Quiet Knives (8 page)

Well, that was a question, now, wasn't it?
Midj shrugged. "Old friend. Called in a favor. I came. That's how
we do things, out where the chairman's whim counts for spit."

Another quick grin. "I'll take that as a
long 'no,'" she said. "Korelan Zar is the High Judge's
courier."

Midj sipped coffee, considering. She decided
that she didn't really care what the Juntavas had to do with judges
or judging, and looked up to meet Sambra Reallen's sober gaze.

"Kore was a hell of a pilot," she said,
which was nothing but the truth.

The Juntava snorted. "So he was and so he
is. He's also been with the High Judge for twenty Standards--maybe
more. The two of them came out of nowhere--the High Judge, he
wasn't a Judge then; the closest we had to Judges were the
Enforcers--and that wasn't close at all. He sold the Justice
Department idea to the then-chairman--the chairman that the present
whimsical guy we've got replaced, you understand. The two of
them--Zar and the Judge--they set up the whole system, recruited
Judges, trained 'em and set 'em loose. I don't know how many Judges
there are now--the last number I heard was thirty, but I think
that's low--very low. The High Judge isn't a man who shows you all
the cards he's got in his hand--and Korelan Zar's just like
him."

It was a fair description
of Kore, all things weighed. And the project itself jibed with the
one he'd tried to sell her on, sitting across from her in
Skeedaddle's
tiny galley,
holding her hands so hard she felt the bones grinding together.
Bunch of crazy talk, she'd thought then. Now... Well, say the years
had given her a different understanding of what was necessarily
crazy.

"Not that I'm disinterested in your
problems," she said now to Sambra Reallen, "but I'm not quite
grasping what this has to do with me."

The other woman nodded vigorously. "Thank
you, yes. You do need to know what this has to do with you." She
leaned forward, face intent, eyes hard.

"The High Judge, his
household, all the Judges I know about and all those I don't--are
gone. Say that they are not blessed with the chairman's favor. I
don't doubt--I
know
--that the High Judge had a plan. He must have foreseen--if
not the current situation, at least the
possibility
of the current situation.
He would have planned for this. His very disappearance forces me to
conclude that he
does
have a plan, and has only withdrawn for a time to marshal his
forces and his allies."

Midj shrugged. "So?"

"So." Sambra Reallen leaned deliberately
back in her chair. "About a month ago, local, the chairman realized
the High Judge had not been seen in some while. That, indeed, the
entire network of Judges, as far as they are known, had slipped
through the hands of his seekers. He realized, indeed, that the
sole member of the High Judge's household remaining upon Shaltren
was--"

"The courier." Midj put her cup down, all
her attention focused on the other woman.

Sambra Reallen nodded. "Precisely. The word
went out that Korelan Zar should be brought to the chairman. How
Zar heard of the order, I don't know, but I'm not surprised that he
did. He made a strike for his ship, as I was sure he would, and I
waited for him there, hoping to divert him to a safe place.
Something must have spooked him; he returned to the High Judge's
house--and was taken into custody shortly thereafter."

"Hm. How 'bout if it was you spooked him?"
Midj asked. "I'm thinking that altruism isn't exactly your style.
What'd you want from Kore in exchange for the safe berth?"

The other woman's face tightened.
"Information! The High Judge must be planning something--I must
know what it is! The chairman can't be allowed to continue--he's
already lost us ground on three significant worlds and will loose
Stelubia entirely, if he's not stopped. All of that would be reason
enough, if there weren't Turtles in the mix, too!"

Midj blinked. "Turtles? Clutch Turtles?"

"There's another kind?"

"Not that I know of. These would be two, and
asking after the health of a couple of humans they adopted, am I
right?"

Sambra Reallen nodded, sighed.

"Indeed," she said finally, finding her
pastry's icing a fascinating diversion from the discussion as she
weighed some inner necessity.

"These things are too big to be secret," she
continued, "no matter how hard any of us wish to hide them. Here
you are, fresh in, and already the word is out. "

The pilot relaxed slightly, realizing that
the Juntava was apparently too focused on her own set of woes to
pursue Midj's familiarity with the doings of the Clutch.

"I've been reading history,
Captain Rolanni. The vengeance that these two beings may visit upon
the entire organization if their petition is mishandled--and there
is no possibility that the chairman will
not
mishandle it--doesn't bear
thinking about. I--Action needs to be taken. But I must know what
the High Judge is planning."

"And you think Kore knows."

"Yes."

"But Kore's been taken by
the chairman," Midj pointed out, trying to keep the thought--and
its implications--from reaching real nerve endings. "If he's as
ruthless as he say, he's already cracked Kore's head open and
emptied out everything inside."
Including
my name, my ship's name, and the fact that I was coming for
him.
That
did
touch nerve, and she picked up
her cup, swigging down the last of the cold coffee.

"The chairman tried to do exactly that,"
Sambra Reallen said. "Mr. Zar's defenses are formidable--also, as I
discover from my study of the session transcript, he wasn't asked
the right question."

"You got my name from the transcript,
then."

"No." The Juntava shook her head. "I got
your pinbeam receiver ID from the transcript. Mr. Zar could not be
persuaded to part with your name, though he was obviously
experiencing some ...discomfort for withholding the
information."

The receiver ID was enough to sink
her--present company being evidence--but she'd made it extra easier
for them by coming on-world--and the joke was on her, if she'd
taken an honest warn-away for code.

"So, what do you want from me?" Might as
well ask it straight out, though she thought she had a good idea
what it would be.

"I want you to pull him out of custody. I
can provide you with his location, weapons if you need them, and a
safe place to bring him to."

Yup, that was it.
Midj shook her head.

"And what do I get?"

The Juntava pushed the untouched sandwich
away and leaned her elbows on the table.

"What do you want?"

Just like that: Name a
price and the Juntavas would meet it. No problem. She felt a hot
flash of fury, felt the words,
I want my
brother back
rising and kept them behind
her teeth with an effort. Sat for a couple of heartbeats,
breathing. Just that.

When she was sure she could trust her voice,
she met the other woman's bland eyes.

"What I want is Kore, free and in shape to
leave, if that's what he still wants. And I want us both to have
safe passage out of here, and a guarantee that we won't either of
us be pursued by the Juntavas after."

There was a pause.

"I could promise you these things," Sambra
Reallen said eventually, "but until I hear what Korelan Zar has to
tell me--if he will tell me anything--I can't know if my promise
will hold air." She raised a hand, palm out. "I understand that you
have no reason to love the Juntavas, Captain. The best I can
promise at this point is that, if Chairman Trogar leaves the game,
I will do my best to ensure that your conditions are met."

About what she'd figured; as good as she was
going to get, and no time to negotiate anyway, with Kore's life on
the line.

"Why hasn't the chairman killed him?" she
asked.

The Juntava shrugged. "It could be that the
chairman thinks Korelan Zar still retains some potential for
amusement."

Right
. Midj sighed.

"I'll need a diversion. If Kore's
high-level, then there are high-level people interested in him
who'll have to be drawn off."

Sambra Reallen nodded. "I'll call a
department chair meeting."

Midj blinked. "You can do that?"

The Juntava smiled, letting a glimmer of
genuine amusement show. "Oh, yes," she said. "I can do that."

* * *

GETTING OUT THE DOOR hadn't been so hard
after all, though there was going to be hell to pay if--well, there
was going to be hell to pay; it wasn't any use thinking there could
be a different outcome to this.

He was sorry he wouldn't be on hand to see
the finish of it, since he'd been in on the beginning. It had been
a grand, beautiful scheme, so logical. So--simple. Introduce a
justice system into Juntavas structure. Feed and nurture and
protect it and its practitioners for twenty, thirty, fifty
Standards--they hadn't been sure of the timing, but hoped to see
results within their lifetimes--easily that. Lately, he thought
they'd been optimistic--and not only of the timing.

Still, he had a gun, courtesy of a guard
even stupider than he was, and he knew where he was, and where he
was going, more or less right down to his final breath. It was...
freeing in a way. He felt at peace with himself, and with his
purpose. If he could kill Grom Trogar, then he could depart as
happy as a man filled full of pellets could be, and the plan--his
plan, that he'd given up his life of small happinesses to see
through--would have a second chance at continuing.

It was convenient that his holding room was
in the chairman's building. Convenient that he had committed the
layout of that building, along with several others, to memory years
ago. He knew where the secret stair was and the code that opened
the hatch. He eased the panel shut behind him and began to
climb.

He paused to catch his breath just below the
fourteenth landing. Only one more landing, if his memory could be
relied upon--and since he'd already decided that it could why worry
about it now? The hatch opened in what used to be a supply closet
in the chairman's suite. He steeled himself for the unpleasant
truth that he might need to kill blameless people before he got to
his target. He wasn't an assassin; even killing Mr. Trogar himself,
much as it was needed, wasn't going to be a home joy. The important
thing was not to freeze, not to hesitate. To acquire his target and
shoot. He might only get one shot, and it was important to make it
count.

Leaning against the wall, he once again went
over his stolen gun. It was a good gun, loaded, well-oiled with an
extra clip of pellets riding in the handle. The guard had taken
good care of his weapon. Points for the--

Above him and to the left, where the ongoing
flight angled off the landing, there was a noise. A very slight
noise, not immediately repeated, as if someone had scuffed a boot
against the edge of a step.

He went to one knee on the
step, raised the gun in two hands, and waited, breathing
slow.
Easy...

Another scuff, and a dim shadow on the dim
wall of the landing. His finger tightened on the trigger.
Silence--

And a sudden appalling rush of sound, as a
dark figure hurtled hit the landing, flat-footed, gun out and
pointing at his head. He had a moment to feel anger, then--

"Kore!"

He blinked. Stared up into a pale face and
dark brown eyes, short dark hair showing a blaze of gray going back
from the temple.

"Midj?" Slowly, he lowered the gun. "What
the hell are you doing here?"

"Back atcha." She lowered her own weapon and
stood, a little stiffly, he thought. "But it's gonna hafta to wait.
I'm supposed to be getting you out of here, to a safe place."

He frowned. "Safe by whose standards?"

"Woman by the name of Sambra Reallen."

He thought about it, shook his head. "Can't
trust her."

"Can't not trust her," she countered. "She
picked me up in port. Could've just as easy been the chairman, the
way I hear it. She wants him gone and she don't want to jinx the
High Judge's play, if he has a play. Which you're supposed to tell
her."

He snorted. "She wouldn't believe me." He
thought again. "How were you supposed to get me out of here?"

"Same way I came," she said, jerking her
head up the stairs. We walk up to the roof. There's a monowing
waiting to lift us out."

"OK," he said, and came to his feet. He
smiled, then, and it felt like his soul was stretched so wide it
might burst a seam.

"Midj. Thank you."

"No problem."

* * *

THEY WERE TWO STEPS below the fifteenth
landing when the alarm went out. Kore threw himself onto landing,
fingers moving rapidly on the code bar. The panel slid open as Midj
came up beside him.

"What's going on?"

"Damned if I know. But the doors will seal
in ten seconds--go!" He pushed her through and followed, into the
dimness of the supply room.

"Where are we?"

Trust Midj to ask the question. "Chairman
Trogar's office."

"Great."

"Could be worse. Let's see..."

Carefully, he eased open the closet door,
the receptionist's desk was empty, he could hear voices, out in the
hall, and slipped forward, barely hearing Midj's curse as she
followed him.

He crept to the hall door and peered
around--and abruptly gave up stealth.

In the center of the hall, surrounded by
gaping humans, stood two large green--persons. On the floor beyond
them, he could see a form, a shock of white hair, a widening pool
of blood, a--weapon, though what sort of weapon he scarcely
knew.