Bringer of Light (2 page)

<
All lies
.>

Taro projected, <
You certain? She’s coming over all confident and helpful
.>

<
She’s deceiving you. I just can’t sense exactly how
.>

<
Fuck it, that’s good enough for me
.>

He realised Madame Klirin was frowning at him. ‘Listen,’ said Taro, with what he hoped was a sympathetic smile, ‘I don’t think we can take your cargo. Sorry.’

‘What?’ She looked understandably confused.

‘It’s just . . . maybe if the captain was here, he might think differently, but like I said, I’m the junior partner, and I really don’t wanna make a bad call.’

‘But he trusted you to meet me, surely he trusts your judgment . . . he does know you’re here? Or are you acting alone?’

Taro had been in enough shit in his life to read the worst into that question. ‘
Yes
, Captain Reen knows I’m here; in fact, he’s expecting me back at the ship soon. And he trusts my judgment, but I’ve decided to play it safe. Sorry to screw you around and all, but we’ve got a rep to maintain.’

‘What are you implying here, la?’ Medame Klirin said coldly.

Taro cursed his loose tongue. It wasn’t like she’d actually said or done anything smoky. Then again, pissing her off – just a bit – might make her let down her guard. ‘I ain’t implying anything, and I ain’t saying you and your people aren’t prime and lovely. I’ve just decided not to take this job.’ He made sure he had eye contact when he added, ‘We can’t risk potentially dangerous or dubious cargo.’

‘Fine,’ she said, and stood up. Her unspoken response was strong enough that he heard it in Medame Klirin’s voice even though her words arrived via Nual: <
Too late for that, arsehole
.>

As she turned to go he began to stand, nerves thrumming. Nual’s mental voice froze him in place: <
Stay there, but be ready in case this goes wrong!
>

He read what ‘this’ was and forced himself to sit back down. Even so, he felt the Angel reflexes kick in: body calm but ready for action, mind alert to danger without being impaired by fear.

Medame Klirin was making her way to the door. Nual, apparently oblivious, grabbed her tray, stood up and turned—

—and ran straight into the other woman. The tray went flying.

Taro heard Nual’s embarrassed apology: ‘So sorry!’

Medame Klirin tried to step back, and hit a table with her hip. Nual was fussing, trying to brush rice off the woman’s top. Taro watched the woman’s hands; one grasped the edge of the table she’d fallen against, the other was flailing; she wasn’t going for a weapon. Around him, people were looking up, but no one was making a move.

Medame Klirin edged away from Nual slowly, like she was slightly stunned. Finally Nual stepped back. ‘I’ve got the worst off; are you sure you don’t want a contribution towards your cleaning bill? That’s such a lovely top, la, I’d hate to have ruined it.’ She’d even managed to get the local speech patterns down pat, noted Taro admiringly.

‘No . . .’ Klirin shook her head, then seemed to remember herself. ‘I’m fine. Really. La, I— I should go now.’

Nual stepped aside, and at the same time projected to Taro: <
Stay here for three minutes, then meet me outside, by the upwards walkway
.>

<
What are you going to do?
>

<
Nothing drastic: just call Jarek
.>

<
Why?
>

<
To tell him we need to get off this world as soon as possible
.>

Jarek’s old partner used to have a saying: ‘If a deal sounds too good to be true, that’s because it is.’ He’d agreed to let his companions meet the contact because they couldn’t afford to turn down that much credit without good reason, and though Nual and Taro lacked his years of experience, her unique talents should give them the chance to find out if there
was
a good reason. She’d have been a better negotiator than Taro, but her looks made her too memorable, and she preferred to stay in the background.

The cargo they had arrived here with – dyestuffs and low-volume specialist fabrics for the apparently taste-free Hetarey fashion industry, plus a selection of licensed games, shows and films that local distributors weren’t willing to pay premium prices to get beeveed in – hadn’t fetched as much as he’d hoped, and nothing available here would turn much profit in the main interstellar markets, so it had been looking like he’d barely cover his costs on this run. The lucrative contract to transport a rich local had been a stroke of much-needed luck; the man was happy to pay starliner prices for no-frills – and no-questions-asked – transport out-of-system. Jarek didn’t habitually take passengers, and he really didn’t have the space since his solo outfit had tripled in size a couple of months back, but he was unwilling to turn down such a fat fee, not with his creditors snapping at his heels.

Getting paid as much again to ship the mystery box would have been a lucky break too far.

He was overseeing the delivery of the local crafts and overpriced wines he was shipping out when Nual called, and as soon as she signed off he commed ‘Sirrah Lamark’ to tell him that their departure was being brought forward. Once the cargo was stowed, he went up to the
Heart of Glass
’s bridge, where he divided his attention between pre-flight checks and watching the external cameras.

A man looking uncannily like ‘Apian Lamark’ was apparently on the run after a bloody coup that brought down a brutal junta on Hetarey’s southern continent. According to the local newsnets, the few generals at the top who had escaped the popular uprising had bought their freedom with the blood of their comrades. Still, he didn’t have to like the man; he just had to get him offworld. But now Jarek knew the lengths those seeking justice for Apian Lamark’s alleged crimes would go to, he had no intention of hanging around on Hetarey any longer than necessary.

His com chimed: it was Taro. ‘Where are you?’

‘Just coming out of customs.’

‘Any sign of our guest?’

‘Not yet. How d’you want to play this?’

Jarek saw movement on his cameras. The starport was a shallow bowl cut into the rock, shadow-filled in the early evening sun; two people had just emerged from the passenger departure lounge. He exhaled as they stepped into the light: yes, it was Nual and Taro. ‘Get yourselves on board, but leave the ’lock open and be prepared for trouble.’

‘How prepared?’ asked Taro.

‘Just tranq pistols. Let’s not go overboard.’

‘Got you.’

Nual’s peek inside Medame Klirin’s mind had uncovered her true affiliation: she was an agent for one of the groups who wanted Lamark dead. They called themselves ‘the Hand of Truth’ and they’d got hold of a comabox – which they must have disguised somehow, given anyone who travelled the stars knew what one looked like. Their plan was to put their top assassin into stasis inside it, primed to wake up while the ship was on its way out to the beacon, when he would overpower the crew and kill Lamark. If the ship in question hadn’t been his, Jarek might have admired their ingenuity.

He looked up at movement on his cameras. Someone else was coming out of the passenger lounge: a small man with a big moustache and a ludicrous hat that looked like it was made of fabric rosettes stuck on an upturned bowl. Jarek recognised Apian Lamark from his holo. He moved with the swift care of someone who’d had experience of dodging sniper-fire.

Jarek heard Nual’s shout in stereo, coming up from below and over the camera pick-ups. Lamark must have heard the warning too, for he ducked instantly. The shot was silent. It spun him around, and he fell. Then he was up again – he must be wearing body armour under that awful suit.

The second shot came almost at once. Lamark’s head jerked backwards; Jarek glimpsed a spurt of red and the man dropped. Presumably the ridiculous head-gear hadn’t been armoured; at any rate, it hadn’t saved him.

Lamark’s body jerked again, and again. Whoever was shooting wanted to be quite sure the target was dead.

Jarek tore himself away from the grisly sight. Well, that was that then.

According to his readouts the airlock had just closed. ‘You two all right?’ he commed down.

‘We’re fine,’ said Taro, sounding surprisingly calm.

There was more movement outside, people running into the bowl from a side door. Jarek’s hands were already moving over the control panel. The new arrivals, dressed in uniforms of some sort, started shooting at the unseen assassin. There were half a dozen of them, and they were good; the fire-fight was over in seconds.

The ship’s com chimed. Jarek ignored it.

Two of the guards walked over to where the assassin’s body was lying. From the spreading pool of blood it was clear to Jarek that he or she wasn’t going to be shooting back. The second pair moved forward to Lamark’s body. The remaining pair was heading for Jarek’s ship. One of them was waving and tapping his helmet-com, trying to attract Jarek’s attention.

He could activate the grav-drive safely even with people around, provided they weren’t too close. So far he hadn’t broken any laws, but the locals obviously wanted to question them, and that would take time he couldn’t spare. He had the next run already lined up back at Perilat, and with this job blown – and any potential profit down the pan – he couldn’t afford to screw that up. He’d already obtained permission to depart as soon as they had their passenger on board.

The final telltale on the panel went green.

Ah, fuck it
. He pressed the slider, and the ship rose smoothly. The bridge was flooded with sunlight as they rose over the rim of the bowl and the spaceport dropped out of sight.

Jarek finally paid attention to the still-chiming com. As expected, it was the spaceport authority. His hand hovered over the board; he’d have to answer them eventually . . .

He turned at a noise from behind. Taro had come up onto the bridge. He looked past Jarek at the purple sky, already darkening as they shot up into orbit. ‘Oh,’ he said.

‘
Oh
, as in?’ said Jarek, more harshly than he’d intended.

Taro spread his hands and gave a disarming smile. ‘Just, “Oh, so we’ve left, then,”’ he said, then added, ‘We’ll be downstairs.’ He kicked off, using his flight implants to float back down through the hatch.

Jarek took a deep breath and hit
receive
on the com.

‘
Heart of Glass
, you must return to the spaceport at once!’

‘Sorry, Port Control, we were cleared for departure before that little fracas broke out, and we weren’t going to hang around to get shot at.’

‘You are material witnesses to a murder. You are required to give statements.’

‘I caught some of the action on my cameras, but I’m sure you have your own, far better, surveillance footage.’

‘We do: why were two of your associates watching the incident from your ship’s airlock?’

Oh hell.
‘Were they? In that case, I need to speak to my crew.’ He forestalled any further argument by ending the call, then called down to the rec-room, ‘Can you get back up here, please? Both of you.’

The
Heart of Glass
’s poky bridge felt crowded with all three of them crammed in. When they were settled, Jarek said, ‘The locals want to speak to us – you two, mainly – about that little fuck-up down there.’ He turned to Nual. ‘I heard you shout just before Lamark got shot the first time; was that because you sensed the assassin?’ Nual shook her head. ‘No, I caught sight of the gun – just a glimpse.’

‘Well, at least we can admit that.’ As opposed to saying she was one of an apparently long-dead race with mental powers. Not that he ever would say that, given humanity’s entirely understandable antipathy towards the Sidhe. ‘If all they want is a statement, then maybe they’ll let you transmit it while we’re on our way out to the beacon. Then again, perhaps the place is rotten to the core and you’re being set up to take the blame.’

‘’cos of us being Angels?’ asked Taro.

‘Possibly.’ He sighed. Travelling with a pair of augmented assassins could be complicated, but Taro and Nual were Jarek’s friends, and allies in his crusade against humanity’s hidden foe. ‘We can’t know for sure, though.’

Nual spoke up. ‘It’s probably not relevant now, but I suspect that the Hand of Truth’s original assassin – the one they wanted us to transport for them – wouldn’t have tried to kill us, or take the ship. The impression I got was that he or she might have committed suicide once Lamark was dead, that they were willing to die to bring him to justice.’

‘Ah. Shame you didn’t mention that earlier; I might have still taken the job – at least we’d have been paid!’

‘I communicated what I felt to be important at the time.’ Nual said, a little frostily.

‘No, it’s not your fault – if I’d thought it through I could probably have worked that out for myself. The Hand of Truth wouldn’t want to break Treaty law by killing freetraders or stealing a shiftship. This is a local matter.’ It also occurred to him that even if Nual hadn’t found out about the Hand of Truth’s plan in advance, she might have sensed the sleeping assassin in their cargo delivery, in which case they could have decided to turn down the cargo then. And if the assassin in the spaceport had been the Hand of Truth’s back-up plan then he might still have got paid for safely transporting Lamark, instead of not getting paid for either job. Ah well, too late now. ‘Right,’ he concluded, ‘I’m going to call the locals back and say you’ll both give statements by com. We’re far enough out that we’re under Traffic Control’s jurisdiction now, so— Oh.’ He’d been keeping an eye on the sensors; they’d been clear, but now he was showing a contact.