Superego (14 page)

“For stopping the terrorists?” She was actually less angry now, like she had expected that.

“It's suspension with pay. It's like a vacation—for everybody. Your terrorist hunting involved an egregious bit of religious harassment that would normally end in a firing.”

“Know what would really harass them?” Diane said. “If you went back there and dragged Nakhai out in handcuffs.”

“The feds are looking into any connection he might have with the terrorists.”

“And they've been damn useful so far.”

It felt like societal conventions would dictate that I say something. “Thank you. This experience has been invaluable. Now I know if my planet joins the Alliance and adopts a more modern law enforcement approach, I should just blow my brains out. That reminds me: Can I have my guns back?”

“No.” Rudle looked at Diane. “Thanks for finding the terrorists, Detective. Now go away. I have a lot of paperwork to do, and it doesn't help the upcoming conference that the city is starting to look like a war zone.”

“Who cares about another useless political conference?” Diane growled. “People are being killed, and I want to know whether we've taken out the last of the terrorists.”

“Not your problem. You're suspended,” Rudle said. “I'm going to be personally chewed out by Senator—soon President—Gredler if I don't get things settled down here in time for the conference. He already has to deal with the assassination threat, so everything else needs to run smoothly. And part of that is getting you and your new friend out of the way.”

“If Gredler has a problem,” Diane answered, “he can come bring it up directly with me, and I'll punch him the culb sack.”

Rudle ignore her and turned to me. “Enjoy the rest of your stay in our city, and try not to kill anyone else.”

“Then make sure you kill everyone who needs killing before I get to them.” We left, Diane slamming the door behind her.

We were approached by Officers Randall and Meela, whom I remembered from earlier. “Are you guys okay?” Meela asked. “I heard it was a bloodbath!”

“We're fine,” Diane said.

“It's like you want to get killed,” Randall said.

I wasn't sure if they were Diane's friends or merely associates, but I was pretty sure I didn't care. “I'm going outside for some air, because…I don't have any interest in talking to either of you.” Yes, I recognized that was a little too frank; I had just completely reached my limit on pointless conversations about shooting a bunch of people no one liked.

I headed from police headquarters to a plaza out front and found a bench out of the way of foot traffic. “Dip, what do you hear?”

“From the chatter on the bugs you placed, it appears the terrorist cell you took out wasn't the only one left, and there is still a threat. This comes from both the data found at the hideout and the questioning of the two you left alive.”

That was not at all what I wanted to hear. I like jobs where I'm taking down high-profile targets guarded by pros, not ones where I hunt murderous amateurs cowering in the shadows. I just wanted to be done with this and find out why I was really on this planet. “Does it sound like they have any leads?” It was silly for Nystrom to task me to do something that really was law enforcement's job. Why couldn't they just do their jobs and let me kill more interesting people?

“No. Nothing solid.”

Stuck in a city with no easy way out and no weapons, a known presence to the police, and having to hunt terrorists—I was far out of my comfort zone. I wondered if I was being punished, but I couldn't think of anything I had done that might anger the syndicate.

“If you want some good news,” Dip said, “now that you've given me an ear on law enforcement, I can go ahead and add an extra three percent to the chances I will retrieve you from the city without us both being destroyed. That's better than a one-in-four chance of survival. Worth a roll of the dice if the situation is dire enough.”

I never tried anything when I felt the odds were against me. “Still far from good enough. Keep working on it. I'm not too confident this terrorist business is going to end up with everyone still liking me.”

And now I just wanted to focus on finding the quickest way to make sure the Calabrai were gone for good.

“You okay?” Diane walked over to me, looking genuinely concerned. “You were a little…abrupt.”

I smiled. “I get antsy when I'm not armed. I also get angry when I risk my life and then get treated like an inconvenience. How are you doing?”

“Pissed…and apparently on vacation now. So what are your plans?”

I didn't have any yet, but I knew that to work effectively now I would probably have to work alone so I wouldn't have to worry about someone judging how sociopathic I was being. “I think I'm going to need to be alone tonight.”

“Oh, okay. Just keep yourself safe this time.” She smiled, but I could detect a faint hint of disappointment.

Did she like me? I had long since given up on making an effort to be likeable. But it didn't matter, since, being suspended, she was of no more use to me. It was time to brush her off. Yet some instinct told me she might still be useful down the line. “I guess I should get back to my vacation. Since you're now on vacation, too, maybe you could show me around tomorrow.”

“Sure, that might be fun.” She tried to say it casually but failed. Perhaps there was just another silly woman under her tough exterior.

“How about you stop by my hotel at eight tomorrow morning, then?” By then, maybe I'd have some leads of my own that she could help me on. And if she was in the way, I could find a polite way to brush her off. Or an impolite way. Whatever. “I just need to take care of myself tonight.”

“Well—whatever that means—have fun.”

Fun—that was possible. If I had any luck, it would be a very brutal evening.

CHAPTER 16

Everyone seemed to assume Nar Valdum's Senator Gredler was a likely candidate to be the head of a more powerful Galactic Alliance. Diane also had told me' he was a stooge for the Randatti syndicate. My understanding was that most of the powerful politicians were allied with one syndicate or another—you couldn't survive past a certain level in politics without that kind of power behind you. And if the Galactic Alliance successfully increased its power, all the syndicates would vie to grab as much of that power as they could. Further, with the public irately against the Nystrom syndicate due to their oddly public siege of Zaldia, the other syndicates—especially Randatti—would use that power to crush one of their biggest rivals.

So it was easy to see why this conference was important to all the syndicates, especially Nystrom. They all likely had lots of people in place on this planet, in this city, and in the conference itself in the form of puppet politicians. Again, I usually didn't care about these higher details, but if all the other syndicates were in the city and watching carefully for anything suspicious, that seemed pretty relevant to me, considering my now too-public profile. Of course, if they did find me out, why would they want to stop me? All I was currently tasked to do was kill terrorists—and pretty much no one cared if I killed them. The deluded idiots barely seemed to care themselves.

Everything about this job was odd. My mind kept drifting back to how Anthony Burke had come to deliver the job in person. What was he trying to tell me?

These thoughts nagged at me as I sat in a mostly empty tram late that night, heading to the bad part of town, completely unarmed (I had a knife, but I consider that more a tool than a weapon). Not helping was my irritation at two human females a couple seats behind me chatting endlessly about clothing stores and other inane things. Their chatter didn't seem exceptionally vapid, but it was really grating on me at the moment. Of greater concern in the car was a dark green alien of an unfamiliar species. He had two insect eyes that I kept thinking were staring at me, but I could never be sure. He also had no visible mouth, which creeped out some primitive instinct deep within me.

“I have done more research on Senator Gredler,” Dip said in my ear. “There are a few rumors of his association with organized crime, though they are hardly mentioned in the official press. He does seem to be the leading candidate to head the Galactic Alliance if the reconfiguration is successful, and he has been very vocal about taking strong action against the Nystrom syndicate for their actions on Zaldia. Thus, if he is a target of assassination, Nystrom will be the ones with the most to gain…though other syndicates would be interested in taking the reins of the new government. Am I correct in thinking that your interest in details like these, unrelated to your stated mission, is unusual?”

“I have trouble believing this terrorist hunt is my true mission.”

“And you're trying to guess at your true mission?”

“I just feel I should better assess the whole situation.”

“Understood. I note that your heart rate is faster than normal. Are you in distress?”

I hadn't noticed, but my heart was pounding. It was that fear again—fear of what, I had no idea, as only my subconscious seemed privy to that information. As I've said, fear isn't a useful emotion—I can logically determine the odds of danger and don't need my subconscious rashly trying to push me into action. But there it was, urging me to fight or flee, even though I had nowhere to run and no one to fight.

Then again, I was constantly resisting the urge to hurt the two women behind me, who were now talking excitedly about some celebrity of absolutely zero interest to me. I could usually filter out such an irritation, but fear had apparently made me more alert than I wanted to be. And every time I glanced at the green alien, anxiety surged, pushing me to do something, though there was nothing to do. The alien was silent and still and…well, just odd. I couldn't tell if he was a quadruped or something else. He was completely unknown, and that is just the sort of thing fear thrives on.

“I need to get some guns; then I'll calm down,” I told Dip. There were too many questions right now, and I couldn't take that, especially when I didn't even have the last-ditch option of shooting my way out. The peculiarities of this job certainly bothered me, but my bigger concern was that a rival syndicate like Randatti—apparently already on the alert for assassins—might have taken an interest in me after I'd been in two high-profile shootings. The police said they were going to keep the details under wraps, but I didn't trust them. And if Randatti or another syndicate came after me now, while I was unarmed, I'd be a decently easy kill for another professional.

I could have headed back to my ship for more weaponry, but that would have involved going past checkpoints and leaving too much evidence of my movements. Instead, I was on my way to the bad part of town to find some illegal weapons (hopefully quickly, as rearming myself was only the first part of my plans for the night). I hadn't done this very often, as I wasn't usually stuck on a planet where I couldn't legally buy guns. But the idea didn't worry me too much. I had also checked crime statistics in the area, and it wasn't too unlikely that I'd be mugged. That would probably be the easiest way to get a gun, and no one would care much if I killed another violet criminal.

I wasn't worried about a mugger killing
me
, even while I was unarmed. I don't consider anyone a real threat unless he has actual combat training and experience. I've had guns pointed at me so many times that the act by itself barely registers. The important thing in that situation is who is holding the gun. Pointing the gun in the right direction and pulling the trigger fast enough really is a bridge too far for most people.

“Would you like me to sing you a song, Rico? That might calm you down.”

“No, Dip.”

“I could give you assurances that everything will be alright. They'd be hollow assurances, since I haven't calculated your overall odds of survival, but they might make you feel better.”

“No, thank you.”

“Then I will at least remind you that you've been in a worse situation before and emerged alive.”

I looked at my right hand. It was still quite smooth and perfect-looking—like a child's—since it was only a couple of years old. It was a constant reminder of the worst moment of my life, when I lay on the ground, bleeding, knowing that I was about to pass out and there was nothing—nothing—I could do to save myself. My fate at that time was completely out of my control, and that was just not something I could deal with. I have no gods to pray to; in my last moments, all I can do is try to accept the inevitability of death. But like every other living creature, my instinct is to fight that inevitability.

The hand incident had happened before I'd acquired Dip to function as a secondary brain in the event that I became incapacitated. I'd also added an emergency measure that would at least give me a chance to survive were I ever to end up in that situation again.

The green alien moved, and I instantly felt the need to act, though I couldn't quite comprehend what action my brain thought was necessary. I wasn't even sure if the alien had moved a limb or some part of his head. I tried to tell myself logically that there was nothing to fear, but I couldn't concentrate with the two women behind me yakking about things I couldn't understand anyone wasting their short lives thinking about.

I wanted to get up. I wanted to leave. It was an irrational response to the situation, but it was the only one my subconscious wanted. Perhaps it was an anxiety attack; I hated the idea that my own brain could betray me and force me to actions that I hadn't logically contemplated, but right then it was winning the battle. The tram approached its next stop, and I decided the best course of action would be to get off and try to get hold of myself before continuing with my plan.