Rising Sun (7 page)

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, sounding unconvincing even to myself.
Where the
wa cào
is the rest of the davos?
I think. Vienne should’ve shot somebody by now.

“We came to buy trinkets,” Pinch adds, trying to save my hide.

Razor nods.
“Susie, you are a good liar.” He points at me with a card, the red joker. “But you are terrible. Did you think you could come into my place and not be recognized?”

I’m confused. How does Razor know my face? “Mimi, I thought you said we’ve never met?”

“You have not,” she replies.

Razor slaps the table. The house of cards falls.
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice your pinkie,
dalit
? You must think, this Razor, he is so stupid, I can lie to his face!”

“He doesn’t think you’re stupid,” Pinch says. “
He
just is.”

“I like you, susie.” Razor laughs. “So I will give your friend the
dalit
a second chance. What would you like to confess?”

“Well,” I say, deciding to just go with the flow, “like you said, I’m a liar. I . . . I pretended to be a tourist so that I could meet you.”

“Why is this?” Razor says.

“I’m
dalit
, just like you,” I say, trying to plead. “There’s no work for the likes of me except stealing or mercenary work. I can’t steal, so I thought you might be looking for an extra gun.”

“More lies!” The Razor sweeps the cards away and throws the table aside. He puts a straight razor against my throat. “Lie again,
I will kill you and cut out your wicked tongue!”

“I’m not lying. I am a mercenary,” I say, trying to keep my Adam’s apple from bobbing.

“It’s true!” Pinch yells. “We came for the concubine! We brought ransom!”

Razor flicks the straight razor closed and slaps it on the table.
“Ransom?”

“For Charlotte du Save,” I say. “An Orthocrat named Medici sent us. A thousand pieces of coin for her return, like you demanded.”

The Razor rubs his chin, thinking. “A thousand pieces?”

“Mimi,” I say, “now would be a good time for you to tell me that the bioscan is finished.”

“The bioscan is finished.”

“And? Did you find her?

“That parameter is too broad,” she says. “Please redefine.”

“The concubine! Did you find her?”

“Indeterminate.”

“Mimi!”

“However,” she says, “I am able to confirm the presence of two females in close proximity. One, the individual identified as Pinch, is on your nine. The second is approximately six meters ahead, on your twelve. I read an elevated heart rate and rapid breathing.”

Razor looks at me, then at Pinch, then back to me. He sets the table back up and sits back down. Slaps the razor on the table.
“
Dalit
, show me this thousand pieces.”

Outside, there’s a racket. Shouts. And then, wafting through the corrugated metal door, the unmistakable odor of pig shite.

A voice comes over my armor’s telemetry channel. “Look out, Turtle and Pinchie. Sarge’s about to put on a show.”

I look to Pinch.

She winks, letting me know she heard it, too.

“Uncuff me,” I tell the Razor, “and I’ll take you to where we hid the ransom.”

“Really, my friend, do you think I’m that stupid?”

“Maybe not stupid.” I grin. “But pretty carking oblivious.”

The door flies open with a clattering thump, and Sarge charges inside. He raises his bottle, beats his chest, and screams. “Aqua pura, barkeep! The drinks are on me!”

Through the scope of her sniper rifle, Vienne watches Sarge stumble up to the guards outside the penthouse. They cover their mouths, gagging at the stink, and he takes the opportunity to drop a gas grenade. Thin blue smoke billows out, and the wobblies scatter to the makeshift wall around the shack or vault down the stairs.

Sarge swings the sheet metal door open and throws his arms wide. Vienne watches for a few seconds, waiting for the signal.

Then—

Boom!

Sarge comes flying out the door.

“Open fire,” Aziz says through her earbud.

“Roger.” She sights the
đibui
brandishing a machete. Pulls the trigger.

Phtt.

He’s down, a round in his shoulder.

Vienne sights a pair of
đibui
converging on Sarge as he lays in wait.

Pulls the trigger twice.

Two wobblies down.

Through her scope, she sees a
đibui
pointing toward the inn, starting to shout.
Phtt.

He never finishes the sentence.

That clears the penthouse, she thinks.

As Sarge gets to his feet, Vienne spots a line of wobblies running up the stairs. She fires until the clip is empty. “Path is clear for exfil, Chief,” she says.

“Good work,” Aziz says. “Sit tight, if you don’t mind. We might need your talents again. Out.”

But I do mind,
Vienne thinks. She strips her mic off, then breaks down her weapon. “I’m not about to let Durango have all the fun.”

Chapter 5

The Warren
ANNOS MARTIS
238. 2. 3. 18:12

I watch Sarge charge toward the Razor. My eyes water from the stench. Barely able to see him grab Sarge by the scruff of the neck and throw him like a picked-over carcass back through the door.

“Fossiker!” the Razor says as he turns back to us, just in time to see Pinch shed her cuffs.
“How did you do that?

Pinch holds up the key. “A gift from Krill.”

She slips behind me. Starts working on my cuffs. But Razor plants a side kick in my gut, slamming us both into the wall.

The shack shakes.

Dust rains down on us. I’m surprised the roof doesn’t collapse along with it.

Razor grabs the straight razor from the table. Waves it around.
“I will ask you again. Where is the ransom?”

He whips the razor open.

The blade goes flying and embeds into the wall behind him.

Pinch holds up a silver linchpin between her thumb and forefinger. “Looking for this?”

Razor charges toward us, shoulder down.

I sidestep, tripping him. Then swing with both cuffed hands, hammering him in the side of the head.

Razor slams into the side of the shack, and his head explodes through the tarpaper. He puts both hands on the wall and yanks free of the hole, eyes opening and closing as he staggers backward.

A rumble of thunder rattles the shack, and with the pinging of a million raindrops on the metal roof, the sky opens up outside.
Great,
I think. An escape through a muddy slum. Could things get any worse?

“A little help?” I swing my hands around so that Pinch can uncuff me. “Help Sarge. I’ve got this.”

“You sure?” she says.

“Oh, yeah,” I say, and raise my fists. “This piker is all mine.”

As Pinch slips outside, Razor manages to stand. Shakes off the blow, rolling his shoulder, and before I can see it coming in the low light, he throws a vicious right cross to my mouth.

My lip busts.

Blood sprays his face as he follows with a punch to my kidney and a knee to my ribs.

“Didn’t feel a thing,” I say, and spit the blood off my lip.

“You’re wearing symbiarmor!” the Razor bellows, as if it’s the last thing he expected.

“
Dalit?
” I say, holding my coat open. “Former Regulator? You were expecting, what, a silk robe?”

“Do not mock me!” he roars.

Razor grabs the table and swings it like a cricket bat down at my head. I throw a forearm up to block it, but the force knocks me backward onto the floor. I kip to my feet an instant before Razor pins me to the wall like a lab specimen. “I will hurt you for that!”

Without blinking, I fire a knee into his crotch. I feel the flesh give . . . then it’s like my knee punched a steel girder. “Symbiarmor?” I say.

Razor laughs.
“You expected a silk robe?”

I carking hate to be laughed at. Nothing buggers me off more.

“May I point out that your assailant is not wearing gloves?” Mimi says.

Righteous.

I spit blood into Razor’s face. Grab his hand. Peel back the fingers until the joints pop.

Razor growls and punches me in the ear. Now it’s a horrific wrestling match—Razor bigger and stronger but me quicker. The two of us locked arm to arm. Gouging and biting. Tearing hair and skin. Then falling backward, with me slamming the floor first. Razor ramming his elbow into my right eye socket. But me wrapping the handcuffs around his neck. Twisting the chain—cutting off his air and blood.

He kicks and his arms flail. I lean back, away from the clawing hands, my hands and arms and shoulders quivering from exertion, until consciousness leaves the big man’s body. Exhausted and panting, I push him aside. I pull my legs out from under his dead weight and, struggling to catch my breath, get to my feet.

The Razor slumps forward, eyes rolling into his head, and topples almost gently onto his side.

I check his pulse. “Still alive.”

“That’s more ’n I can say for you,” a female snarls. “Say hello to your maker, fossicker.”

I turn to the voice, seeing three things simultaneously:

In the fight, the sheets partitioning the room have fallen.

Standing among those sheets is a female with a light blue face and dark blue hair—Charlotte. Holding a blaster.

The blaster is firing a pulse of superheated plasma that can burn through symbiarmor. Maybe even mine.

“It’s not very nice,” Aziz says, “to shoot the bloke come to rescue you.”

Charlotte whips around. Aziz pops her elbow, then twists the blaster out of her hand.

“Let go of me!” She punches him in the neck and screams before kicking his shins. Neither blow has any effect, but that doesn’t stop her.

Aziz gently fends off her attacks, which grow more feeble. “Stop hitting me,” Aziz tells Charlotte, putting her in an arm lock, “and you’ll stop getting hurt.”

“Stop twisting my arm,” she huffs, “and I’ll stop hitting you.”

Aziz lets her go. Charlotte shrieks and takes another swing at him. Then, with one last cry, she charges the chief, hell-bent on clawing his eyes out of their sockets.

Aziz catches her wrists. “Durango! Grab her!”

“Grab?” I say. “Where?”

“Anywhere that’s not tooth or claw!”

The Tenets say that a Regulator is not allowed to touch a person of the opposite sex without permission. They also say that the chief’s commands must be obeyed. So I follow orders by grabbing Charlotte around the waist and picking her up. I expect to feel hip bones, but instead I feel a round little belly. Too round for the concubine of a rich Orthocrat, who would prefer her to be in peak physical condition.

“Mimi, do a—”

Charlotte starts screaming, “Get your hands off me!”

“Shut her up!” Aziz barks, and leans down to check on the Razor.

Easier said than done,
I think, and clap a hand over her mouth.

“Hold her still.” Aziz tears open a packet and slaps a cloth over her mouth and nose. “Just a few seconds.”

Her eyes roll into the back of her head. She goes slack in my arms. Out like a light.

“That’s chloroform,” I say, lifting her into my arms. “Was that necessary? I’m not comfortable with knocking an innocent out and toting her like a sack of guanite.”

“My crew, my way, got it?” He steps up on me. Eyes locked on mine. Jaw clenched and nostrils flared. “Besides, guanite doesn’t bite.” He takes one last look back at Razor—he’s still out—and checks his watch. “Time for the exfil. Let’s move!”

“What about the Razor?” I ask as Aziz opens the door for me.

“If he knows what’s good for him,” Aziz says, “he’ll lick his wounds and live to fight another day. But knowing him, it’s never going to happen.”

Outside on the patio, Sarge leans over the wall. He takes potshots at wobblies in the alleys below, while Pinch covers the stairs against a mad rush.

“Your gear’s over there,” Pinch yells, directing me to a gear bag near Sarge.

While carrying Charlotte, I grab my armalite, ammo belt, and combat knife, which I stuff into my boot.

“What’s the situation?” Aziz barks.

“Got the collywobbles pinned down,” Sarge says. “They’re scared dunnyless to show their faces.”

“Not pinned enough, Chief,” Pinch says. “Check out the big hack on our three. A couple dozen personnel taking cover behind it. Probably massing for a charge.”

“Roger that. Keep them planted into that spot.” Aziz looks to the hotel across the river. “Where’s the Sidewinder? She was supposed to cover our exfil.”

I step outside with Charlotte in my arms. “Reckon she’s on her way to the extraction zone. She can’t stand missing the action.”

Aziz scans the alleys with a pair of omnoculars. “That wasn’t my order.”

“Did you specifically tell her to stay in position?” I say. “Vienne follows orders to the letter, but only to the letter.”

Aziz rubs his chin. Pinches his bottom lip. “Durango, put the target down. Set up a position on the bottom of the stairs. We’ll cover you.”

“Roger that,” I say, and place Charlotte on a pile of straw meant for a sleeping mat, out of the rain. The fabric of her gown drapes over her belly. Yep, definitely a bump. Aziz just used chloroform on the mother of an unborn child. Why didn’t I stop him? “Mimi, quick-scan the perimeter. How many heartbeats do you read?”

“I detect over fifty heartbeats in the vicinity,” she replies.

“Aziz,” I say, “your plan’s not going to work. Too many hostiles out there. Fifty at least. Plus, I think we’ve got a complication with Charlotte.”

Aziz looks over the ledge. “Fifty hostiles? No farging way.”

I step up on the wall. Spray the shacks with suppressing fire.

Count to three.

Then—

The
đibui
return fire with at least fifty battle rifles, shotguns, and blasters, chasing me off the wall.

“Fifty,” I say. “At as minimum.” Dust from the wall settles onto the patio, mixing with the rain to form slurry puddles. As I squat-walk out of the line of fire, my boots leave footprints behind me.
Wunderbar.
That means the wobblies will be able to track any escape we make.