Hidden in Sight (49 page)

At least Kearn hadn't panicked, though two of the crew had turned green and run from the bridge when they'd seen what ringed their destination. In fact, he'd commented that he hadn't been aware the Ganthor had that many serviceable ships in this sector, before sitting down to watch Rudy handle the approach down the lane the Ganthor had left to the shipcity. It closed behind them. The other Commonwealth ship was sitting in orbit around Szhenna, her captain's most potentially useful function to keep other ships from straying into a battle zone.

Which left them.

At the request of a haggard Chief Constable Alphonsus Lundrigan, Kearn had tried clickspeak, in hopes the Matriarch of the Fleet would respond to that, since she hadn't to comspeak.
No reaction
. The fleet was ready and it was waiting.

For what? Payment? A coded signal? The arrival of a real foe?

Cristoffen's contact with the Kraal hadn't shown yet. Rudy couldn't imagine being more conspicuous, and found it hard to resist the impulse to stand in the shadow of the ramp. He wore a Commonwealth uniform, complete with the formal cloak Timri had assured him Cristoffen wore on every possible occasion. As if that weren't enough to single him out, despite the tightest ship packing job Rudy had seen outside a scrap yard, there were few other figures outside. All but his own moved quickly and furtively. He'd been informed there weren't even people on the ships surrounding him. In a rare show of cooperation—or the recovery of the common sense they'd lost to join the Gem Rush—they'd voluntarily moved into starships on the periphery.

Ships that could take off, if the Ganthor let them.
He should be on the
Russ', Rudy chafed.
Doing something about
this
situation.
The damn Kraal could wait for Armageddon with the rest of them. Kearn hadn't agreed, believing there might be a connection.

“Rudy? Is that you?”

Recognition sent a jolt of adrenaline through every part of his body. As he turned in the direction of the voice, Rudy deliberately eased the muscles of his face, smiling that smile that invited others to underestimate him. “Meony-ro. Fancy meeting you here.”

The Kraal was slightly older than Paul, and solidly built. He hadn't lost the fitness of years of military service—not to Rudy's eye. His face usually, as Esen aptly put it, resembled crumbled brickwork or a clown's mask, depending on his liquid intake. Now, however, it was alight with what seemed to be relief, spots of color on each cheek. The orange reflection from Picco emphasized the faint scars where tattoos had been. “I was on my way to the
Russell III
—to see if there was news about Hom Cameron. We aren't getting any com feeds to the ships. I came with Hom Largas—Joel Largas,” he added, as though something in Rudy's face prompted an explanation, then frowned. “When did you rejoin the Commonwealth? Hom Largas will be disappointed.”

“It's temporary,” Rudy said easily. “I'm filling in for Michael Cristoffen—making a delivery for him, in fact.”

Meony-ro looked blank. “I don't know the name. Should I? Is he the new captain?”

The wash of relief Rudy felt probably showed on his face, but he didn't care. “Probably not. It's good to see you.”

“And you. Have you heard anything about Hom Cameron or Fem Ki?”

Timri might know more by now. She was meeting with Alphonsus. Rudy hadn't dared delay, assuming the Kraal would be watching for the
Russell III
to land. “Nothing yet. Miserable business. Was anyone hurt in the attacks?” He leaned back on the ramp, keeping a casual eye on the surrounding area. “I don't have many details.”

“Not for want of trying. Their home was obliterated. Professional and neat. The front half of the warehouse remained standing long enough for the employees in there to get clear. I'd say the only injury was Hom Largas.”

“Joel?”

“He was with Hom Cameron and Fem Ki when they were attacked in her greenhouse. They escaped together. Joel helped them get away, but he was shaken up and hasn't recovered. We couldn't stop him coming here, trying to find who did it. Now he's helping with the evacuation. I think Silv is going to turn gray watching.”

There was a dark spot in the sky. An aircar approaching. “Here's my ride,” Rudy said quickly. “Give my best to Joel. Tell him I'll stop by when I'm back.”

Meony-ro turned and squinted at the sky, then looked at Rudy. “Rudy? That can't be for you. That's a Kraal ship.”

Two Port Authority aircars whizzed by overhead, aimed at the intruder. They met and hovered together at the edge of the shipcity. Rudy had no doubt the Kraal would have whatever clearance and documents would be required, but it gave him some breathing space. “I don't have time to explain,” Rudy said. “You'll have to trust me. Now get of sight before they arrive.” He gave Meony-ro a gentle shove.

The Kraal slid smoothly to one side, somehow ending up with his arm around Rudy's neck before the Botharan could compensate. “I don't think so.”

“Combat reflexes,” Rudy commented.

“I've never tried to hide my training.”

“No. Only your affiliation.” The arm loosened and Meony-ro turned Rudy so they were face-to-face.

“Hom Largas said Kraal troops attacked them. I had nothing to do with it,” Meony-ro said angrily, his voice flat and hard. “I owe blood-debt to Paul Cameron. I would never betray that.”

“Not for an older one?”

“I owe no Kraal loyalty.”

“What about Pa-Admiral Mocktap?”

For a second Rudy thought he'd gone too far, that Meony-ro would attack him in earnest. Then the Kraal eased from that brink—slightly—but his eyes held a promise of violence. “Her least of all.”

Keeping perfectly still, Rudy said carefully: “Paul is my cousin as well as my friend. If you know anything about Mocktap, anything at all—it could help him.”

“What do you need to know?”

“What does she look like? What is she like?”

The Kraal's nostrils flared and there was a sheen to his skin, though the air was thin and chill. “Dark as night's underbelly; tattooed in ice; too old to bear offspring, too young to retire. A noble,” his lips twisted as though the word left a foul taste. “What is she like? As any noble, it is her role to command and her role to bestow guilt and blame where she sees fit.” Meony-ro flicked the fingers of both hands against his cheeks, hard enough to leave a mark. “Ours is to obey the one and accept the other, unless we have the luxury of other affiliations which would support us in a dispute.”

“You were her affiliate.”

“Of her House alone. I wanted no more than Mocktap. So, why am I here, Rudy, instead of at her side?” The Kraal paused to check that the Kraal aircar was still delayed by the others. “I was senior gunner on the
Septos Pa
; my brother, captain of the
Octos Ank
. Proud of our posts and affiliation. Then—there came a day, a battle, when all that changed. Pa-Admiral Mocktap ordered me to fire and—” he stopped, as if this was where he wanted the story to end.

“Tell me what happened, Meony-ro,” Rudy urged quietly. “It might be important.”

“I obeyed, as always, without question. But our target dodged the nightshade's bolts. To this day, I don't know how—or what it was. Monster, weapon. It doesn't matter. Mocktap chose me to accept the blame for the result and stripped me of my affiliation. It was her right.” He spat the word.

“Because you missed?”

“Because I didn't.” Meony-ro's eyes seemed to burn into Rudy's. “My display didn't show the
Octos Ank
in the line of fire. Mocktap's did, but she was so afraid of what we fought that she ordered me to fire anyway, killing my brother—thousands more. I refused to clear her conscience with my death and ran from Kraal space. But I—it was hard to live with myself after that. Paul—Hom Cameron—found me in the Dump and—” He pressed his lips together.

The aircar was moving again, its escorts heading back to the perimeter. Rudy drew Meony-ro farther into the shadows. “What would the name ‘Sybil' mean to Mocktap?”

“An ancestor of her House. Rudy, why are you asking me all this? Was Mocktap responsible for the attacks? Is she here?” He looked wildly at the approaching aircar. “Is that her affiliate?”

“I hope so, or we'll never find out. Listen. Go to the
Russ
' as you planned. Say I sent you. Ask to speak to Project Leader Kearn in private. Tell him what you've told me about Mocktap and anything else you can think of.”

The Kraal, a shape in shadow, seemed to be studying Rudy. Then: “Hom Cameron told me to trust you, Rudy. And you've been a friend to me as well. I accept our affiliation.” He bent and tucked himself out of sight, under the ramp. Rudy heard his whisper as the aircar descended. “Watch for her hands, Rudy. The nails of one are poisoned; the others are razor-sharp.”

Wonderful
, Rudy thought, putting on his best smile for the two hooded, black-garbed, and highly-armed Kraal now examining him from the door of the aircar.
Just wonderful
.

 

The Kraal didn't ask for identification or codes. They simply helped him on board the well-appointed craft with a courtesy that would have been warmer if it hadn't been for their faces being concealed. The hoods were, Rudy knew, the accepted way to preserve the privacy of the House and affiliations. Particularly if the wearers planned to commit a crime. Once he was seated, they left without delay. Rudy presumed Port Authority was glad to be rid of extraneous air traffic on a day when it could well start raining Ganthor assault vehicles.

They flew low and fast, which suited him. There was something about Picco's Moon that suited the Kraal, he thought, watching the landscape rip and fold itself. Covered in riches the locals disdained; inhospitable, yet carved by deep valleys that were, by all accounts, rich with life; and that unsettling orange that betrayed all color but black. He looked up at Picco, forming the horizon and half of the sky, and wondered how many Ganthor ships he'd spot with a telescope.

The mountain of all their speculation and wondering appeared to be disappointingly typical. Just another in a line of jagged peaks that weren't tall enough to condense the scant moisture from the atmosphere and gain snowy caps. He pressed his face to the viewport, looking for any sign of life. As if sensing his curiosity, the pilot veered away then approached from the northern side.

Two Kraal ships, scout class, were suspended on a thirty-degree portion of slope by their boarding grapples—an interesting, if challenging way to deal with a lack of suitable landing space. A talus of debris started from a long gouge in the surface, presumably the mine. Halfway down the slope was a ledge finished into a landing pad large enough for an aircar, the cliff face beside it carved with a series of openings like windows. Rudy automatically memorized the position and significance of each feature.

Then, he saw what didn't belong. A narrow stairway wound up the mountain from the landing pad to the top of the peak, its steps so shallow a Tumbler could roll up them, its center worn into ruts. The peak itself, now that it had his attention, was flatter than it should be. What had eroded it? There was almost no rain here. It had-n't been a machine.

Rudy's mouth went dry as he remembered ancient ruins on other worlds, temples whose stone was worn by the passage of countless worshipers. But Tumblers didn't build steps. Their paths were wide and smooth, glittering with ritual leavings until poachers found them. There were several on this slope. Others in the distance.

Rudy focused on his image of Esen as Bess, her bright Human eyes and friendly smile, fighting back the fear that she was far more alien than he could ever have imagined.

 

They took him to the cliffside house, for that's what it must have been, Rudy discovered, as he stepped through a ruined door into what had been a kitchen.

Before a battle had raged in it.
The Kraal had done some rough housekeeping, shoveling the debris of blackened cupboards and servos into one corner, topping it with the splinters of what had been a wooden table and chairs. Unremarkable stuff, until you realized there had never been a green plant or tree on Picco's Moon. Time hadn't paid attention; there was little in the way of dust or loose stone. Moisture collected in the valleys; there was no damage here from water or rot.

There were other rooms leading into the mountain from this one. He didn't bother exploring. He was expected, from the look of the camp table set with exquisite porcelains and crystal and the two chairs.

His hostess entered from another room as if summoned by the thought. Gone were the silks, replaced by battle armor and a sidearm. Her hair, silver white, was cropped close to her skull, carved away from the tattoos that marched past one ear in a smooth, sensual curve. She smiled warmly. “My dear Rudy.”

“Sybil.” He inclined his head. “You aren't surprised to see me.”

“Of course not. Some refreshment before we begin. I insist.”

Rudy waved off the attendant who'd appeared behind him, intent on removing his cloak. “I've no wish to seem impolite to such a gracious and powerful hostess as Pa-Admiral Mocktap, but under the present circumstances?” He gave her his most charming smile. “I suggest we not delay our business.”

“Admiral?” Her eyes actually twinkled. Sybil seemed inordinately pleased; with him or herself? “You see? I'm not surprised at all. Call me Sybil. I like the way it sounds in your mouth.” She made a girlish pout, an unnerving expression among her tattoos and wrinkled skin. “Such a shame we are being rushed. War hogs are always a nuisance. I had such excellent plans for our visit. Another time, perhaps?” Without waiting for an answer, she sat in one of the chairs and beckoned him to the other. A nod removed the attendant. “Sit. What have you brought me?”