Black Hole Sun (13 page)

“Mimi,” I say, intending to ask her to scan the wounded man's vitals.

“Scan?” she replies.

“Negative.” If he's dying, I really don't want to know after all.

The smoke from the ballroom begins to waft out over the wounded Dræu. He's standing in the same spot on the
viaduct, turning in circles, listening to a sound he can't quite hear. I could eliminate the target now. Easy shot. But I can't take it.

“What're you waiting for?” Áine says as she steps out from behind a rail car. So that's where she went. I thought she'd obeyed orders too easily. “Kill him while you have the chance.”

“No,” I tell her. “Regulators don't shoot wounded targets.”

“You're having a go at me, right?” she says. “You just shot him. Do it again!”

The smoke has almost cocooned the Dræu, who seems to have no interest in picking up his battle rifle. “The Tenets forbid it.”

“That's stupid!” she protests. “Save yourself the trouble of having to kill him later. Finish him off before he can get away!”

Shaking my head, I ease off the sights. The Dræu isn't going anywhere, and we may be able to capture him, interrogate him. He'll be more valuable alive than dead. “The Tenets aren't about doing what's easy. It's about doing what's right.”

“Bugger your damned Tenets! That's an animal, a bloodthirsty jackal! They're not even human anymore.”

“And if I shot an unarmed, helpless enemy,” I say as I start moving closer to the basement door where the kid is hiding. “What would that make me?”

“A man!”

“Yeah, well,” I say, thinking of Father's last words to me. “That's not the kind of man I want to be.”

She crosses her arms and stamps her foot. “Damn you!”

“Say whatever you want,” I say as I push her behind a huge chunk of decking fallen from the viaduct above. “Just keep your noggin under cover. Mimi, scan and store the wounded Dræu's biorhythmic signature.”

“I can't,” she says. “That Dræu is no longer within range.”

“What?”

“He's gone.”

She's right. When the smoke clears, the viaduct is empty.

The Dræu have disappeared.

Hell's Cross, Outpost Fisher Four
ANNOS MARTIS
238. 4. 0. 00:00

“Jenkins,” I say through the link. “Keep eyes on that viaduct. Shoot any hostiles stupid enough to come back.”

“Heewack!” he booms, and the feedback zaps my eardrum.

“I'll take that as an affirmative,” I say, wincing. I start to jog over to the basement to get the kid, but Fuse pings me.

“We need you here, chief,” he says, breathing hard. The rescue effort has taken his wind away. “Stat.”

I glance at the basement door. The girl will be okay for a minute. On the way, I grab Áine and take her with me. She doesn't need a gun to help now.

When I reach the rail truck where the Bramimondes have taken cover, I find a dying man. Ebi leans over him. The Dame stands a meter away, a gauzy kerchief pressed to her lips. Although she isn't crying, her eyes are wide with shock. She watches Fuse as he kneels down and tries to resuscitate the man. Ebi is pressing a makeshift bandage
over the wound, but each time Fuse pushes on the man's chest, blood seeps out below the bandage.

Femoral artery, I say to myself. Plenty of soldiers have survived battlefield wounds to the thigh, but not when the main artery is hit.

“His vitals are fading,” Mimi warns me.

I stand back to let Fuse do his job. A moment later he glances up. Shakes his head slightly, confirming what I already knew. It's useless to continue trying to save a life that's beyond saving.

“Fuse,” I say. “Stand down.”

Ebi hears me but doesn't argue. She steels herself, her spine erect. Battle school training.

“We're done here,” Fuse tells Ebi, who stops applying pressure to the wound.

They both stand, then Fuse tells her to go wash up using the anti-pathogen wash in his med kit.

“What?” Dame Bramimonde says. “Keep trying! You cannot stop now!”

“Mother,” Ebi says flatly as she cleans blood from beneath her nails, “he is dead.”

Dame Bramimonde's knees bend, and I instinctively reach out to steady her. But she slaps my hand away.

“Do not touch me! Do not lay a single filthy finger on me, you traitorous wretch. It's your fault he's dead—all of you!”

“Our fault?” Fuse says as he drapes a work tarp over the
body. “The only reason you're still alive is because of us.”

I shake my head no at Fuse. “Dame Bramimonde, why did you come here? Who is this man?” The words are no sooner out of my mouth than I recognize him—a silver-haired man in a brown, plain tunic. It's the servant who took me to see Ebi.

“The man's name, Chief Durango,” she says, almost spitting, “is not important now. What took you so long to come to our defense? Why did you not respond to our distress calls?”

I look to Vienne. The look on her face is clear. There were no distress calls. “Mimi?”

“No distress calls, cowboy.”

Why would Ebi lie?

“Mother,” Ebi says, sticking out her chin, “I am a Regulator. Regulators do not ask for help. I did not send the distress call.”

Regulators don't ask for help? Since when? Nothing could be further from the truth.

“Someone needs to study the Tenets again,” Mimi says.

“You defied me?” the Dame says, turning a scowling face to her daughter. “When I tell give an order, Lisette, I expect it to be followed to the letter. I did not rise to the position of CEO by tolerating insubordination.”

“You are a
retired
CEO,” Ebi says. “And I no longer take orders from anyone except a Regulator chief.”

“You impudent little hussy!”

“Words are not bullets, Mother. My name is Ebi, and I do not fear your name-calling anymore.”

I clear my throat. “A man is dead. Stop bickering long enough for us to give last rites and put his body into cryo. Then you can tell me who he is and what the blazes you're doing here.”

“The answers are simple, Durango. First, we are here to retrieve my misguided son.” Then the Dame sneers, “And second, that man was my husband.”

If that's how the Dame treats her husband, I think as I head back to the kid's hiding space, I would hate to be someone she dislikes. Of course, I am somebody she dislikes. Dislikes intensely.

“Quit whining,” Mimi says. “Weren't we trying to find a little girl?”

“
I
was,” I say. “I think
you
were just trying to drive me crazy.”

“I don't have to try to do that,” she says. “You do a fine job yourself.”

“Hello?” I say, pulling the panel and peering into the dark basement, half afraid of what I'll find. All it would take is a stray bullet to find the crack—

“Don't think about that,” Mimi fusses at me “The worst-case scenario doesn't always have to play out.”

“If it does, then I'll be prepared for it.”

“That's a lie, and you know it,” she says. “There's no being prepared. Only less surprised.”

“Hello?” I repeat. “It's me, Durango. It's safe to come out now.”

Seconds pass. No response. And then a small, sweet voice. “I want Jenkins.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, and peer into the darkness. “Hey, kid. Jenkins is sort of busy right now. We need to go to someplace safe, but when he's not busy, I'll tell him—no,
order
him to come play with you.”

“Pinkie promise?”

“Pinkie.” Please, please don't let anyone else hear me saying this. “Promise.” To show that I'm true to my word, I extend a hooked pinkie finger—the one I have left.

“Okay,” she says, and I feel the tug of her finger pulling mine. “I'll come out.”

As she does, I take her hand. Then sweep her up in my arms. I carry her up the steps leading to the viaduct.

“I can walk,” she says. “I'm age-three now.”

“I'm sure you can,” I say, and swing around with her. “But I don't mind giving you a piggyback ride. I always wanted a little sis—Vienne?”

There she stands, hands on hips, an impish smile on her face, like she's just heard a juicy bit of gossip. “Picking up young girls again, chief?”

“I—ah—I.”

“We played a hiding game,” the little girl says. “Then the chief made me a pinkie promise.”

“Is that so?” Vienne extends a hand. “Well, that's good.
But you need to run as fast as you can back to the Cross. I'm sure Maeve is looking for you.”

“Can I stay? Please?” She clings to my arm when I set her down. “He's very nice.”

“I know he is,” Vienne says firmly. “Except we're in a hurry right now. Come on, be a jewel.”

The little girl kicks the dirt. “Aw. Okay.”

“That's my big girl.”

The kid runs along the viaduct and easily crosses the broken span, headed for the Cross.

“You handled the kid like a professional,” I tell Vienne. “I'm impressed.”

She jams a fist into my ribs. “And you are getting soft.”

“Ow!” The punch takes me off guard. My armor easily absorbs the blow, but it's enough to throw me off balance. “I didn't see that coming.”

Vienne tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and smiles, causing my knees to bend involuntarily. Didn't see that one coming, either.

Phweee!
“Plasma blasters!” Nor that one. “Duck!” I shout, and pull Vienne down to the deck with me. My head jerks toward the source of the blast—the vestibule. Damn it, the Dræu are back for more.

“How many hostiles?” I ask Mimi as we take cover behind a skinny concrete railing post.

“Indeterminate. They are all clumped together.”

“Distance?”

“Ninety meters and closing fast. Your current position will be compromised. Move to safety, cowboy.”

“You read my mind.”

“I always do.”

For cover fire, I ease off a few rounds. Then sprint for the far end of the viaduct. We clear the break with a long, adrenaline-fueled jump. Plasma bolts fly past us and ping off the deck ahead. They ooze to the ground below, hopping and hissing like water in hot grease. The air fills with the stink of thermite, and the metal begins to melt.

“They've got a pulse cannon,” I say out loud. “Damn. Double damn.” I open an aural link as we're running. “Jenkins, get your carcass out here. The Dræu are back, and were taking fire—”

“Come again, chief,” Jenkins yells as he steps from behind the rail truck, laying down cover fire. “Can't hear you over all this shooting. Take that, you farging rooters! Ha! Ha-ha!”

“It appears,” Mimi says, “that Jenkins is already in position.”

“Astute observation, Mr. Watson.” He probably was there the whole time, I think, having a good time watching us ducking those plasma rounds.

With a lunge, I launch myself across the hood of the truck. Another round of plasma shots slam the metal skin, and its passenger door sags on its melted hinges. A second later, Vienne pulls the same stunt and lands behinds me.
Our heads turn. Eyes meet. And we both start laughing.

“Regulator!” we yell, and touch fists.

A volley of plasma gels come flying over the truck. “Time to bug out,” I say.

“Affirmative,” Vienne agrees.

With the Dræu still filling the causeway with fire, we run for the tunnel. We follow the trail of blood underground, expecting to find the Bramimondes, but seeing nothing but a puddle of blood, three sets of footprints, and one of the plumbing bombs Fuse has been teaching the miners to build.

“Find them,” I tell Vienne and Jenkins as I close an iron gate behind us. “Follow the footprints to wherever they got to. When you find them, follow these directives.”

“Yes, chief.”

“First, cover them against advancing hostiles. Second, when you see Fuse, give him a good hard slap for leaving his station.”

“A slap on armor or bare skin?”

“Use your discretion.” I smirk. “I trust your judgment.”

She salutes. “Yes, chief.”

“Jenkins, you go with her.”

He slings the armalite to his shoulder. “Aw, I wanted to shoot more Dræu.”

“Plenty of time to do that later.”

Like that, they're gone, and the tunnel is quiet. A few seconds later I hear a noise, a high-pitched battle cry that
raises the hairs on my neck. The Dræu are caterwauling. And they're coming for me. “Mimi, how many hostiles now? And don't tell me indeterminate!”

“A bunch.”

“Thanks,” I say. “A bunch is much, much more specific. Distance?”

“Fifty meters and closing. Their weapons are fully charged.”

Slipping into an alcove in the tunnel wall, I snap a new clip into my armalite and pull my side arm. With two weapons, I can hold them off, unless they rush me. Then any of them could fire a plasma, and I'd be a dead man.

On second thought.
Setting the weapons down, I unhooked one of Fuse's special C-42 bombs from my belt. “This'll do,” I say, satisfied with the weapon's capacity to commit mayhem.

Seconds later the Dræu slam into the iron gate. They don't bother to try opening it, but climb with freakish ease to the top, fighting one another to get a shot off, their lips dripping wet with foam.

“Don't move now,” I say, and toss the bomb at their feet. Then pull the trigger.

A half second later the blasting cap triggers the explosion.

Fuse does good work.

The Dræu scream. The sound sends shivers up my spine, and my instinct is to run. But I walk toward the gate, my
finger hard on the trigger until the canister is empty and only spitting flames come from the end of the pipe. I see little, but I can smell everything.

When the smoke clears, and I step into the tunnel inspect the damage, I find nothing but a damaged gate and scorch marks on the wall and an empty spot where the Dræu had been.

“Mimi,” I say, “where are they?”

“Gone,” she replies.

“Gone where?”

She pauses. “Across the viaduct, according to my sensors.”

“So I didn't kill them?”

“No.”

“And that's possible how?”

“I—” She pauses, sounding almost embarrassed. “I have no data to explain this occurrence.”

“Me, neither.” So Dræu could step into a raging fire and not be burned to cinders? Bad news. Really bad news. Are they flame retardant or just so tough that they can ignore third-degree burns? How do you defend against an enemy like that?

“Is that a rhetorical question?” Mimi asks.

“No,” I say, “I want answers. Real answers that will help us fight these monsters.” As I start walking back toward the Cross, I call Vienne. “How's the situation with Fuse?”

“He's red-faced about his error, if you know what I mean.”

There's a note of mirth in her voice. Maybe it's the thrill
of a good battle. Or maybe slapping Fuse has something to do with it.

“Rendezvous in the courtyard,” I say. “We've got a little bit of a tactical problem on our hands.”

“What's that, chief?”

“It's the Dræu. They can't be killed.”