Bringer of Light (5 page)

Taro could see she was suppressing a smile. Must be a quiet day there – although if what Jarek had told him was right, they’d probably have to make their own fun out there a lot of the time. Tri-Confed was a high-population system, not just a lone settled world, and their shiftspace beacon was a long way out from the primary. The locals had built a station near the beacon to run their interstellar traffic; he guessed the Traffic Control posting wasn’t the most exciting of assignments.

‘I’m going to put you on hold while I make the call; please don’t cut the connection, as I still need to discuss that fine with Captain Reen.’ The image froze.

Taro swivelled round and grinned at Jarek. ‘I love it when they call me “Sirrah”.’

‘That’s not what they’ll be calling you if this “High Speaker” doesn’t want to talk to you.’

‘Don’t worry, he will.’ Taro hoped he sounded confident; though Vellern was no longer his home, he was owed a debt there, a massive debt that couldn’t be ignored. Nual was too, of course – and she might’ve had a better chance of getting through to the people they needed, if she’d had her shit together and not been so screwed up after the shift. After all, she’d been an Angel for the seven years she’d spent on Vellern, one of the Concord’s most notorious and valued assassins; he was just a local boy made good who’d only got his Angel implants just before he left the City. But Nual was also known to the Sidhe – hell, they’d been willing to fuck up an entire city to kill her – while Taro had managed to stay below their notice so far.

After what felt like several minutes the image on the holoplate unfroze and flickered to show an elderly man with a high forehead and an expression of frank surprise. ‘Back already?’ he said. ‘I hope you haven’t got yourselves into trouble. Or if you have, I hope you haven’t brought it with you.’

Taro shook his head. ‘No trouble, Sirrah, but we’d like to ask a favour.’

‘Really? Well spit it out then.’

‘Well, the main favour—’ He paused, then said, ‘I think it’s better if we come and meet you.’

‘When you say
me
—?’

‘The Minister,’ Taro said decisively. ‘He’d be the best one.’

‘Yes, he would. And he will meet you when you arrive – but you hardly needed to call me out of a briefing session with my senior Consuls to arrange that!’

‘No, Sirrah, it’s just that we arrived here a bit unexpected-like, and there’s fines and questions and shit – stuff—’

‘And so you need me to ensure you have a smooth passage in from the beacon, without any unnecessary problems with Traffic Control or Customs? I see.’

‘That’d be good, if you don’t mind, Sirrah.’

‘It can be arranged.’

‘And the fine?’

‘Good grief, boy! I’m not your father, you know.’

‘Well, no – I never had one of them. But it’s only credit, ain’t it?’

‘All right, all right, I will deal with it. Put me through to the young lady who placed the original comcall so I can explain the situation to her.’

Taro smiled to himself: he wouldn’t’ve minded listening in to that particular conversation.

Jarek’s grand plan was always going to entail a visit to Khesh City, but none of them had expected it to be this soon. When he wasn’t asleep, Taro spent most of the two full days it took to get there – Vellern was the system’s innermost planet – getting his feelings about his former homeworld sorted in his head.

The cabin he shared with Nual had been stripped down, and it was filled with the luggage of their late, unlamented almost-passenger, but both of them were too tired to care about being surrounded by a dead man’s gear. Once they’d slept off the excesses of their shift fatigue, they got their room straight, which took up most of the rest of the journey. That was fine by Taro; if he hadn’t been lugging boxes for Nual, he’d have been cleaning the rec-room as it was his turn. This was infinitely preferable.

Jarek kept an eye on local news and com traffic, but he didn’t report any problems. Now they were back in the heart of human-space beevee calls were cheaper, and Jarek took advantage of that to talk to media agents and lawyers about a part of their plan that wasn’t going to kick in until further down the line – if at all. Taro couldn’t see much point, himself, but he wasn’t worried about Jarek drawing unwelcome attention – no one who was looking for them could possibly expect them to have turned up in this system. Not that he said anything: it was Jarek’s look-out if he wanted to waste his time like that.

Once they were in orbit around Vellern Taro came up to the bridge. The holoplate showed a barren orange dust-ball; only two of the Three Cities were visible from here, tiny specks dotted around the otherwise featureless surface. Taro couldn’t tell which one was Khesh.

They would have to leave the ship docked at an orbital platform and take a tourist shuttle down; the Cities were set up to get the tourists in and out again quickly and efficiently, minus as much of their available credit as they could legally extract.

As they waited for final clearance, Nual gave Jarek a last chance to change his mind about coming dirtside. ‘It’s not a problem; we can ask on your behalf if you’d rather not come down,’ she said.

Jarek grinned. ‘No, I’m fine leaving
Heart of Glass
here. I went into freetrading to see exotic places, and they don’t get much more exotic than this.’

Taro wondered whether ‘exotic’ meant the crazy politics, or the secret hidden deep inside each of the Three Cities that citizens and visitors alike remained happily oblivious to. Possibly both.

Taro had spent some time preparing for his return to his birthplace. He wanted to make sure he looked the part. He plaited himself a choker of red and black, and wove the same colours into his remaining long dreadlocks. On the shuttle down, the tourists looked at him oddly; Taro was annoyed that more of them muttered about
downsiders
than
Angels.
Ignorant coves.

The shuttle took them to a huge domed hall, the only part of the City outside its protective force-bubble, where they queued for one of the dozens of elevators that carried the tourists down the City’s central spine onto the massive floating disc itself. It was early evening, and from their transparent car the Streets radiating out from the spine looked like rivers of multi-coloured light.

Taro couldn’t get enough of the view. There it was, his home, impressive as ever – just a lot smaller than he remembered it.

When they got to the bottom, they discovered Sirrah Krand had done as he’d promised. Customs didn’t give them any shit – though they couldn’t hide their amazement at finding Angels – who never normally left the City – coming back to it. The three of them emerged into the crowded transit hall, which was exactly how Taro remembered it, bright with adverts and loud with the cries of hustlers.

Taro led Nual and Jarek to the exit, feeling a strange mix of pride and anxiety. They came out onto a pleasant square overhung by trees decorated with gently glowing orange and golden light-globes strung through their branches. A queue of pedicabs, adorned with the usual lights and trinkets, waited along one side of the square. No one had been in touch with them, so they’d agreed Taro would lead them to a Street he knew and they would take it from there. They could get a cab, except they’d need two, and it was a nice evening – it was always a nice evening in the City – so there was no reason not to walk, or even fly—

Almost automatically, Taro found himself looking up at the heavily-built man strolling towards them. He wore a smart suit, and sported the usual stylish but unnecessary hat on his bald head.

‘Good evening,’ he said, and Taro felt a faint shiver – of what, he wasn’t quite sure – at the familiar sound of that deep, mellow voice.

‘Sirrah,’ he said. Old habits died hard.

Nual inclined her head a fraction.

Jarek, looking uncomfortable, said, ‘I take it you’re the Minister.’

‘I am.’ He gave Jarek a long, hard look, then smiled. People who didn’t know better might even call it a friendly, welcoming smile. ‘And you must be Elarn Reen’s brother, Jarek.’

Jarek had met killers before, and he’d met aliens – hell, he
travelled
with one – but his experience with Heads of State was limited. The Minister was all three, and more. Despite his avuncular exterior, he – Jarek decided to think of the Minister as
he
, in the absence of any more suitable term – exuded an air of hidden menace. People really did live or die at his word.

After a moment, he realised the Minister actually expected an answer. ‘Er, yes. Pleased to meet you.’ He waited to see if the Minister offered his hand, and was relieved when he didn’t.

‘Your sister was a fool,’ said the Minister conversationally, as casually as if he was discussing the nonexistent weather, ‘but she didn’t deserve to die like that.’

Jarek started at Nual’s voice in his head; she used mindspeech sparingly with him as she knew he found it disconcerting. ‘Thanks,’ he said out loud.

‘We may as well talk here,’ continued the Minister. ‘We won’t be disturbed.’ He steered them to three benches made out of what looked like real wood, set around a planter overflowing with flowers, some of which glowed pallid blue in the dusk. He sat down on the bench at the back. Jarek took one of the side seats, Nual and Taro the other.

The Minister turned to the other two. ‘You both look well,’ he said. ‘Short hair suits you, Nual.’

When no one immediately responded to this unexpected comment, the Minister affected a sigh. ‘Small talk,’ he said drily. ‘I had understood it to be very popular amongst humans.’

‘Er—’ said Taro, looking between the Minister and Jarek.

‘Oh come on, boy!’ said the Minister sharply. ‘Obviously Captain Reen knows what I am – Nual would never have let him come down here otherwise, would she?’

No one had an answer for that, and the Minister continued, ‘To be honest, I am impressed they have already got themselves an ally. You must have loved your sister deeply if you are willing to go to such lengths to avenge her death, Captain Reen.’

‘Elarn is one of my reasons for fighting the Sidhe.’ He was pleased he managed to avoid tripping over that last word.

The Minister raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t ask for clarification, and Jarek reminded himself that whatever else he might be, the ‘man’ sitting across from him couldn’t read their minds.

‘So, what brings you back to our fair city in such a tearing hurry?’ The Minister addressed the question to Nual.

‘We need a beacon,’ she said bluntly.

‘A beacon? As in a shiftspace beacon?’

‘Yes.’

He sounded a little intrigued. ‘Now why would you suddenly want such a thing?’

Jarek took over the conversation. ‘We – or rather,
I
– found a lost world, one where the inhabitants have no idea the rest of the universe exists. I can’t find any record of the place, not in the Freetrader Archives, nor in any of the public Salvatine datastores.’

‘Ah,’ said the Minister. ‘And you think the
females
kept the existence of this world from humanity?’ He pronounced the word ‘females’ like a curse.

‘I know they did.’ Jarek hoped the Minister wouldn’t ask why . . . Of course, he might already know—

‘And presumably this lost world has no beacon?’

‘That’s right.’ Jarek said shortly. It was bad enough knowing the Minister was the head of the City’s league of assassins. That he was also a representative – or more accurately, a fragment – of a thousand-year-old male Sidhe consciousness made Jarek feel faintly queasy. Whilst the Khesh City mind could be an incredibly useful ally in their fight, it –
he
– was not someone to be messed around with, or confided in.

‘So you wish to plant a beacon there to bring these people into the fold of human-space?’ said the Minister, sounding faintly curious.

‘Right again.’

‘How charmingly idealistic. And it would be massively annoying to the females, of course.’ His tone made it obvious which reason he preferred. ‘Just what makes you think I might be able to help with this noble mission of yours?’

Jarek swallowed, and said, ‘Zepgen.’

‘Zepgen. Ah yes, that. What about zepgen?’

Nual took over, and pointing to herself, said, ‘You put zepgen in us – in your Angels – to power our gravitics.’

‘Why yes, so I do. And how exactly did you come to find that out, then?’ Now he was definitely curious.

‘A corporation on another world had their suspicions and decided to experiment,’ she said.

‘On me,’ Taro chipped in.

The Minister looked Taro up and down, appraising him. ‘You appear to have survived the experience.’

‘Yeah, just about – thanks to Jarek,’ Taro said, sounding a bit grumpy.

The Minister ignored Taro’s little show of pique. ‘So, you know that I have access to a small, near-limitless power-source that can be implanted in humans. It also powers all this.’ He gestured proprietarily around him at the shadowy trees, the buildings beyond and the distant orange glow of the City’s forcedome. ‘But beacons . . . well, they’re a rather different proposition.’