Antagonist - Childe Cycle 11 (51 page)

He
gave
her
a
few
seconds
to
think
about
it.

"It
would
be
a
futile
slaughter,"
he
said.
"Will
you
call
it
off?"

The
door
to
the
conference
room
opened,
and
Henry
stuck
his head
inside.

"There
are
sixteen
of
them,"
he
reported,
after
taking
a
moment to
assess
the
situation
in
the
room.
"They're
on
two
elevators
that should
arrive
at
just
about
the
same
time,
and
they're
not
carrying their
weapons
in
sight."

"Which
gives
us
a
further
advantage,"
Bleys
said
to
Gelica. "What
about
it?"

She
looked
up
into
his
face,
the
moisture
gone
from
her
eyes
and her
color
back
to
normal.

"Will
you
trust
me
to
call
them?"
she
asked.

"What
will
you
say?"

"I'll
tell
them
to
stay
in
the
foyer
with
their
hands
in
the
air,
and wait
to
be
disarmed,"
she
said.
"But
I
can't
promise
you
they'll
obey me—they
aren't
my
people,
and
I
don't
think
they'll
want
to
give themselves
up
to
you."

"They
don't
have
to,"
Bleys
replied.
"We
don't
demand
they give
themselves
into
our
power.
Once
disarmed,
they
can
simply leave,
if
they
wish,
and
we
won't
hurt
them."
He
paused
to
emphasize
his
next
words.

"It
would
be
good
if
they
knew
we
could
have
killed
them."

She
looked
at
him
for
a
moment,
her
eyes
assessing
him
anew.

"You
have
to
hurry,"
he
pointed
out.

"Yes,"
she
said.
As
her
hand
began
to
reach
toward
her
jacket,
his left
hand
reached
out
and
pulled
one
side
of
her
jacket
open,
exposing
a
harness
that
held
a
pistol
holster
under
her
right
arm,
balanced
by
a
small
electronic
device
on
the
other
side.
She
smiled
at him,
and
carefully
pulled
out
the
electronic
device;
then
she
activated
it,
tapping
out
a
series
of
numbers
on
its
pad
before
raising
it to
her
lips.
She
explained
the
situation
and
gave
the
instructions just
as
Bleys
had
dictated
them.

"Henry—"
Bleys
began—

"I
heard,"
Henry
said;
and
the
door
closed
behind
him.

"They
don't
like
it,"
Gelica
said
a
minute
later.
The
communication
device
evidently
had
a
HUSH
function,
which
was
logical
considering
its
clandestine
purpose—he
had
not
heard
any
response
to her
words.

"Will
they
do
it?"

"Yes,"
she
said.
"They've
reached
the
foyer
and
have
seen enough
to
be
convinced
this
won't
be
the
walkover
they
were
expecting."

"Now
tell
your
people
here
in
this
room
to
raise
their
own hands,"
Bleys
said. She
hesitated.

"We
think
we
know
who
they
are,"
Bleys
said,
looking
into
her eyes.
"In
any
case,
we
have
no
more
reason
to
kill
them
than
we'd have
to
kill
your
allies
in
the
foyer."

After
a
moment
she
nodded.

"Do
as
he
says,"
she
called
down
the
length
of
the
room.
"Let yourselves
be
disarmed.
We
gain
nothing
by
getting
ourselves
killed here."

As
movement
began
behind
him,
Bleys
kept
his
attention
on Gelica.
She
smiled
once
more,
and
wordlessly,
slowly,
reached
under
her
jacket
again,
being
careful
to
use
only
the
thumb
and
forefinger
of
her
right
hand—her
arm
had
to
bend
awkwardly—to
pull her
small
pistol
from
its
holster.
As
she
pulled
it
out
it
swung
like
a small
pendulum
from
her
two-fingered
grip,
its
unbalanced
weight almost
pulling
it
from
her
fingers.
Bleys
reached
out
with
his
free hand
and
took
it
from
her.

"Would
you
take
your
pistol
away
from
my
head
now?"
she asked,
after
a
moment.

"You
know
I
can't,"
he
said.
"You're
too
clever.
You
just
might have
some
other
surprise.
Let's
just
relax
and
wait
for
Henry."

They
did
just
that,
while
Gelica's
self-identified
confederates
in the
room
were
disarmed
and
lined
up,
kneeling,
along
the
side
wall.

"The
rest
of
you
remain
in
your
seats,"
Toni
announced
to
the remaining
group
of
conference
attendees.
"We
can't
be
sure
we've gotten
all
of
them
yet,
so
we
have
to
keep
you
all
where
we
can watch
you,
until
we
can
finish
sorting
you
all
out."

Eventually,
they
were
all
sorted
out.

CHA
PTER
19

"Would
you
tell
me
your
real
name?"
Bleys
asked,
looking
across the
length
of
Pallas
Salvador's
office
from
his
seat
at
the
absent Other's
desk.
He
and
the
woman
he
had
known
as
Gelica
Costanza had
moved
there
for
privacy,
leaving
her
friends,
the
Others
and
the Soldiers
behind.

The
woman,
who
had
been
standing
with
her
back
to
him, turned,
and
looked
at
him
for
a
long
moment.

"Deborah,"
she
said
quietly,
finally.
"Only
Deborah."

"Then
you
really
are
an
Exotic,"
he
said,
referring
to
that
culture's
tendency
to
use
single
names.

"Of
sorts,"
she
said.
"And
from
Kultis
rather
than
Mara."

"You're
also
an
Other,
I
think,"
he
said.

"No,"
she
said.
"Not
as
you
now
use
the
term."

"What
do
you
mean?"

"Like
you,
I'm
a
crossbreed,"
she
said,
"as
are
all
of
my
comrades—"

"Exotic,"
he
interrupted,
"and—Dorsai?"

"That's
the
sort
of
deduction
I'd
expect
you
to
make,"
she
said, sounding
exasperated.
"I
know
about
your
bunch
by
now:
you
only anoint
people
as
'Others'
if
they're
crossbreeds
from
the
three
main Splinter
Cultures,
the
Exotics,
the
Friendlies
or
the
Dorsai."

"'Anoint'?"
he
said.
"Why
the
hostility?"

"As
it
happens,"
she
said,
ignoring
his
question,
"I
was
raised
on Kultis,
but
my
mother
was
actually
from
Newton." "And
your
father?"

"I
never
knew
him,"
she
said.
"He
was
a
wanderer,
and
he vanished
soon
after
I
was
born."
The
words
were
delivered