A Memory in the Black (The New Aeneid Cycle) (25 page)

"Take us there. You know where to go.
Take us there."

The dream grips
him again. Somehow, Gideon knows that he will forget it when he wakes, yet each time it comes, he remembers the times before.

"You're the only one who can help.
The only one who can. Take us there!"

"Where?" he demands
in a voice that is his, and yet isn't. The dream has come, just as before, just as he remembers.

"You know where! Take is there.
Do it NOW."

B
ut no, not just as he remembers. The pressure is greater than before, and growing stronger. As before, the darkness fades into a console of navigation controls as the cockpit forms around him.

"NOW!"

Pain bursts behind his eyes as the order echoes. He winces, more in surprise than anything. The dream has never brought pain before.

"Take you
where?
" He tries to pull his hands away from the console, tries to bang them at the door that he knows must be beside him yet can never see, but some invisible force holds them fast.

"Take us there!"
This time the orders are joined by others. They build order on top of order until they are a torrent of voices that he is powerless to satisfy.

"Take us there!"

"You know where to go!"

"Take us!"

"Take us there NOW!"

"You have to remember!
"

"You have to take us there now!"

But he doesn't know! They won't tell him. Why won't they tell him? "Tell me where!" he cries as they rail against him. "Answer me!"

The commands wo
n't stop. The pain is growing. The cockpit is on fire. He thrashes in his prison but they won't stop to answer, shouting at him every second to take them there. Heat piles on heat, pain on pain, and they still won't stop. He wants desperately to give in, to do what they ask, to stop this torture, but he doesn't understand! Why doesn't he understand?
It should be so obvious! He should know!

"Take us there! Send us there!"

"You're the only one who knows!"

"Send us there now!"

The voices are crazed. He thrashes again at the force that holds him. His pleas for clarity catch in his throat as the next wave of pain nearly breaks him apart.

He screams, he pounds
at the console in desperation and hits the keys as he's never done before. He punches in a destination—any destination, just to appease them—and then launches the shuttle on its course with a howl of agony.

The pain ceases
. All goes black.

The pain rolled over Gideon's face where he sat strapped and writhing in the memory chair. Ondrea watched it happen, repeated to herself that it was the only way, and desperately tried to stop herself from shutting everything down and throwing the release. Before, they had tried to coax out the information. Now they were forcing it out. She had no way to be sure what it was like from Gideon's perspective, but she knew it couldn't be pleasant. With every spasm of his sleeping body, she wished she could somehow take his place.

Then suddenly the session stopped.
The chair powered down. Gideon relaxed.

"W
hat is it? What's wrong?" Tseng demanded beside her.

The tech looked up, startled.
"Nothing's wrong, Mr. Tseng. It worked. We've got coordinates!"

Tseng sprang to the tech's side.
"About damned time. Run them. If they're in view then get me a satellite image." Ondrea started toward Gideon's restraints before Tseng stopped her in her tracks. "No. Run him through another few sessions. Make sure you get the same result."

Ondrea turned. "You need to give him time to rest."

Tseng frowned. "Fine. Let him rest. We don't want to break it. But then put him in again. We're not just going to assume our first breakthrough is legit. After that, put him in a simulator. Let's see if he can do it when he's conscious."

The phone rang five times before he picked up.
"
Who's this?
"

"Diomedes?
It's Michael. I need to talk to you."

A pause.
"
How did you get this number?
"

"You took our car, then used your phone inside it.
After that it involves a bug we left and it gets kind of technical. Though maybe that's a sign that you trust me a little?"

"
How much did you hear? Talk!
"

"Enough to know you're working with the guy who sent both of us on that wild goose chase for Wallace a while back."

"
Kid, you breathe a word to anyone, I'll make you regret it.
"

"I know you
will, don't worry. But now that I've heard it, I think I can help you out with your problem if you do something for me."

"
Another deal.
"

"Yeah, a deal."

"
Can't even take care of yourself and you're going to help me?
"

"I know people."

"
Screw your people.
"

"Diomedes, when I say help
, I mean with getting your name cleared."

Another pause.
"
That's crap. Sounds like a set-up.
"

"It's not
."

"
Prove it.
"

"I need to meet with you somewhere. You pick the place."

"
Prove. It.
"

"I can't
prove it until I can talk to you directly. Or do you want to risk another phone call getting recorded?"

Nothing.

"Look, Diomedes, either I'm being straight with you and you've got
a chance to get out of the heat you're in, or you're right and you're being led into a trap by a guy you've consistently proven that you're better than. Just hear me out."

Silence,
and then, "
Be at the 'Pyre in an hour. Sit somewhere in the back.
"

"The
'Pyre?"

"
You deaf?
"

"Alright. Fine, we'll be there."

"
We?
"

"Me and Marc.
He's key to all of this. I can't do it without his help."

"
Two hours.
" The line clicked dead.

They succeeded in getting a booth tucked into the furthest corner of the 'Pyre. Michael sat on the outer half of the bench that faced the rest of the dimly-lit establishment. From there, he could both keep watch and shield Marc, who was tucked further in on the same bench, closest to the wall.

It was the best place for
Marc to be. No one could see him unless they were right beside the table. Only the seat opposite was better hidden, but Michael thought it best to keep that for Diomedes. Not only might it put the man more at ease to be hidden, but it would also keep him further from either of them.

It remained to be seen w
hether or not his old mentor would show.

For the moment, they were at least in a good position.
The bar was crowded enough to keep them inconspicuous, and Michael had already checked it and come up empty for anyone who might present an obvious threat.

Marc idly examined another ordered beer he wasn't drinking and asked, "This is kind of an odd place for him to want to meet, isn't it?
I mean, if he's avoiding his usual places."

"Yeah, it is.
He might not be coming at all, even. But it's not like him to just dismiss our offer. I think."

"Maybe he didn't believe it?"

"Maybe. But he does know this place. Could be he's going for home field advantage."

Marc turned his glass a bit.
"You told the bartender where we're sitting?"

"Where I was
sitting, anyway. No sense in calling more attention to you than we need to. If he shows, he'll find us."

They waited
in silence. The 'Pyre's music droned around them. Michael took a sip of his beer.

"Thi
nk this'll work?" Marc asked suddenly.

"Here's hoping.
If we blow this, I don't think we'll be in a position to get him to listen to anything else we have to say."

Marc chuckled grimly.
"Given how ready he was to shoot us the last time, I'd say that's putting it mildly."

"Diomedes makes threats.
It's what he does. He wasn't going to shoot us."
At least I don't think he was.

"Uh huh."

"He won't shoot us," Michael repeated. "We'll have to make this work."

"If he shows up."

"Yeah, if he shows up."

"We're just one giant ball of confidence, aren't we?"

Michael didn't answer. A large figure heading toward the table caught his eye, but the man broke off before getting too close. It wasn't Diomedes.

T
hey would make it work. If they didn't. . . He thought back to the Council meeting and asked, "What did Councilor Knapp mean that the arbiter should sanction more extreme actions?"

"D
oing whatever it takes, from what I know of her. Someone in the way, and," he mimed firing a gun, "boom. No more obstacle."

"That's kind of what I thought
given the reaction. But we're—well, we're supposed to be doing what's right. I thought she might've meant something else."

"Nope.
At least I didn't think so. But yeah, we're the good guys. I don't think the arbiter or the rest of the Council would let it come to that. It's just that Knapp's always advocated keeping us secure no matter the cost. She's one of the extremes that balances out the rest, really." Marc shrugged.

"So we're still the good guys."

"Insomuch as anyone can be. The world's never been cut and dried, but I'd put us on the good side, yeah. I wouldn't worry."

Marc turned his glass.
Granted, the AoA was not above publically discrediting or even ruining the lives of those who threatened its secrecy. Bad things, through AoA
in
action, could even be allowed to happen at the hands of others, if there were absolutely no other options. Yet such a thing was rare and never undertaken lightly.

"
You aren't, are you?" Marc asked. "Worried about that?"

Michael shook his head.
"I've just got a history of misjudging these things, that's all. No, don't say it, I'm not worried about the AoA. I don't think I like Knapp, though. Not that I expect that'd bother her much."

Marc smiled.
"Sometimes I think she's abrasive just to keep everyone on their toes. Felix called her a fire that forges the sword, or something."

"Sounds like something he'd
—"

There was a crash of glass near th
e bar. Michael's hand went to his weapon before he saw that someone had just dropped a drink. He relaxed.

"We have a message."

"What makes you say—" Michael stopped as he noticed to what Marc was referring. The booths in the rear of the 'Pyre all had Net terminals wired into their adjoining walls. Theirs was blinking with an anonymous chat request. "Think it's him?"

"You told the bartender where we were.
Maybe he called in and he told him what booth."

"Or maybe he's somewhere in another booth," Michael said with a
glance out at rest of the bar. He pointed to the console. "Better answer it. Before he decides to change his mind."

Michael stood up and scanned the
area. There was still no sign of Diomedes. He tried to catch the bartender's eye, hoping for. . . what? The man was busy with other patrons and failed to notice him. Michael sat again.

"It's him," Marc told him.
"Or at least he claims it is. Says it's a secure link, too."

"Geez, we tell him we can't do this over the phone and he figures this'll be safer?
Can you see if it's secure as he says?"

"I can give it a shot."
Marc typed a quick "stand by" onto the console's keyboard and then pulled out a palmtop. Michael waited as he did some checking. "Seems to be. And I just added another layer, so I think we're okay."

Michael nodded.
"I guess that'll do for now. I'd feel better about this if he were here, though."

The other chuckled.
"That makes one of us."

Michael pointed to the keyboard.
"Ask him how we know it's him." Better if Marc did the typing so he could keep his hands free, just in case. Marc didn't argue.

-
Your uncle's middle name was Bueford. Some hands the last year I was there were Max, Juan and Jimmy. Farmhouse was red.-

Michael gave Marc's questioning look a nod.
"Ask him if he's nearby."

-
This is as close as you get for now. You said there's a deal. What is it?-

"We know you're working with Fagles," Michael
whispered as Marc typed. "We know he's set up a way to get you to a base on the Moon so you can help him steal their data. And we know you still need a way to get around their security." He waited to see the response that would get.

-Maybe.
Get to the deal.-

"So what else is new?"
Michael grumbled before pointing at the keyboard again. "We want in. Marc's been to the base. He helped test their security. Tell Fagles to find a way to get us there with you and we'll get you through."

-Both of you?
Why do I say I need both?-

Michael hesitated
. "Tell him whatever reason you want, just get us there. Do that, and we'll get your name cleared. Marc's people have connections. But not until after we're back."

-Clear it before or there's no deal.-

"When we get back, or there's no deal."

Marc finished typing and said aloud, "You know saying that sort of thing to him is much easier this way."

-That might change if he's got my hand at his neck.-

"See?" Marc said.
"I like this much better."

Michael continued to dictate.
"It's not Marc's decision, and threatening him won't make the people who'd do it any more cooperative. They won't fix it until we're safely back."

-How do I know they can do it at all?-

"I guess you'll have to trust me on that. But you're getting what you need even without that. And we can send you coordinates to compare it with what Fagles has to prove Marc's been there."

It took so long after that for Diomedes to respond that Michael's focus shifted to the rest of the room, half expecting the man to be headed their way.
Marc had to nudge him back to the screen when the reply did come.

-Who are you working for?-

They exchanged glances. "We probably should've decided what to say to that already, huh?"

Michael scowled.
"Well it's not a question he usually cares about. Just this: 'Someone who thinks what ESA's doing up there needs to be leaked and doesn't care who does the leaking.' How's that?" Marc gave him a considering nod and then typed it.

-You want the data for yourselves.-

"This is about helping you hurt ESA. They screwed Marc over, killed his friends. If you hurt ESA, the data's all yours."

Diomedes response came quickly.
-So why's Michael coming at all?-

"To watch out for Marc.
You certainly wouldn't— Wait." He held out a hand to stay Marc's typing. "Better leave off that last part."

-If people are after you that makes it harder.
Too much risk.-

"I was afraid that might come up."
Michael gestured to the keyboard. "There's no one after us. That was just a story to find out what you were up to. But Marc still needs protection. You know that won't be a safe trip."

-So you lied to me.-

"Only to see if we'd be able to help you."

-So maybe you're lying now.-

"But now we've got proof. We told you, we'll give you the base coordinates to check our story."

-Give me the coordinates and security codes and you don't have to come at all.-

Michael frowned at the screen as though it were Diomedes himself watching him. "Don't insult us our intelligence. Even if we trusted you that much it's not as simple as punching in a few codes. Marc has to be there."

Again, Diomedes response was a long time
in coming.
-I'll talk to Fagles.-

"Talk fast. One last thing.
Who did hire you for the shooting?"