Shadow on the Sun (19 page)

Vienne shakes her head. “It's not about the coin.”

“Then what is it about?”

“You want the truth?”

“I live for the truth.”

“You didn't listen to me. Not once.”

“You are skilled but naïve.” Mother smiles and runs a hand through her hair. “Tahnoon wanted those attacks to happen. He is a man who sets his snares and waits for the quarry to stumble into them. Which they did.”

“He purposely endangered the lives of the refugees?”

“Then he saved them from the evil monsters,” Mother Koumanov says. “Or you did, and he took the credit. Tahnoon wants followers. He gathered these people and led them through the gauntlet of Scorpions to the promised land.”

“I spent more than a year in New Eden,” Vienne says. “It's no promised land. More like an open sewer.”

“You know that and I know that,” Mother Koumanov says. “The refugees? That's a different story. Now sit, please, and let me reword my offer. I have been given a job. It is a rescue, and the reward is handsome. I need someone with your skills, not just as a fighter but as a tactician to lead my crew.”

“What about Nikolai?” Vienne asks. How will he act? How will I act? Can I just shoot him and get rid of the problem?

“Nikolai,” Mother says, and offers Vienne a folding chair, “will do what I tell him. He is very loyal. His skills aren't as great as yours. The same is true for the other brothers, including that Jenkins. They need you.”

Vienne takes the chair. “Tell me about the job.”

Mother Koumanov smiles. “South of here,” she says, “Lyme's Sturmnacht have press-ganged the locals and are turning them into slave labor. For some reason known only to Lyme, the Fisher furnaces are open and he's burning guanite again. Not that we care, except that our sponsor wants a certain group of slaves set free.”

A guanite mine south of here? “You're talking about Hell's Cross.”

“That's right. Fisher Four,” Mother Koumanov says. “Are you familiar with the place?”

Too familiar. “Enough to know that only a fool would think that a jailbreak there is possible. It's desolate. There are kilometers upon kilometers of nothing but permafrost.”

“So you've done more than heard of it,” Mother Koumanov says, sounding impressed. “You've been there?”

“Once. To do a job.”

“How did it turn out?” Mother Koumanov says.

Badly
,
Vienne thinks. “We finished the job.”

Mother tosses the pouch to Vienne. “Now you're even more important to me, Vienne. So I sweeten the pot. Consider this share as a down payment. If we are successful, you'll get two more shares just like it.”

Vienne shakes the pouch. A pale brown, irregular crystal rolls into her palm. Even uncut, she knows what it is.

“A diamond?” Vienne says. “Where did this come from?”

“I'm not precisely sure,” Mother Koumanov says. “Only our client knows, and he isn't sharing that information. I do know that one stone is worth more coin than either of us will make in a lifetime. You're young, but I'm getting too old for this kind of work, and I'd like to retire to a nice warm beach when this war is over.”

Vienne holds the stone to the light. It doesn't look like much. “Do you think it will ever be over?”

“All wars end if you wait long enough,” Mother Koumanov says. “So, are you in or not?”

Vienne puts the diamond back in the pouch and tosses it to Mother. “I'm in,” she says. “But not for a diamond. It takes too long to sell stuff like that. I want cash now. “

“Penny wise and pound foolish,” Mother Koumanov says. “Diamonds are priceless. If you're patient, you can make a Bishop's ransom in coin.”

“I don't have that luxury,” Vienne says, standing. She pulls the tent flap aside. “And there's no such thing as priceless. Everything has a price if you're willing to pay it.”

CHAPTER 36

New Eden

ANNOS MARTIS
239. 2. 17. 19:14

 

 

It's night when I reach New Eden. The city was always a crowded, loud, fetid town where a smart man traveled with one hand on a knife and the other on his purse. Most of the center city is still under the habidomes, antique structures built at the end of the Founders' era. They leak like a sieve when it rains, and in New Eden it's always raining. Thousands of bazaar shops line the old city streets. Anything you want, you can get here—legal and illegal. It makes the perfect place for mercenary Regulators like me and Vienne to find work. Its isolated location also made it the perfect place to flee to when war broke out. Now New Eden is even more crowded, even more loud and foul smelling, and I would bet a month's pay that it's even more dangerous.

Which is why I want none of it.

“Then why are you here?” Mimi asks.

“Because I'm low on petrol.” I look at the city lights. Even those are dim and dull looking. “The town is a cesspool of thieves and beggars, run by black market collectors and their enforcers, which makes it easier to get what you need without having to explain why you want it.”

“It was a rhetorical question,” she says. “I know you're here to find Vienne.”

“Oh,” I say. “Yeah, I knew that.”

“I understand that you are upset with Rosa Lynn's death, cowboy,” Mimi says. “However, being flippantly obtuse is an annoying method of demonstrating grief.”

“I'm not showing grief,” I say. “I'm showing anger. A good friend died, and even if she did bad things, there was no reason for it. It's stupid, all this fighting, all this death. I wish I could put an end to it.”

“You cannot end death, cowboy,” she says. “Believe me.”

“I do believe you, Mimi. That's why I'm so carking mad.”

Up ahead, traffic is slowing down. Easing around a truck with a camper, I see why. Flashing lights. It's a checkpoint.

“Uh-oh.” I ask Mimi as I roll closer, “What's this?”

“I believe that you just hypothesized that it is a checkpoint.”

“I know it's a checkpoint. I meant, what are they looking for? Monitor their radio transmissions or something. Do that voodoo that you do.”

“Might I remind you that my ability to access such transmissions is temporarily hampered by a recent traumatic event.”

“Mine, too,” I say.

“Do not let grief make you maudlin, cowboy.”

“It's not grief,” I say. It's more complicated than that.

I look ahead at the Ranger in charge. His face is full of scars. Men with scars generally aren't easy to reason with. “Just check for alternative routes. See if there's a work-around route that'll get us through. Last thing I want is for these rotters to find that pigeon.”

“Cowboy,” Mimi says. “You are well aware that this highway is the only thoroughfare in or out of the town. It is surrounded by security fencing left from the days of the rebellion against the Orthocracy.”

“I need a Plan B, then.”

“You had a Plan A?”

“Har-har,” I say. “Flying by the seat of your pants is a plan. Sort of.” But she's right. The only way to Hell's Cross is through New Eden, and it is the most heavily fortified city in the Prefecture. So I wait my turn in bumper-to-bumper traffic while Rangers with Sturmnacht as backup check every driver and inspect all cargo. It takes hours and hours.

“Fifty-two minutes,” Mimi says, “to be precise.”

“Too bad Rosa Lynn didn't lop off that infernal clock of yours.”

Finally, it's my turn. The Ranger waves me forward.

“What seems to be the problem tonight?” I say, trying to come off as chipper but sounding more like annoying.

“Scorpions attacked a caravan of refugees,” he says. “We're making sure it doesn't happen twice.”

“Anybody hurt?” I ask.

The Ranger screws up his face. “I'll ask the questions here. Got that?” So he does, straight down the checklist. “What's your business in New Eden?”

I hold up my left hand. “Looking for work.”

He sneers. “The good folks of New Eden don't care much for
dalit
.”

“That's why I'm glad the good folks are in the minority,” I say. “Can I go now?”

The Ranger shakes his head. “Move your butt. I need to check your storage.”

“Suit yourself.” I get off the bike.

“Your heart rate is one hundred and thirty-three beats per minute,” Mimi says. “Significant perspiration is accumulating on your upper lip.”

I wipe my mouth. “Stow it, Mimi. I'm nervous enough as it is.”

The Ranger throws my civvies on the ground. My food stores, too. Then he finds the one thing I care about—the bag with the pigeon. He shakes the bag, reaches inside, and pulls out the most dangerous object on the planet.

“What's this?” He bounces it. “A ball?”

“No,” I reply, “a bomb.”

He fumbles and knocks the ball into the air, then scrambles to keep it from hitting the ground. Finally, he grabs it and presses it against his chest.

“Just yanking your chain,” I say, smirking. “It's a ball. Found it in the junk left roadside. Figured it'd fetch a pretty penny in the bazaar.”

He looks like he could throttle me. Then as if to double-check if I'm telling the truth, he bounces it. “Let's test that theory.”

“Why?” I ask Mimi. “If it were a bomb, it would blow his feet off.”

“There are some behaviors even I cannot analyze,” she says. “This is one of them.”

The Ranger bounces the ball three times. “My boy might like this. What if I was to buy it off you?”

“Your heart rate is one hundred seventy-one,” Mimi says.

“Sure,” I say, seeing little white spots of panic drift before my eyes. “Thirty pieces.”

“Thirty?” He howls. “I was thinking two. That's twice as much as you'd get at the bazaar.”

I shake my head. Hold out my hand. “I'm willing to take that chance.”

He hesitates. “Four pieces.”

I shake my head.

“Five.”

“All you're doing,” I say, “is convincing me to raise my price.”

He slaps the pigeon in my palm. “You're as bad as the Scorpions.”

I return it to the bag. “I'm looking for work, not to make a sale. You said that a caravan got attacked. Any idea of where it went?”

“What business is it of yours?” he snarls.

“Refugees plus attacks equals a need for security, which equals work for me, right?”

He rubs his chin. “If it'd keep more scum out of town, then more power to you.” He gives me directions to the base where the caravan is camped.

“Thanks,” I say.

“You can thank me,” he says, and spits, “by never showing your face in New Eden again,
dalit
.”

“If I don't find what I'm looking for,” I say, and turn the bike around, “the last thing you should worry about is me.”

CHAPTER 37

New Eden

ANNOS MARTIS
239. 2. 17. 20:11

 

 

A couple hundred meters from the decommissioned base, I see the light of the fires burning. Hundreds of them, cooking fires, mostly, but watch fires, too, the size you find in fuel barrels. There are probably a countless number of barrels, left over from when the base was closed. I slow down as I get closer but keep my headlamp on—I want them to know I'm here.

“May I remind you,” Mimi says as I stop at the gate, “that your primary mission is to dispose of the pigeon?”

“No,” I say. “You may not.”

“Your primary mission is to dispose of the pigeon.”

“Why do you ask permission and then ignore me?”

“I wasn't asking permission,” she says. “I was being polite.”

“You know, I'm not the only one on a supersecret mission to save the world. How's that working out for you?”

“I have no communication with my other self.”

“Why's that?”

“Doing so might give the hussy access to your systems.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. Oh. ‘Oh' as in very dangerous.”

“Okay,” I say. “I get it.”

There are four barrels burning by the gate. A figure in the shadows tells me to state my business. I hear more than one set of footsteps and more than one shotgun being cocked.

“Good ears,” Mimi says. “There are six individuals in close proximity.”

One of them steps into the light. He's pointing a sawed-off double-barrel at me. He stands a head taller than the others, and he's wearing mix of CorpCom military issue and a Sturmnacht uniform. Looks like he buys his clothes the same place I do.

“I'm here to see a man about a job,” I say. “Heard you were looking for security.”

“Take off your helmet,” he says. “Show your face.”

I set my helmet on the seat and pull back my cowl. The heat from the barrels feels good on my face.

He spits. “Ain't you purty.”

Enough of this
kuso
. I snap my wrist and unholster my armalite. I stick the barrel into his belly button. “I'm also wicked fast and really, really tired. If there's work to be had, then open the carking gates. If not, I'll be on my way.”

“Let him in,” a figure in the shadows says. “Take him to the Elder. Gut him if he acts out.”

“For refugees,” I tell Mimi as the gate opens and I follow a guide into the base, “they sure are secretive.”

“Ornery, too.”

The guide stops me in front of a long tent. He's young, maybe a little more than half my age. He nods for me to enter. Inside, there is a long table loaded down with food. A few chairs are scattered around. The ground is covered with an ornate carpet. The pattern is familiar. It reminds me of a floor rug I once saw in the Jalismar District.

“Who puts a carpet on the floor of a tent?” I ask Mimi.

“A man who has no house?”

“Touché.”

The man in question is sitting in the corner, eyes closed. He is wearing long, flowing robes. His head is shaven clean, but he has a thick, bristly beard. In New Eden he could pass for a holy man if weren't for the bulge of a weapon under his left arm.

I walk close enough to smell shaving oil and the spicy sweet odor of Rapture. Even if I were really looking for work, I'd be damned before I'd accept work from an addict.

“You are seeking work?” he says. He opens his eyes but doesn't look at me. His hand moves to the butt of whatever gun he's hiding.

I ease around so that he doesn't get an angle on me. “Maybe. If the pay is good enough. And I cotton to the job. I heard that you already had some mercenaries working for you. I'd like to get a look-see at them first, in case I've ever run foul of them before.”

He takes a sip from a cordial glass. “My men say that you are a
dalit
.”

“Sure am.”

“Would your name happen to be Durango?”

Now that was the last question I expected to be asked. “Do I look like some kind of cowboy to you?”

He looks over his shoulder at me. “You look like a Regulator to me.” He turns, holding the cordial in his palm. “One that I would like to hire to kill someone.”

“No thanks,” I say. “I don't do that kind of work.”

He smiles with thin lips. “You are a
dalit
. You will take whatever work pays, and I pay well.”

“There's not enough coin in those baggy jammies of yours to ever turn me into an assassin.”

He waves his three bodyguards into the tent. “You are lying to me. You have not come looking for work.”

I shrug. “Got me there, Tahnoon. I came looking for another Regulator. A woman. Blond hair and lean. About my height with light blue eyes. Her name is Vienne.”

“You blush when you say her name.” He combs his chin. “Yes, she was here. A very fierce young lady. One might even say unmannered.”

Oh, she has manners. Just not the same ones society does. “She's gone?”

He shakes his head. “Her crew took another job.”

“Cowboy,” Mimi says, “be careful. I read—”

I ignore her and stare at Tahnoon. By God, he's going to tell me where Vienne is. “What kind of job?”

“They did not tell me, and I did not ask.” He runs his fingers through his beard then leans toward me. “You want something from this woman, no? Many men do. So I will give you a choice—work for me, and I will tell you where they have gone. Refuse, and you will never know.”

“Cowboy!” Mimi says. “Behind you!”

Lü
guăn drecksau
, I think as I reach for my armalite, only to hear the clicking of automatic weapons being shoved into my back. Then I feel the unmistakable sensation of a double-barreled shotgun at the base of my skull.

“I told you,” Mimi says, “to be careful!”

I drop my weapon and raise my hands. “So this is how it's going to go, huh?”

“It does not have to end this way.” Tahnoon wipes a fig on his sleeve and takes a nibble. “It is, after all, your choice.”

“Thanks for making that clear,” I say, and drop to the ground.

Behind me, the shotgun fires, blowing a hole in the top of the tent. The stink of cordite and smoke fills the air as I do a backflip into a handstand and drive my boots into the face of the shooter. He flies backward, and I land on my feet and throw a right cross into the chin of the second guard, then draw an elbow in the gut of the third. He bends at the waist, groaning, and I finish him off with a knee to the face. It's brutal, it's quick, it's not fair, and I don't give a
mǐ tián gòng
.

“Heewack!” Mimi cries as I grab Tahnoon by the robes and slam him onto his precious carpet.

I punch him in the gut to let him know I mean business, then grab him by the throat, cutting off the blood, but not the wind. I want him talking. “I don't mind killing a man,” I growl low, “who profits off the misery of others. So if you're as wise as you pretend, you'll tell me where Vienne's gone.”

His eyes are wide with panic, his hands locked on my wrist, uselessly trying to pry my fingers from his gullet, but he has enough wits to know he's lost this one. “Hell's Cross,” he rasps. “To the mines.”

“Liar,” I say, although strangely, I believe him. He's not used to being at death's door.

“I believe him, too,” Mimi says.

“No, no,” he says, coughing as his face turns purple. “It's true! It's true!”

I let up on the jugular and stand, a boot still on his throat. “If you've lied to me, I'll be back. And next time, I'll be angry.”

The Tahnoon does something I didn't expect. He starts laughing.

“What's so funny, wise man?” I ask.

“How ironic that you yearn to be the cowboy coming to the rescue.” He touches the raw skin on his neck and laughs again. “When in fact, you're riding to your own funeral.”