Angel of Destruction (33 page)

Madlev knew that Vogel meant to get them off-world before the Fleet Interrogations Group arrived. And Madlev was perfectly willing to go along with that.

It was too much to believe that Madlev would turn a blind eye to their escape, still believing that they were responsible for the raids — so Factor Madlev knew better, now.

That meant that Hilton and Vogel had succeeded at Honan-gung and brought back evidence that the Langsariks were innocent. What happened to the Langsariks now was not apparently an issue of keen concern to Factor Madlev, except that Factor Madlev would share a common understanding that vulnerability to a Fleet Interrogations Group was not something to be wished on innocent people.

Bowing crisply, Vogel turned away any lingering doubts or questions with a call for immediate action. “Thank you for your understanding, Factor Madlev. There are eight freighter tenders off-lined at the new airfield, you’ll make them available? Very kind. Lieutenant Shires.”

Hilton, looking very tired, looking very tense, but looking also absolutely energized by the activity to come. “Yes, Bench specialist.”

“Lieutenant, you will go with Factor Madlev to identify and select suitable shipping, please. I want to begin to load within the hour.”

Vogel didn’t wait for acknowledgment; in the manner of a superior officer supremely confident of a subordinate’s ability, he turned back to her directly. “Flag Captain.”

Her turn now, to receive her orders. The idea appealed to her sense of the absurd, though her emotions were generally too stunned by what was happening and how fast it was happening to really enjoy the sensation. “Bench specialist?”

“If you would muster your command, ma’am, and be out at the new airfield absolutely as soon as possible. Because any Langsarik who is still at Port Charid when the Fleet gets here is as good as dead. But not quickly enough. If you know what I mean.”

She understood him completely. The Langsarik fleet had lost people to interrogation before.

“Eight freighter tenders.” She was impressed, and didn’t mind him knowing. “I’d like to know how you managed that. But I don’t see what good it does without transport, and it takes a few hours to bring freighters on line, once they’ve been parked out in geostationary orbit.”

He knew that as well as she did. She was just making sure he knew that she knew. Did he mean to cram them all into a warehouse somewhere out in the Shawl of Rikavie? Because that was the maximum range of most freighter tenders, under ordinary conditions.

“Which is exactly why we’re so lucky that Madlev got a distress call from Honan-gung. Even though it precipitated the danger from the Fleet Interrogations Group.” Vogel spoke softly, for her ears only. Well, hers and those of Modice, behind her. “There are seven freighters up there coming on line for a rescue mission. Some of them are even armed for pursuit. We brought an eighth back with us from Honan-gung. It’s borderline workable. But it’ll be enough.”

She knew she’d been asleep. She knew she’d been under horrific stress, waiting to see her people condemned. She couldn’t think. That had to be the reason that she thought what was happening, was happening. “You’re taking a risk, Bench specialist. We could overpower the crew on the way into the Shawl. You’d never see your freighters again; think of the expense, not to mention the embarrassment.”

Vogel had started to shift his weight, doing a species of dance on his feet. Impatient. “Nothing compared to the potential damage that another scandal like the Domitt Prison could create for the Second Judge. The First Judge is old. Verlaine wants his Judge to be in a good position when the post comes up vacant. We don’t have much time, Flag Captain, let’s get moving.”

He meant for them to take the Sillume vector for Gonebeyond space. He really did.

“Modice,” Walton said, and her niece stepped up smartly and nodded her head.

“Yes, Aunt Walton.”

“You heard the Bench specialist, Modice, issue the assembly order, evacuation plan in effect, timing critical. Mark and move.”

Modice had only been waiting for assurance that she was truly to send up the flags. As it were.

Vogel followed Modice into the house and came out again carrying a chair from the living room, setting it down in the pathway before the front door so that it faced the road.

Walton sat down, and Vogel posted himself behind her, doing his peculiar version of command wait.

Just as well.

She had too many things to ask and to tell and to say to him to be able to say a single word right now.

###

Standing in the dock’s load-in bay behind Cousin Stanoczk, Kazmer Daigule ached to be going with the Langsariks.

“I’m afraid I cannot in good conscience offer the use of this courier,” Cousin Stanoczk said with polite firmness to Hilton Shires. “It is not mine, and I am responsible for my husbandry of the Malcontent’s resources. What I can do is release some stores to you. I have a list.”

Kazmer had put it together himself. He hadn’t understood why Stanoczk had wanted it, but it was complete: foodstuffs, clothing, and replacement parts, all held in Combine warehouses here at Port Charid. Kazmer was already serenely confident that the Langsariks had loaded all the contraband they’d been able to find out at the new warehouse construction site, where Feraltz had apparently been stashing it. Langsariks could move very quickly when they needed to.

“How about your comps, then?” Hilton suggested. “I could steal them at gunpoint. If it would help.”

Cousin Stanoczk raised his hands in a gesture of mock horror; he was holding something in one hand. “Oh, the Saints forbid that such a thing should come to pass, Shires. You’ll need the secure codes. Be gone when we get back, I’ve got an errand to run.”

Stanoczk glanced back at Kazmer expectantly, glancing from him to whatever it was in his left hand. So Kazmer reached out and took it. The master code unit for the courier’s communications equipment. Top-of-the-line. Beautiful stuff.

Stanoczk walked away toward the door at the back of the docking bay that would lead out to the receiving area and then out onto the street. Hilton stepped up to take the master code unit, but Kazmer could not quite bear to let go of it.

“So you’re getting away?”

Hilton looked confused, but his small frown of concern gave way almost at once to one of sympathy. He let his hand drop back to his side. “Yeah, Kaz. We’re out of here. Never thought it would end like this.”

Kazmer had been part of the ending of it. But Hilton knew all about that; that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that Kazmer wanted to go too.

“Probably for the best.” He had caused so much trouble for the Langsariks, directly and indirectly, and it had all been because he had wanted to help. He could hardly stand the idea that they were leaving; and for Gonebeyond space. Kazmer had always wondered what was out there. Hilton would get to find out, but Kazmer had given his life away to the Malcontent, and there was no going back on the bargain.

“And we’ve got to hurry.” Hilton’s gentle reminder called Kazmer out of his self-pitying grief, his keen regret over the fact of Hilton’s going away. He liked Hilton. He wanted the best for him. Cousin Stanoczk’s comps were the best.

Kazmer pressed the master code unit into Hilton’s waiting hand, and was almost ready to say good-bye with a willing heart; but he was interrupted before he could say anything more.

“Sometime this octave, Daigule, if you please.”

Cousin Stanoczk called out to him in a firm voice, not needing to put any venom into the rebuke for Kazmer to recognize it for what it was. Kazmer was the slave of the Malcontent. Cousin Stanoczk was his master. Kazmer blushed in vexation to be publicly called to heel, and ducked his head — unwilling to let Hilton know how hard it was to see him go.

“You heard the boss. Don’t scratch the furniture, Hilton, it’s a nice ship.”

He had to turn hastily and walk away, or he was going to say something he’d regret. Something stupid. Something like
tell Modice I love her with all of my heart
, or
I would to all Saints I was going with you.

He didn’t look back. He didn’t dare. Cousin Stanoczk was waiting for him impatiently, and he had no right to keep Cousin Stanoczk waiting. If it hadn’t been for Cousin Stanoczk, none of this might have happened. The Inquisitor would have questioned him, it would have gotten ugly, he would have said Hilton’s name. It would have been over, instead of just beginning, so how could he grieve just because he was not going to be allowed to be a part of it?

“I’m sorry, Cousin Stanoczk.”
Forgive me
. “I didn’t mean.”
To keep you waiting
. Cousin Stanoczk didn’t seem interested in Kazmer’s incoherent attempts at an apology. Cousin Stanoczk took him firmly by the elbow and drew him out bodily into the receiving area.

“Enough talk, Kazmer. We have work to do, and not much time.”

The other members of Stanoczk’s crew were already waiting at the street entrance. They had a transport, and one of them was carrying a security hood. Kazmer wondered, dully, what Cousin Stanoczk had in mind. Over the past few hours, he hadn’t been paying much attention to anything outside the problem of the Langsariks. Stanoczk had kept him busy.

They were six in all, with Kazmer himself and Cousin Stanoczk. The hired transport took them to the administrative headquarters of the Combine Yards in Port Charid and stopped outside one of the side entrances.

“We won’t be long,” Cousin Stanoczk said to the man he had driving. “Stay alert. I don’t want any unnecessary complications.”

Kazmer began to have an idea.

Into the building and through the corridors — Cousin Stanoczk had clearly been studying a schematic. Kazmer had to hurry to keep up with the others. It was the storage vaults Cousin Stanoczk wanted; when they got there, there was a guard posted, but Cousin Stanoczk did not seem to be surprised.

Kazmer stopped and stood waiting with the rest of them while Stanoczk went forward to speak to the guards.

“I’ve come for your prisoner,” Cousin Stanoczk said. “Will you need a receipt? I have clearance.”

They were just warehouse security, and they looked uncomfortable. By now every Dolgorukij in Port Charid knew who Cousin Stanoczk was. Dolgorukij noticed Malcontents, though they pretended to ignore their existence most of the time.

The guards — there were two of them — traded glances. “I’m not sure about that, Cousin,” one of them said. Kazmer could tell by the degree of relationship that the guard was willing to grant to Stanoczk that he was feeling very uncertain indeed. “We weren’t told. We’d better wait for the Bench specialist.”

“Normally I would agree with you,” Cousin Stanoczk assured the guards, speaker and silent alike. “But not this time. It is the honor of the Holy Mother herself that is at stake. The Malcontent requires the attendance of your prisoner at an inquest to be held in his honor. I take full responsibility.”

An inquest, in the old and formal sense. An inquiry. A debriefing.

Interrogation, but under the control of the Malcontent, and no Fleet Inquisitor to share the shameful secrets of the Combine’s sordid past — Kazmer could almost sympathize. The Bench would have Dalmoss and the other men being held even now at the Honan-gung Yards, for its interrogation. The Bench would naturally confine its questions to topics which interested the Bench; but the Malcontent would want the Angel of Destruction itself, and of all these prisoners only Fisner Feraltz — the apparent ringleader, chieftain, head — was likely to have any real information on the organization and operation of a terrorist society thought dead.

The one guard looked at the other, then shrugged. “I’m sure it’s best for all of us,” he said. “I can’t imagine our Feraltz preferring to go to Fleet. But we have custody, Cousin. How can we in honor cede it to you?”

The guards clearly did not know the extent of the problem. Vogel had obviously said nothing about Angels, or else the guard would have known quite well that Feraltz would almost certainly rather anything than to fall into the hands of the Malcontent.

On the other hand — depending on what the guards themselves remembered of the horror stories of their youth — they might well be more, and not less, willing to see Feraltz in Stanoczk’s hands if they did know. They might feel more guilty about it, though, if personal malice came into play, so it was best that Cousin Stanoczk made no such appeal.

“I can promise you absolutely that if you but tell the Bench specialist that I have assumed personal custody, he will understand.” Kazmer had to agree. Vogel might not hold the guards blameless, but he would reserve his wrath for the man who really deserved it — Cousin Stanoczk.

The Malcontent was proof against the displeasure of even a Bench intelligence specialist, or his name wasn’t Kazmer Daigule.

The guard shrugged again. “Very well, Cousin, but I will have a receipt. Yes. Thank you.”

Cousin Stanoczk had one already prepared.

The guards opened the door to the storeroom they were using as a cell. Kazmer could see clear through to the back — it was a small room. Fisner Feraltz sat on a low cot with a strong-belt around his waist and his wrists shackled; when he saw Cousin Stanoczk standing in the doorway he stood up and took a step forward, his face full of alarm.

“What’s he doing here, you can’t — I won’t — ” Feraltz had not accounted for the hobbles he wore. He fell flat on his face, full-length on the floor, and two of Cousin Stanoczk’s crew hurried forward with the security hood.

Feraltz was imprisoned in the walking cage of the security hood before he found his voice. The heavy fabric covered him from head to mid-thigh; as Kazmer watched in bemused wonder at the efficiency of the operation, Stanoczk’s crew pulled Feraltz’s shackled hands deftly through a panel to the outside of the hood, sealing the panel up again so that Feraltz’s hands were isolated outside the hood.

There was a mesh panel in the thick and impermeable material of the hood where Feraltz’s face would be, so that he could breathe; but Kazmer heard nothing but incoherent noises from beneath the hood.

So they’d brought the gag as well.