Anil to work you over with his gloves. He’s still very upset about the state you left his dropship in, you
know. So the choice is yours.’

Megan stared at him for a moment, then sat down.

‘Gentlemen,’ said Schelling, turning to the others and raising his glass. ‘To a job exceedingly well done. I almost can’t believe it went as well as it did.’

They drank, but Tarrant still looked troubled. ‘Sir . . .’

‘I know I’ve kept some things from you while you’ve been stuck here on Redstone, Gregor,’ Schelling interrupted him, ‘but there were good reasons for it. If
we’d told you we were intending to bring Jacinth here to Redstone, you might have tried to stop us.’

Schelling next turned to Megan, raising his glass to her too. ‘Although I must say it was very kind of you, Miss Jacinth, to deliver yourself to the exact place we were intending to bring
you anyway.’

The muscles in Tarrant’s jaw worked noticeably for a moment before he replied. ‘Sir, myself and Anil were stuck on that goddamn wreck for two years –
two fucking years
– before rescue came. All because of her,’ he said, jabbing his glass in Megan’s direction. ‘You cannot expect me to ignore that fact.’

‘Gregor,’ said Schelling, ‘you’ve been a sterling example to us all, but you need to put some things behind you. You have to see our goals clearly. It’s what lies
ahead of us that matters now.’

He turned again to Megan. ‘A while back, I initiated a research programme to try and re-establish communications with the Wanderer through Mr Bashir, once it became clear he was still
linked to it in some way.’ He shook his head. ‘Unfortunately, the results were less than positive.’

‘So Anil told me already. You murdered a bunch of machine-heads in the process.’

Schelling ignored that remark. ‘All of which makes your own ability to communicate with the Wanderer via Bashir, without losing either your mind or your life, somewhat unique for reasons
we do not as yet understand. The question for us now is, can you repeat the trick?’

‘What we really need to know,’ said Sifra, his eyes bright and cruel and alert, ‘is what the hell makes her so different from the rest?’

‘The last thing I want,’ said Megan, ‘is to do anything to help a bunch of genocidal murderers.’

‘Anil seems to believe you were planning on paying a visit to the Wanderer yourself,’ said Schelling.

‘Anil is a delusional psychopath who threatened to burn Bash’s face and limbs off if I didn’t tell him exactly what he wanted to hear,’ she retorted sharply.
‘I’ll bet he didn’t mention
that
.’

Schelling’s face remained impassive, but she saw the fury in his gaze as he turned to look at Sifra, who struggled to remain silent.

‘Sir—’ said Sifra.

‘We’ll talk later,’ the General interrupted sharply. ‘For now, shut the hell up.’ He turned back to Megan. ‘Your job will be to negotiate with the Wanderer on
our behalf, via Bashir.’

‘Go to hell,’ said Megan.

Schelling smiled thinly. ‘It’s not that we require your cooperation, Miss Jacinth. It’s just that it would make life easier.’

Megan stared off into a corner of the room, as if dismissing him.

Schelling shook his head and sighed as if washing his hands of her. ‘I think this is where you come in, Anil.’

‘With pleasure,’ said Sifra, pulling on his gloves and stepping towards her.

Megan jumped up from her chair, but Sifra caught her by the arm, drawing her in close as if embracing her. She tried to scream as the pain hit, but the sound stalled in her throat.

She blacked out for a few seconds. When she came to, she was slumped on the floor, dazed and sick, her heart pounding. Sifra stood over her, his heavy-lidded eyes full of anticipation.

‘Anil can keep this up indefinitely until you decide to cooperate,’ said Schelling, staring down at her. ‘There’s too much at stake here to waste on niceties. Do we have
an understanding?’

‘Yes,’ she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Schelling nodded. ‘The Three Star Alliance, Miss Jacinth, has been reduced to little more than a vassal state of the Accord – thanks largely to you. Conquered, with barely a shot
fired. We could have turned things around if we’d succeeded in dealing with the Wanderer. This, then, is your opportunity to make up for your past crimes.’

The floor felt cold and hard beneath Megan’s splayed fingers. ‘The Wanderer attacked us,’ she said, twisting her head round to stare up at him. ‘It was never going to
deal with us. All I did was take advantage of what was already inevitable. All it cared about was acquiring the
Beauregard
’s nova drive. Don’t you understand that?’