Xenopath (32 page)

Vaughan hauled
the rack along the crushed corridor, then climbed a level and
approached the rungs which climbed to the gallery.

He laid the rack
on the deck and considered what to do now.

He probed.
Denning approached the flier cautiously, facing away from the recess
in the wall where Vaughan would emerge.

Vaughan climbed,
holding his breath. He could see across the gallery, to where Denning
was peering into the flier, pistol ready.

Vaughan eased
himself onto the deck and raised the pistol.

Denning was
moving around the flier, heart pumping. He planned to use the vehicle
as cover and lie low for a while, allowing the enemy to make the next
move.

The executive
presented the perfect target. One shot now would send him to his
death.

Vaughan stepped
forward, raised the pistol, and aimed at Denning's back.

He hesitated,
then called out. "Move and you're dead!"

He felt utter
dread and panic surge through the executive, a despair and fear and
regret which combined to rock Vaughan.

"Drop your
pistol and raise your arms," Vaughan called. "If you do as
I say, you'll live."

Vaughan read in
Denning's frantic mind a hopeless disbelief, the sure knowledge that
he was dead, and this prompted him to turn and raise the laser and
fire in a great actinic sweep.

But thought
preceded action, and Vaughan dived across the deck, below the arc of
laser fire, aimed his own pistol and fired.

The shot blasted
Denning in the chest, sending him sprawling across the deck. He lay
on his back, staring up at the ribbed architrave of the alien
starship, and his last thoughts as he lay dying were how beautiful
the ribbing was, followed by sudden images of his wife, and his mind
was sluiced by his love for her.

Vaughan cried
out and killed his implant, and blessed silence sealed over him,
sparing him the agony of the executive's passing.

He took deep
breaths, forcing himself to his feet and towards the recess, not once
looking towards the dying executive. He climbed down and retrieved
the rack, hauling it back to the gallery and across to the flier.

He placed it
beside the others on the back seat, then moved to the trunk and
opened it. He would rather not fly with Larsen's corpse as company.
He would be making his way to Mackintyre, eventually, and any random
check by the military on the way... He lifted the body out and lay it
on the deck.

He recalled what
Weiss had said about giving Jenna a decent burial, and he wished he
could give both the radicals a fitting send off. Success in
delivering the crystals to Breitenbach would have to stand as their
epitaph.

He climbed into
the flier and pulled Weiss's palmCom from his jacket.

He turned it on
and said, "Salvation. 4884."

The screen
flared. Vaughan stared at the map, the flashing point denoting his
present position and the marked route through the mountains towards,
he presumed, wherever Breitenbach was concealed.

He started the
flier and lifted it from the deck. He averted his eyes from Denning's
corpse as he flew over the lip and dropped the flier into the belly
of the ship.

He eased it
through the rent, out into the startling sunlight of the valley. He
half expected to encounter opposition, something in him wondering
that his escape could be so easy. He was leaving behind him a scene
of carnage, and he felt a sour, corroding sense of guilt as he fled.

Consulting the
palmCom, he followed the route towards the southern mountains,
passing between low, snow-covered peaks. He thought of the woman back
on Bengal Station, who would in time be informed of Denning's brave
death in the line of duty.

He realised he
still had the laser in the pocket of his jacket. He lowered the
side-screen, took the pistol, and tossed it out into the biting wind,
watching it spin end over end against the cold grey slab of the
mountainside.

He looked ahead,
at the layered summits of the southern mountains as they stretched
towards the horizon, and thoughts of Denning's widow turned his mind
to Sukara.

THE KILLER

Sukara watched
Pham as she dried two cups at the sink. She was so short that she had
to stand on a fruit box to reach the blower.

For the past few
days, Pham had been her constant companion. Their days had soon
fallen into a routine. After breakfast, taken in the kitchen while
watching the boats far below, they would leave for a stroll through
Himachal Park, stop for a coffee, and then go on to the market to do
the day's shopping. Occasionally, Sukara took Pham to see the sights
of the Station—the voidship spaceport, the vast monotrain
terminal at New Madurai, the open market on Level Two at which
everything made on Earth could be bought, as well as many things from
the colony worlds.

Out with Pham,
the little girl's hand in hers, Sukara experienced an odd feeling of
pride. It was as if this were a foretaste of what it would be like as
a mother—this feeling of not being one person, but two, as your
cares were not wholly centred on yourself but on one someone else
even more important.

She was getting
close to Pham, she realised, and if this was what it was like to be a
mother, then she awaited
real
motherhood with even more than
her original eager anticipation.

Sukara taught
Pham to cook, the basics first, then working up to Thai, Indian, and
Burmese curries, the subtle distinction of spices between the
cuisines and their respective cooking methods.

Pham was a keen
pupil. She was intelligent—once told, she never forgot—and
she was intuitive. Often she sensed Sukara's sadness at Jeff's
absence, and her worry also. More than once, after an evening meal as
they sat on the balcony, drinking wine and Vita-milk and staring up
at the stars, Pham had said to her, "Don't worry, Sukara, Jeff
will soon be back."

"I can't
help worrying, Pham. I sometimes wish he'd never taken the job. I
sometimes think I'd be happier on Level Ten, if I knew Jeff was
safe."

Pham smiled, and
came out with another of her observations that seemed wise beyond her
years. "Jeff is a good person, and the world needs good people.
Scheering is evil." She shrugged. "If Jeff didn't go to
Mallory to investigate what's happening there, who would?"

Sukara looked at
the kid. "Do you know what is happening on Mallory, Pham?"

The child looked
away quickly, and said non-committally, "Evil is happening
there. That is why Scheering hired an assassin to kill people here."

Sukara nodded,
and not for the first time wondered if Pham was telling her
everything she knew about the case.

On the day
Sukara was due to take Pham to see the Tigers play the Sydney
Seahawks, Pham told her that first she had to go and see a friend.

They were
sitting on the balcony after breakfast, Pham absorbed in a comic
book, Sukara watching a voidship phase in and slowly approach the
spaceport. She was dreaming of Jeff's return. She would go to the
spaceport to welcome him back, launch herself into his arms, and
never let him go away again.

Pham lowered her
comic book. "Sukara, is it okay if I go out alone this morning?"

"What for?"
Pham had never asked to go out alone before, and Sukara was both
concerned and curious.

"I need to
see a friend. Abdul. He was in hospital. I need to see how he is."

Sukara nodded.
"Are you sure you'll be okay?"

Pham grinned.
"I'll be fine. The killer didn't catch me, did he?"

There's always a
first time, Sukara found herself thinking. "You've got my code?
Make sure you ring every hour to tell me you're okay, okay?"

Pham nodded.
"I'll be back by one o'clock."

"And at
four we go to see the Tigers," Sukara said, looking forward to
the match. She wondered if her own daughter would be a Tigers fan.

Sukara watched
the girl slip from the apartment, wondering if this was what a mother
felt like when her daughter left home unsupervised.

For the next
couple of hours she cooked an Indian meal for after the game tonight,
then thought about Jeff's return in a few days. She wondered how he
might react to find that they had a lodger, and then wondered what he
might think best for Pham's long-term care.

The odd thing
was, since Pham's arrival here, Sukara's premonitions of doom and
tragedy had vanished. She was no longer visited by the conviction
that something would soon happen to spoil her happiness. She told
herself that her earlier fear had been the result of hormones. She
lodged her hands on the jut of her belly and smiled.

Her thoughts of
Jeff and the baby were interrupted by the chime of the door.

It was too early
for Pham to get back, she thought as she crossed to the door and
touched the control. But perhaps Jeff had arrived home early... Her
heart leaped at the thought.

The door slid
open to reveal a tall Westerner, dressed in a smart suit, standing on
the threshold and smiling pleasantly at her.

"Sukara
Vaughan?"

She was
hesitant. "Yes?"

He hung an ID
before her eyes for a second, then flipped the wallet shut before she
had time to examine the card.

"I would
like a word with your husband, Ms Vaughan."

"Jeff's
away at the moment. He'll be back in a few days."

"Can you
tell me where your husband is?" he said. He had a slow,
patronising way of speaking as if he thought Sukara might not
understand him otherwise.

She shook her
head. "Just away. On business."

"Ah,"
the man said, and nodded. "But you see, it's a business matter
that I need to see Mr Vaughan about—the case he is working on
at the moment."

There was
something creepy and not-to-be-trusted about the Westerner, with his
pale skin and golden hair and red-rimmed eyes. Sukara said, "Then
you could go and see his business partner about it. She's Lin
Kapinsky—"

"I've tried
to contact Kapinsky. She's away, working on another case."

Sukara shrugged.
"Then I don't think I can help," she said. She made to hit
the close control.

The Westerner
stopped the door with his foot, and the casual way in which he did
this frightened Sukara. "When might your husband be back?"

"A few
days. Two or three. I really don't know."

The man smiled.
"I don't think you're telling me all that you know, Sukara."

She felt
suddenly sick. She shook her head, wordlessly, and knew that she was
powerless to get rid of her interrogator.

"Where has
Vaughan gone?" he snapped.

Her stomach
flipped. "Away. Off-planet."

"Off-planet?"
he repeated, smiling. "Where precisely off-planet?"

She shook her
head. She looked past the Westerner, in the hope that she might by
lucky enough to see a passing cop and call for help.

The corridor was
deserted.

The Westerner
reached up, his hand striking cobra-fast, and clutched Sukara's
throat. He exerted pressure and pushed her at the same time. She
staggered backwards, tripped, and fell into a sunken bunker.

By the time she
righted herself, fear coursing through her along with the desire to
shout for Jeff to help her, the Westerner had entered the apartment
and closed the door behind him.

She cowered on
the sofa, curling herself into a tight ball, not wanting to admit to
herself who this man might be.

"What do
you want?"

"I told
you. I need to see Vaughan." He looked around the apartment,
smiling to himself. She recalled a word that Jeff had taught her. The
man was
arrogant.

He looked at her
as she scrunched into a tight, defensive ball, and said, "You
see, Vaughan is working on a case that was officially closed. The
cops found the killer and paid off Kapinsky and your husband. I just
called around to remind him about this."

Sukara shook her
head. "How did you find out where he lives?"

"An old
acquaintance of his, one Dr Rao."

Jeff had
mentioned Rao in the past. She wondered how the Westerner had
obtained the information. An awful thought occurred to her. Could it
be that this man was the laser killer?

The Westerner
smiled, and what he said next confirmed Sukara's worst fears. "Is
your shield portable, Sukara, or sub-dermal?"

Her stomach
turned, and she knew then that this was the event that her
premonitions had been warning her about. She was in her apartment
with the telepathic killer who would stop at nothing to get what he
wanted.

He was staring
at the screen of his handset. "Portable, I see. That's good.
Otherwise I would be forced to cut it from your flesh, and that would
be terribly messy."

Sukara fought
her tears, and the panic rising through her. He would make her get
rid of the shield and then read her mind...

And he would
find that Pham would be returning here soon...

He pulled
something from inside his jacket and levelled it at Sukara.

She had never
seen a laser before, except in the movies, and she was surprised now
at how small and insignificant it looked. It was hard to imagine that
a single pulse could end her life.

"Take your
shield," the man was saying, "and throw it across the
room."

Now Sukara could
not stop her tears. They trickled over her cheeks—but she was
determined not to sob. She shook her head.

The blinding
lance of white light burned a hole in the seat beside Sukara, and she
screamed.

"The next
shot will amputate your right hand," the Westerner said. "Get
rid of the shield!"

Now she was
sobbing, uncontrollably, as she fumbled in the pocket of her shirt
and found the silver oval of the mind-shield.