Event Horizon (Hellgate) (128 page)

“Powered up.” Vaurien gestured vaguely. “Have Joss handshake with Etienne. You can do the whole thing from the house there.”

The five-meter dish on the roof would begin to drive, Marin knew, aligning on the
Wastrel
. Two AIs would trade microsecond signals; a man’s life would be consigned to a file of documentation, numbers changing from one bank account to another – the restoration of
honor
, and transportation permits approved for a cryogen casket.

“We’ll see you tonight, Richard,” Mark was saying. “I ought to spend the afternoon packing. And then … Carahne.”

“And whatever the hell Emil Kulich has done with the
Freyana
,” Jazinsky agreed. “Midani’s chewing the furniture. Emil might have to duck, or he’ll need his nose straightened out! Later, Mark.”

The threedee returned to the local CityNet feed. Marin watched idly for some time as Travers fetched coffee with a liberal dash of the Irish, and snow began to fall over Riga. Streetlights shone through it with an almost festive glow, but Curtis was aware of an inestimable sadness. This was an ending, and no matter how bright the future, so much would never come again. In the study, Shapiro was editing the final draft of the most difficult message he would ever record. He was speaking directly to
Mariel
and Matt Kim, and Jon’s young sister, Amanda, and nothing he could say would make the truth less painful.

Marin retired to the kitchen, muddled through a lasagne recipe using canned and dried goods that had languished in the cupboards, and enjoying the self-indulgence of making a mess while Travers looked on with disparaging observations about Dendra
Shemiji’s
culinary applications. Marin only laughed, trying to recall the last time he had actually investigated a kitchen rather than configuring an autochef.

The sun was low, the gardens were snow-laden when Joss called Shapiro to the threedee. Since he took the call in the lounge, the business could not be confidential. Marin caught enough of the conversation to hear the newly-promoted Colonel Yvette
Lansdown
, formerly Shapiro’s Executive Officer – still in command of the
Mercury
, at the head of the Borushek defense fleet.

She was installed in Shapiro’s office at the top of the Fleet compound, while the ship was parked in geosynchronous orbit and an armed Rand Calypso stood, engines always hot, on the air park. “General, it’s good to see you back on Borushek. Unexpected, but good,”
Lansdown
was saying. She was forty, fit, sinewy, with raven black hair and green eyes which pierced like gimlets. “If you’d told me you were coming in, I know President Cardwell’s department would have organized a proper reception for you.”

“Which is exactly why I didn’t call ahead, Yvette,” Shapiro said in amused tones. “A civic reception is the
last
thing I want.”

She shared his humor. “You’re a public figure, General –”

“Not now,” he argued. “And call me Harrison. How long have we known each other? You’re making me feel old. I’m out of the service … and not coming back, Yvette.”

“Yes, Gen–Harrison,” she corrected. “Apart from what you or I might want, President Cardwell’s been talking about
honoring
you with a parade.”

“A parade?” Shapiro sounded appalled. “I hardly know Cardwell. All the years I was in the chair where you’re sitting now, and the so-called colonial government took care of pavement, sewerage and social security while I made policy on global issues, Cardwell was a low-key member of a puppet parliament. I couldn’t have picked her out of a Tactical line-up, and I had no idea she was Daku, much less Robert Chandra
Liang’s
agent here on Borushek.”

“Still, she knew you,”
Lansdown
mused, “and President Chandra Liang kept her well informed. She knew exactly what you were doing. Apparently she kept the colonial government off your back numerous times. She had the ear of Governor Petrakis. He might not have recognized a Daku representative when he saw one, but he knew what was good for the people of this colony. We were lucky. Petrakis was one of the decent ones, like Regis
Gangawar
on Velcastra.”

Shapiro was impressed. “Give President Cardwell my best wishes. Tell her … I don’t exist anymore. I’m gone, Yvette.”

She skipped a beat. “Permanently?”

“As far as Borushek is concerned.” Shapiro gestured in the direction of the city. “How many Terran agents are you aware of in Sark at this time?”

Her face darkened. “Four or five. They’re
marked
. We’re letting them run, they’ll point the way right back to their chain of command. The object is to cut it off at the head.”

“And I hope you manage it,” Shapiro said honestly. “But if you miss one Terran agent, in a few months you can expect to be seeing bounty hunters out here. Borushek, Velcastra, Omaru. You’ll have seen the arrest list, I assume?”

“I have. It was posted on Earth, reported by CNS. You, Mr. Chandra Liang, Mr. Tarrant, Colonel Rusch, Captain Vaurien, Doctor Jazinsky, Doctor Sherratt … if Major Vidal were still alive, he’d be on the list. Nobody knows the assignment he was flying when he was killed, but since he was associated with your group, well, it’s a fairly safe bet he was on a mission to undermine the Confederacy.”

“Indeed.” Shapiro looked sidelong at Marin and Travers, who were watching the lights come on across the long, sloping front gardens. Marin met his eyes, watched him mask his amusement from
Lansdown
as he turned back to the vid pickup. “You could do me one last service. Give President Cardwell’s office the information that I’m dead. You received this intelligence from the
Wastrel
, which passed through the Borushek system on this date. I wasn’t aboard … I was killed a month or so ago, on unspecified duties.”

Her eyes widened. “I can do that. Harrison, are you sure? It’ll be tough to come back, after CNS has covered the story and the president’s laid a wreath at your memorial.”

Marin stifled a cynical chuckle. “And doesn’t Mick know it!”

“He doesn’t want to go back – not publicly,” Travers said softly, under the audio pickup. “I don’t think he wants to actually live on Velcastra any more than Ernst does. CityNet would deify them … for about three weeks. Then the exposes and critiques would start. Some citybottom hustler selling the story for a small fortune: ‘I spent the night with Michael Vidal ten years ago, here’s how he likes to get laid.’” Travers’s dark head shook emphatically. “Not Mick’s scene. And as for Ernst –? He’d be the ‘living fossil,’ right beside Charles Vidal. Not,” he added, “that the
Vidals
and
Shackletons
,
Elstroms
and
Vaughans
would ever accept Jo Queneau as part of the family. She doesn’t have the pedigree of First Fleet aristocracy. Ernst’s likely to show them his middle finger right before he walks away, so why make a big drama?”

He was right, and Marin had known all this, as surely as Rabelais and Queneau knew it. Velcastra was not closed to them but they would pass through as tourists, on visas conjured by Joss and Etienne. Vidal himself might not absolutely conceal his presence there, but he would avoid publicity, shun CityNet – leave a mystery smoldering behind him which Charles Vidal could answer or deny in any way he chose.

“I’m a ghost, Yvette,” Shapiro was saying. “You know the truth. Leave it there.”

“I’ll know you’re out there somewhere,” she said, husky with emotion. “I, uh, I’ll stand by the secret. If you ever need anything, call me. You know where I’ll be. They promoted me. They’ll promote me again in a year or two.”

“You’ll be General
Lansdown
,” Shapiro said approvingly. “Watch yourself. Those Terran agents, those bounty hunters, would be delighted to hunt your head too.”

“I’m not on the death list,” she began.

“
Yet
. How long before they learn you were my Executive Officer, and I passed command of the
Mercury
to you when I vanished. If you were a loyal DeepSky Fleet officer, you should have turned the ship around, headed back to the Middle Heavens and put her at the disposal of the Confederacy. You didn’t.”

“I … didn’t,”
Lansdown
admitted, “and here I am.” Her brow creased. “I’ll be careful, Harrison. And you – wherever you’re going – have a nice life. I’ll be thinking about you.”

“Thank you.” Shapiro reached over and hit the
off
.

“Speaking of chapters closing,” Marin said quietly. “You’re almost done here.”

“We all are.” Shapiro nodded at the baggage mounded by the door. “Dario and Leon and their partners might come back one day, but Mark has no more desire than I have to become a minor headline on a homeworlds news network. In his case, as a Resalq he can weather this particular storm and see it out. In thirty or forty years, he might return as his own son. The Resalq are so long-lived, and Terran agents don’t know he’s not human.”

“They’ll track down that information eventually,” Travers guessed. “Especially if the Resalq are coming out soon. Once the Veldn arrive here, all bets are off.”

Shapiro was nodding deeply. “I dispatched a package of selected data to President Cardwell’s office a few hours ago. The same is on its way to presidential offices right across the Commonwealth. Chandra Liang, Tarrant and Prendergast will be briefed regarding the Veldn; their scientists can wade in the Zunshu and Veldn data. When the Veldn get here they’ll be expected, welcomed.”

“And the Veldn,” Marin said thoughtfully, “will contact Joss here, and also on the
Carellan Djerun
, direct. If we’re anywhere in reach of the Deep Sky when they come, I’d like to see first contact happen. Again.” He gave Travers an amused look. “I want to see the look on Mark’s face.”

“I want to see the look on his face when the Resalq come out,” Travers added. “Five years, or ten? It’s going to be quite the show.”

“Meanwhile,” Marin went on, “I believe we have a wake to hold.”

“A wake?” Shapiro echoed, guessing. “Oh, please.”

“Cognac and
Cutty
Sark cigars, at the very least.” Travers was on his way to the bar in the corner of the dining room. “Now, where does he keep them? Joss, give Mark a
hoy
.”

And a moment later, from the lab: “You called, Neil?”

“Where does Dario hide the best brandy?” Travers prompted. “We’re holding a wake for Harrison Shapiro. It seems he was killed in line of duty a month ago … at least, Colonel
Lansdown
will be informing the president’s office of his death about now. It’s only decent to lift a glass.”

They were finishing the cognac when the Capricorn dropped in out of a patch of stars in the south, where the snow clouds had drifted apart on a west wind. Sunset had been bloody, broodingly magnificent over the heights of Mount Kepler. Shapiro watched from the big windows, captivated, perhaps especially so since he might never see this again – or, not on this world. His homeworld. The sky was fully dark when the Capricorn’s repulsion raised a blizzard, melted the snow on the lawns, which would be frozen to glassy ice in half an hour.

Without a respirator Vidal hustled into the house and was breathless, pale with cold, when the door banged behind him. Vents opened, blowing hot air to raise the house pressure back to normal in seconds, and Vidal made straight for the hearth.

“Cold outside,” he informed Marin and Travers.

They were on the couch, watching CityNet, a documentary about the return of indigenous species to parts of southern Borushek, where early colonial industry had recently been moved offplanet, allowing the native environment to reappear.

But cold or no, Vidal dropped the leather jacket soon enough and the collar of the black silk shirt was open, baring his chest. Marin might have commented, until he saw the refurbished tattoo, still bright, a little swollen, and likely sore. The Daku tattoo – the open-headed ankh – which Vidal had always worn as a symbol of his beliefs, was thoroughly reworked in blues and
golds
. The ancient
sigil
was closed now, and Marin remembered Alexis Rusch’s explanation for the reason the Daku had always displayed it open-headed. It symbolized freedom, and it had been broken. It remained broken until the Deep Sky was free.