Branegate (5 page)

“You’re a complicated man, Petyr. What else are you that I don’t know about yet?”

Petyr reached out and squeezed his shoulder. His eyes seemed very dark in the dim light. “I hope you don’t have to discover that for a while,” he said, and Trae felt a tingling at the base of his neck.

*

The men came to get them when it was still dark. They went up on deck and the sails were down. They were surrounded by fishing boats a hundred yards from rock cliffs rising above a narrow beach. A crew of two men rowed them to shore without a word and they jumped into cold surf up to their knees. The little boat was already beyond gentle breakers when they reached the shore. Men were loading rowboats along the beach: duffels, boxes, nets, the daily supplies for a long workday of fishing. A man came up to them, looked only at Petyr, handed each of them a roll of rope netting and pointed towards the cliffs. Men were going up and down a path cut into the rock. Trae followed a step behind Petyr as they went up the path, staying to the inside and jostled by men descending with their loads. There were no greetings, not a word, and nobody even looked at them.

They reached the top and Trae looked back just once at a terrifying drop to the beach. Beyond the cliff was not so much a village as it was a preparation area, with drying racks for nets, wooden shacks filled with boxes and barrels and what looked like an open kitchen shed with large, metal tables, all of it stinking with the odor of fish. Men milled around the area in a seemingly random fashion.

Beyond the kitchen shed was a smooth, dirt area where several trucks were parked, some with flat beds, others bearing long, cylindrical tanks. A cab door opened, a man stepped down and came over to meet them. His angular face was clean-shaven, his eyes darting to Trae, then Petyr. “Well, here we are at last,” he said. “Everyone is waiting for you.”

“Good to see you again,” said Petyr, but he did not introduce the man to Trae.

“The smell is bad, but the ride is short,” said the man. He led them to his truck, a thick, silver cylinder behind the cab, took the rolls of netting from them and put it all in the cab. They followed him up a curving ladder to the top of the cylinder where he opened a port the width of three men. Trae jerked backwards as a rush of fish smell came out of the port. The man whispered something to Petyr, who beckoned to Trae to follow him down a ladder into darkness. The port clanged shut above Trae before he’d even reached the metal floor. He breathed shallow, the odor of fish suffocating. Darkness was total. Petyr grabbed his hand and they headed in the direction of the cab. There was a soft click, and a door opened in front of them, a chamber there with two comfortable seats and illuminated in deep red. Petyr closed the door and they buckled themselves into the seats. “All set,” said Petyr, and the truck began to move.

They drove for several minutes before stopping. There were voices from outside, a metallic bang that rattled the walls, then more voices and the truck began to move again. The ride was longer this time, perhaps ten minutes before they stopped and a voice came out of the ceiling, saying, “We’re here.” A click, and the door to their little chamber popped open. They unbuckled themselves and were assailed again by the stink of fish. Light appeared as the top port opened. Petyr climbed the ladder with Trae right behind him, the driver helping them out.

They were in a large garage. A sliding metal door was closed behind them. Several men were working on four trucks, and several others watched from a high catwalk along one wall. Four of those men carried rifles, and two others wore the orange robes of priests. The air smelled of solvents and burned metal, and a torch flared beneath one of the trucks as they descended to the floor. The driver pointed to stairs leading up to the catwalk. “You’re expected,” he said, then turned to look straight at Trae. “Good luck.”

Trae didn’t know what to say, but smiled at the man, and Petyr smiled at him doing that, so apparently it was okay. Petyr held his elbow; they went to the stairs and climbed them together. The two priests met them at the top, other men pushing in around them, rifles at the ready.

“Petyr,” said one man, and extended a hand, but his eyes were on Trae.

Petyr shook the man’s hand. “I appreciate the risk you’re taking, Joseph.”

“It’s no risk at all, not for this young man.” The man called Joseph extended his hand to Trae. “So, at last you’re ready to be sent into the world, and we’re to be a part of your journey.” He smiled.

“Thank you, sir,” said Trae.

“You favor your mother, I think,” said Joseph, then turned to his orange-robed colleague and pulled him closer. “This is Abelius, the rector for this cell. He handles the day to day business here, and will arrange your travel out of Lycos.”

Abelius shook his hand, but said nothing, giving Trae a disturbing look that seemed almost reverent. The guards surrounding them seemed to be pressing closer to also look at him. Trae looked around at the heavily armed men.

“Are you expecting trouble?”

Joseph laughed. “It’s routine. Our workers come and go, and security checks are not perfect. The Emperor has his spies and assassins in places you wouldn’t imagine. We’ve survived all these years by being cautious, but perhaps the time will come when our lives can be open and free.”

“If it be the will of The Source,” said Abelius softly.

“Of course,” said Joseph, “as long as we remember there are no miracles without our own efforts to achieve change. Let’s see to our guests.”

Surrounded closely by their guards, Joseph and Abelius led them along the catwalk to a door, then down a long hallway to another door opening to a room with tables and chairs and the odor of bread baking. Two guards entered with them, the others remaining in the hall. The door was closed and locked from inside. A man came out a side door leading to a shining metal galley and served them hot chocolate drinks and pastries. The priests excused themselves and exited the room, but the guards remained. Petyr seemed particularly alert, cocking his head to one side as if listening for something, and then Joseph returned a few minutes later.

“Your room is ready. You’ll have a couple of hours to sleep, and then a car will come to take you elsewhere. Your final destination on Gan will be achieved in several steps, and each cell has knowledge of only one of them. It’s for your safety.”

“I understand,” said Petyr.

Joseph waited silently until they’d finished eating, but kept looking at Trae and smiling at him. Trae was bothered by it, but said nothing, and soon the priest led them to a simple room with two cots, and hooks on the walls for their clothing. He locked them inside, and went away. Petyr got under his thin blanket with all his clothes on, and advised Trae to do the same.

“We might have to move quickly. Plans can change fast. At least we’re both light sleepers.”

“Right now I’m feeling trapped.” Trae pulled a thin coverlet up to his chin. “I don’t think I’ll sleep at all.”

“You’ll sleep when you’re ready to. Don’t worry about it.”

“You know these people, but they’re all strangers to me,” said Trae.

“I know them well, but I don’t trust them completely, and I always have my own plan, Trae. We have to leave Gan by any port we can use. That’s our immediate goal. It’s
your
goal if something happens to me.”

Trae looked at him with concern. “And how am I supposed to know what to do?”

“Oh, you’ll know,” said Petyr. He rolled over, reached out a hand to the lamp by his cot, and the room was plunged into darkness.

Trae didn’t sleep a wink, but Petyr even snored some until Joseph came to tell them their car was waiting outside.

Two men were in the car with them. The vehicle was white, hydrogen-powered, and small; Trae was in the back seat and his knees were drawn up close to his chin. Hot sunlight beat down through the transparent bubble canopy, and the air rushing through a half-opened window felt hot on his face. Cars raced past them on a busy Lycos street. Interference films covered windows of buildings rising a hundred floors on either side of them. The sidewalks were packed with people, and on every corner there was a gray military vehicle with seated troops, their rifles slung. Each vehicle sported a trailer-generator powering the fifty-millimeter rail canon on top of its cab.

They followed side streets at a leisurely pace to avoid the heaviest traffic, and encountered no checkpoints operating during the rush of morning business. The man in the front passenger seat had a small device plugged into his left ear; he listened intently and occasionally mumbled instructions to the driver. Both men were short and swarthy, and wore rough, woolen clothes. Neither man had introduced himself to Petyr or Trae, and said not one word to them the entire trip. Petyr watched them carefully the whole time.

On a side street near the edge of the city a little white car identical to theirs pulled out of a garage ahead of them and sped away. The driver swerved sharply to the right and pulled into the garage even as the motorized door was descending to clang against a concrete floor. A black van sporting the Emperor’s flag was waiting there with two men dressed in black livery and wearing peaked caps. They opened the doors to let Trae and Petyr get out, and led them to an office where another man was laying out two expensive-looking suits of clothing in raw silk dyed black. “Change into these,” said the man. “You have ten minutes, and then we’re taking you to Anwar Shuttle Port.”

“Aren’t we going to—” began Trae.

“Get dressed,” said Petyr. “Talk later.” He picked up the suits, handed one to Trae. “They even have our sizes. I’m impressed.”

Even the shoes fit, but the man who’d put out the clothes watched with obvious amusement while they dressed. Buttons were everywhere, and a tie required a complex bow that the man had to do for both of them.

“There. You’re now members of our diplomatic service, and here are your papers.” He handed each of them passports and wallets tied shut with gold cord. The passport folders were in the gold of governmental servants.

“You’ll go through regular check-in at Anwar. Tickets are first class to Saleen Space Terminal. You’ll be met by car on the tarmac and taken directly to the launch area. Your luggage has been sent ahead, and won’t be inspected. Once you’re in space the responsibilities of all cells on Gan are ended. I presume you’ll be met at the other end.”

“What planet?” asked Petyr.

“I don’t know. The people who meet you at Saleen have arranged it. You ask a man named Evan.”

Something stirred in Trae’s mind.

“We have to move quickly. You were being followed out there. Our decoy won’t fool them for long.”

They went to the black van and buckled into back seats. Their uniformed escorts awaited them, the van lurching forward as the door closed and they were in the street again, driving some minutes in an erratic pattern before hitting the main highway out of the city and into the countryside. They drove fast this time, speeding past traffic, the driver flashing his lights to move people out of the way. Very soon the traffic was behind them, and fields of grain were rushing past, a sight Trae had only seen before in pictures.

The driver kept checking his rear-view mirror and glancing at his companion. After a few minutes of this his companion was watching something steadily in his side-view mirror. Trae felt Petyr tense beside him.

“Are we being followed?”

“Perhaps,” said the driver. “Do you have a weapon?”

“No.”

“Give him one,” said the driver. His companion turned and held out a dull black pistol over his shoulder. Petyr took it, worked the action and put the weapon on the seat between himself and Trae. The men in front of them were watching the mirrors again.

“Two of them.”

“I see it. Four guys in the lead car, and I’m pretty sure the blue one is following them. Looks like two people in that one.”

“They won’t move until the white van turns off.”

“I’m watching. Get ready to hit it. Damn, but they found us fast. There has to be a leak. I’d better call in.”

“No,” said Petyr, and with authority.

“What? This is our operation, and we have our orders.”

“Yes you do, and calling in isn’t part of them. Even if we’re attacked. Let them have to guess at everything.”

“He’s right,” said the driver. “Too late, anyway; the van just turned off, and the blue car is coming up fast.” There was urgency and anxiety in the man’s voice.

Even through closed windows Trae could hear the scream of a high-performance engine as a blue, two-door car with a hard top sped by them on the left and pulled back into their lane fifty yards ahead of them, slowing to match their speed. Two men were in the car, staring straight ahead as they passed.

“Blue is mine. Take the other.”

“He’s passing, coming up fast.”

Petyr hit a button, lowering the back window as the driver lowered his, and three guns were drawn. Wind rushed into the cab. Petyr grabbed Trae’s head and pushed it down towards his knees. Trae twisted to look at him and then there was the roar of a big engine from outside. Petyr fired first, then the driver. Windows shattered, and there was the thud of bullets striking metal and flesh. The car swerved left and crashed into something, and Petyr was still firing. There was a scream, and the squealing of tires sliding on pavement, then a horrible crash. The car swerved back and forth, and the man in front of Trae opened fire. The driver cried out in pain, the car swerved right. A second later, something hit them from behind, and a fusillade of bullets came in through the rear window. Trae pushed his head down between his knees as the car slowed, leaned, and slowly toppled over upside down, coming to rest in brush pushing through open windows on the driver’s side.

Silence, the engine stalled. Not a sound from the front seats. Blood was rushing to Trae’s head, his vision blurred. Petyr hung in his seat belts beside him, his eyes closed, still clutching his weapon. Trae nudged him, but the man didn’t move. Trae opened his mouth to speak, but then a car door slammed outside and there were footsteps on gravel, then the crackling of crushed brush. And Trae held his breath.