Soldiers Out of Time (12 page)

Rojas leaned forward and stared across the desk, clearly perplexed. “I remember now. I’ve read a
précis
of your report on that expedition. But I thought he was killed.”

“So did I. I’d shot him in the chest, and was certain he was dead—as certain as I’ve ever been of anything. But he must have had one of those bionic automatic-release implants that can keep a barely alive body going with massive injections and electrical jolts. Because after we left him, he followed us.” Jason paused for a more cautious sip, and let his memories take him back to the pandemonium of a burning city. He spoke as much to himself as to Rojas. “We were in Richmond when the Confederates were evacuating it. We got across Mayo’s Bridge just before it was due to be blown up . . . and he was staggering along right behind us like some kind of undead zombie out of nightmare, just ahead of the explosions of the tar barrels they were using as fire bombs. But they caught up to him and he was enveloped in flame. Then the bridge collapsed under him and he fell into the river. We never saw him come up.”

“Then how can he be alive now? How can you be sure this was him? You admit that the man you saw had disfiguring injuries.”

“Like those you’d expect Stoneman to have. Anyway, it was him. Believe me, I’d know him anywhere. He held me and all but one of my party as prisoners for months.”

“But how do you account for his survival?”

“I can only suppose that he also had some kind of Transhumanist artificial gill implant that automatically kicked in when he went underwater. And of course the water would have put out the flames. And his TRD must have been set to activate very shortly after that—come to think of it, he’d mentioned that he didn’t expect to be in the nineteenth century much longer. So he was retrieved in time for them to save his life.” Jason laughed humorlessly. “Knowing them, I’m surprised they didn’t kill him themselves, after learning he had lost that data chip.”

“It would seem they didn’t, inasmuch as he’s here now, disfigurement and all.” Rojas scowled. “But judging from your assessment of him in your report, he’s not an individual they’d employ as some kind of purchasing agent! The question is, why
is
he here?”

“I can’t even guess.”

“I can.” Rojas’ eyes grew hard. “They didn’t fall for that ploy of yours with the body on Planet A. They may not definitely know we were up to anything there, but they have to consider the possibility that we were—and that therefore we know the location of Planet A, and maybe of Planet B as well. So now this Stoneman—or whatever he’s called—is here to investigate, since their food-buying coupled with our presence on this planet provide the only possible link.”

“Well, Major, there’s an old saying: you’ve got to take the bad with the good. If we hadn’t made the incursion that resulted in that body, we wouldn’t have any idea of the location of Planet B, and our options would be very limited.”

“Admitted,” said Rojas with no particularly good grace. “But considering that the displacer out in the Xinkhan Desert is nearing completion, I want a look at this man before we actually perform our displacement. And yes, I know,” she added, raising a forestalling hand, “you won’t reveal your sources of information. So I won’t ask for them. But you can lead me yourself, without compromising them.”

“Yes, I suppose I can try,” said Jason slowly and—for reasons he couldn’t quite define—hesitantly.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Are you sure he’s going to be here?” Rojas asked in an irritable undertone.

“Of course I’m not sure,” Jason replied as quietly as he could and still make himself heard above the hubbub of the central market. “My sources say that Transhumanists came to the commodities exchange earlier today. But they couldn’t be certain Stoneman was among them.”

Lizh’Ku had notified him via the communicator Jason had given him. But his own information had come indirectly, from a source he had indicated wasn’t exactly the sharpest knife in his drawer of informants. Still, it had been worth a try, and Jason had alerted Rojas. The two of them and Mondrago had gotten into the scruffiest and most nondescript clothing available—including, at Jason’s insistence, face-concealing slouch hats, for Rojas as well as himself and Mondrago. He didn’t think she was known by sight to any of the Transhumanists, never having done any actual field work here in Khankhazh. But all his instincts were crying out for caution.

And now it was late afternoon as they mingled with the crowds, trying not to seem to be paying undue attention to the exchange buildings as they watched everyone who emerged. A few humans had, but none of those they sought.

“We’d better keep moving around,” Mondrago muttered.

“Right,” agreed Jason. Humans were a familiar sight here, but extended loitering might attract notice.

“Look!” said Mondrago suddenly.

Jason looked in the direction of his pointing finger. The range was too great for his implant to detect the presence of functioning bionics, but he recognized the two mid-level castes he had glimpsed before. And, as before, there was another figure with them, half crouched as though sheltering from sight behind them.

“There!” Jason hissed to Rojas. “But I can’t be sure Stoneman’s among them.”

“Then let’s follow them until we can be sure.” Rojas started off without waiting to see if she was being followed. Not to Jason’s surprise, she knew enough to move inconspicuously, without revealing that she was shadowing her quarry. He and Mondrago followed suit. Fortunately, humans were easy to keep in sight at a distance, over the heads of the Zirankh’shi crowd.

The Transhumanists moved steadily toward the extensive parking field adjacent to the markets, where occasional human-built glide cars nestled among the rows of ZIrankh’shi steam cars, and headed toward one of the former. With no more crowds to blend in, Jason and his two companions waited on the outskirts of the field and watched as best they could. As the Transhumanists entered their car, the third member of their group was, for an instant, in plain sight.

“I think that’s Stoneman,” said Jason. “It’s hard to be absolutely certain at this distance, but—”

“Then let’s follow them,” said Rojas. Before Jason could counsel caution, she was off in the direction of their own glide car.

Tailing the Transhumanists through the disorderly and over-crowded traffic of Khankhazh was difficult, but Rojas clearly had experience at this sort of thing. And it helped that their quarry was following the most direct route toward the spacefield that was possible in this urban labyrinth.

“I know where they’re headed,” Jason told Rojas. “After they enter the spacefield, they’re going to go to that little out-of-the-way hangar from which their orbital shuttle operates. What, exactly, do you plan to do that won’t reveal our knowledge of what they’re up to?”

“We’ll play it by ear,” said Rojas grimly. Then she turned and gave him what was, for her, a charming smile. “I seem to recall that that’s a favorite expression of yours.”

Jason had no answer for that, so he shut up and let Rojas concentrate on driving. Presently, the congestion thinned out into a scattering of shanties as they neared the drainage ditch between the city and the spacefield. The season had changed, and now the ditch was filled with water. There were no formalities about access to the field, and up ahead the Transhumanists’ car was crossing one of the bridges over the ditch and turning left.

“Their hangar is over in that direction,” Jason told Rojas as they passed the last of the shanties and approached the bridge. “Now we need to decide—”

At that moment, with a grinding scream of tortured driving machinery, the car came to an instantaneous, shuddering stop, sending Jason and Rojas forward against their safety belts while Mondrago, seated in the rear, tumbled against the back of their seats. Before their minds had fully registered what was happening, the grav repulsion expired with a wheeze and a cloud of acrid smoke, and the front end slewed into the dirt road just short of the ditch.

Grav snare
, flashed through Jason’s brain. Someone concealed in one of the shanties had had one of the small, portable devices that could project either a continuous tractor beam, holding a person immobilized, or a brief, high-powered one that could stop a vehicle and set up destructive harmonics in its gravitics.
And in this case, they’ve used the latter. So . . .
“Out! Out of the car!” he shouted as he slapped at the catch of his safety belt.

They all tumbled from the crazily canted car, and Jason drew the guass needler pistol at his side. Mondrago, he noted, was already holding his, and crouching behind the car as he exchanged fire with a couple of goon-caste types who had emerged from a shanty with similar weapons. There was the characteristic snapping sound as the steel slivers broke mach, and a metallic whining as several of them whanged off the roof of the car.

Jason immediately dropped beside Mondrago in the shelter of the car. But Rojas, who had gotten out the other side, had no such protection. Standing exposed, she brought her needler up and opened fire, getting one of the goons. But then a sleet of the vicious little flechettes swept across her body. Blood sprayed from tiny holes and, with a gurgling scream, she toppled over the edge of the drainage ditch and was lost to sight.

“Bastards!”
yelled Jason as he and Mondrago fired on the remaining goon, who ducked back into the shanty. Jason spared a fraction of a second for a look across the bridge. The Transhumanist car had stopped. Stoneman—yes, it was definitely him—was standing beside it and giving directions to his underlings, who were scrambling down into the ditch from their side. Jason endeavored to keep out of his line of sight, on the chance that he hadn’t already been recognized.

Yes,
thought Jason with bitter self-reproach.
He always was the careful type, and he was sure he had spotted something in the market the other day. So he set up this little ambush here in case he was followed. And we fell right into it. And even if these goons had been close enough for my implant to detect them, it probably would have been too late by then.

“Sir!” said Mondrago. “Let’s get out of here while that goon’s taking cover. I think we can make it to those shanties over there, across from his. And . . . it’s too late to help the major, even if we could.”

Jason nodded. “On my count of three.” He counted, and they sent a fusillade of flechettes toward the shanty, forcing the goon to keep his head down. Then they sprang to their feet and sprinted toward the nearest alley on their side of the road.

They entered a noisome maze, where the few Zirankh’shi they saw scampered away at the sight of armed humans. Because they had no TRDs, Jason’s neural map display was useless in helping them find their way. “I think,” he said after a while, “if we turn here we’ll—”

“Freeze,” came a cold voice from behind them.

He must know a shortcut
, thought Jason sickly. Beside him, Mondrago tensed almost imperceptibly and drew a breath.

“Don’t be stupid even for a Pug,” said the voice, sounding almost bored. Mondrago sighed and relaxed muscle by muscle. “Now drop your guns and turn around slowly.”

They obeyed, to face the goon and his pointed needler. He stepped closer, coming into the range of Jason’s implant.
A little late
, he thought at the mocking blue dot.

“Now come on. You’re wanted for—”

Something flashed in the corner of Jason’s right eye. All at once the goon’s throat sprouted the handle of a knife, and his blood spurted. With a convulsive movement, he yanked the knife out, and the bloodflow immediately began to slacken as his life-preserving implants kicked in.

But by then Jason and Mondrago had dropped to the mud, scooped up their needlers, and fired as one. Jason’s shot hit the goon’s head. The little flechette was not one of the heavy slugs of military-grade gauss weapons, which would have blown out the top of the skull with hydrostatic pressure as it made its hypervelocity way through. But it went straight into the goon’s brain. He was dead before his legs had finished buckling under him.

From the shadows between two buildings, a Zirankh’shi stepped out, retrieved the throwing knife, wiped it on the goon’s shirt, and hung it beside two others dangling from his harness. Then he turned to Jason and made an unmistakable follow-me gesture.

Jason, who was getting better about individual Zirankh’shi characteristics, recognized this one as a small specimen even for his race, and wiry. But what was most noticeable was that his tapering snout terminated in a pattern of scar tissue where a nose was supposed to be. Evidently someone, at some point in his career, had decided he was in need of chastisement.

But Jason was neither in the mood to be particular nor in any position to do so. “I think I know where he wants to take us,” he told Mondrago. “And it’s exactly where we need to go just now.”

Without another word, they followed the little Zirankh’shi into the squalid maze that was Khankhazh’s criminal district.

Night had fallen by the time they reached Lizh’Ku’s shack. Jason used the communicator he had given the aged Zirankh’shi to inform Captain Chang of what had happened and assure him that he and Mondrago would be back in the legation before morning. Now he sat and drank
dugugkh
. The stuff was repulsive. He didn’t care. Up until now he and Mondrago had had other things to occupy their minds, but now Rojas’ death was sinking home and they had nothing to shield themselves from it except alcohol.

Lizh’Ku was having a muttered colloquy with No-Nose. Over in a corner, the hulking Luzho’Yuzho was sitting and writing. He often did that, Jason had observed. Lizh’Ku must have taught him the skill, which was almost unheard of among the Manziru Empire’s peasant class. Jason wondered what he was writing down. The tales of his master’s cases, perhaps.
This one ought to be one hell of a novelty
, Jason thought. He took another gulp of
dugugkh
and managed to avoid gagging on it.

No-Nose departed, and Lizh’Ku walked over to Jason and snagged the bottle. “Zhagk’Urv is an old acquaintance,” he explained between swigs. “He fancies to consider himself in my debt for a few favors I’ve done him in the past. And he has . . . contacts. After informing you of the Transhumanist activity at the market, I asked him and a couple of his associates to keep watch there and also at the approach to the spacefield that they generally use, as a precaution.”

“A necessary one, as it turned out. I’m sorry I couldn’t thank him.” Jason took another vile-tasting swallow. He needed it, for now the mortification of having had to be nursemaided was added to everything else. “But now we have to get back to the legation.”

“Luzho’Yuzho will guide you.”

“At least I can
thank
you
. . . for everything. I only wish I could
repay
you.”

“Where will you be going now?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you, and if I did you wouldn’t believe me. Let’s just say it’s a matter of
when
as well as
where.
”

Lizh’Ku thought a moment. “If you really wish to repay me, do me one favor. On your return, tell me the story of your travels. You may be surprised at some of the things I can believe. And Luzho’Yuzho will need it to complete his narrative.”

Hey, I was right about Luzho’Yuzho’s subject matter!
“Very well. I can’t promise that we’ll ever see each other again, but if we do you’ll hear the full story. Then we’ll see how far your capacity for belief really goes!”

“Grave,” was Narendra Patel’s lugubrious assessment of the situation. “Very grave.”

He and Captain Chang sat across a small table from Jason, Mondrago and a very subdued Chantal Frey. “Did Stoneman recognize you two?” Chang asked anxiously.

“I can’t be sure,” said Jason. “It was at a distance, and I tried to keep out of sight behind our car.”

“Although,” Mondrago added drily, “we had other things on our minds at the time, what with being in a firefight.”

“So,” said Chang, “we don’t know whether or not they know that you personally—or the Authority, for that matter, is involved.”

“Right,” Jason agreed. “And given that the possibility exists, we have to act without further delay. The three of us will take our
Comet
class into orbit tomorrow morning and rendezvous with
De Ruyter
. As soon as preparations can be completed, we’ll set her down at our displacer and proceed with the mission.”

“Yes, yes,” muttered a still shaken Chang.

“One other matter, you’re the senior surviving IDRF officer here. But your assignment is here on Zirankhu. Even though I’m not IDRF, I’ve been acting as Major Rojas’
de facto
second in command for our team. As such, I’m assuming command now that she’s dead.” Jason looked Chang in the eye. “It would probably help if you’d so instruct the IDRF personnel aboard
De Ruyter.
”