Maximum Offence (25 page)

Apart from the obvious. He expects to die.

After he panicked in the hub that first time, my killing the braid meant his choice was made for him. Even if Colonel Vijay had wanted to sign a treaty, he couldn’t. Nor could he get within killing distance of General Tournier. Our CO went from honoured guest to hunted enemy with my first blow.

Mind you, what did he expect?

If he didn’t bother to brief us all properly first.

A second lurch tells me we’re climbing one of Hekati’s spokes. I know it’s true, because gravity gets weaker.

‘Arriving in five,’ says the lift. ‘Hope you have a good day.’

‘Wow,’ my gun says. ‘It’s house-trained.’

We ignore the SIG.

Our elevator opens into a corridor that runs all the way round the inside of Hekati’s mirror hub. All the lifts begin here. It is faster to pass through the central hub than trek round inside the ring.

Screens show ships docked within the hub. A bot scuttles across the floor towards a wall and disappears when it sees us. A dozen doors lead to storerooms and arrival halls. A dozen more are on the far side of the ring, out of sight. This is where we killed the braid and the Silver Fist, before taking the first lift down.

‘Check the corpses,’ I tell Neen.

‘Gone, sir,’ he says.

I didn’t really expect them to be there. If the splatter patterns were still there, I’d think the bodies had been removed by the Uplifted. But the blood has gone, along with all the weapons, the uniforms and the bodies themselves. So maybe the spider bots have been busy after all.

‘Find anything useful,’ Colonel Vijay orders.

‘What’s useful?’ whispers Ajac. Neen tells him to use his brain.

‘Sir,’ I say, when we’re safely out of the others’ hearing. ‘Have you met General Tournier before?’

‘No.’ Colonel Vijay shakes his head. ‘But I’ll recognize him.’ That’s not what interests me, although I say this politely.

‘How about his staff?’

The list he reels off means nothing to me. They all have at least two names, some have three and one has four. You need to understand that people I know have only one. Neen is Neen, Franc is Franc . . . I was always just
Sven
, until I met Aptitude’s mother and she gave me a second name.

‘But will they recognize you, sir?’

‘Doubt it,’ says Colonel Vijay. He looks at me. ‘Sven,’ he says, ‘what’s your point?’

‘I’ll kill General Tournier,’ I tell him.

‘You . . . ?’

‘Sir,’ I say, ‘I’m faster and stronger and we’ll get one crack. We can’t afford a fuck-up.’ I tag
sir
onto the end of that. Although I doubt it removes the sting.

‘
I’ll do it
,’ he says. ‘After I sign the treaty.’

‘You won’t be signing any treaty, sir.’

‘Want to tell me why?’

‘Because dead people can’t sign their names.’

Colonel Vijay thinks it’s a threat. He’s wrong.

‘You’re dead, sir. Remember? Pavel killed you that night in the hills. At least that’s what General Tournier believes. We need to leave it like that. Also . . .’

‘Also what?’

‘No way anyone betrays OctoV while I’m around.’

Opening his mouth to protest, he shuts it when I glare at him. ‘Don’t care if it’s pretend,’ I say. ‘Don’t care if it’s a trick. We’re not signing.’

AS THE COLONEL AND I WALK BACK, WE MEET NEEN COMING in the other direction. His face is grim and he’s dragging a prisoner behind him. The man is broad-shouldered, sandy-haired, with one of those little beards meant to age him. He is four or so years younger than I am, so five or six years older than Neen. What with his beard and sharp nose, his looks are enough like our colonel’s to tell me he’s high clan.

Blood drips from one of his nostrils, a bruise is beginning to close his right eye, and his hands are roped tightly behind his back.

What I notice, of course, is his uniform.

He’s wearing the parade dress of a captain in the Death’s Head, right down to a cavalry sword hanging from his left hip and a little black dagger on the right. A waterfall of braid tells me he’s general staff.

Braid relating to your own rank hangs one side. Braid relating to the rank of the officer you serve hangs the other. Worked that out for myself when I was on the general’s mother ship.

‘Found him in the control room,’ says Neen. Before admitting, ‘Actually, Haze found him.’ Which explains it. Haze was probably drawn by the smell of all that exotic naked machinery, or something.

‘What was he doing?’ I mean our captive, obviously.

Neen hesitates. ‘Field-stripping a gun.’

Sounds like a man after my own heart. Well, he would be, if he weren’t a traitorous fucker who has gone over to the Enlightened.

‘Permission to question him, sir?’

Colonel Vijay glances between the three of us. That’s me, Neen and our captive. ‘Rules of war,’ he says. ‘Remember that, Sven.’

I salute. ‘Leave it with me,’ I say.

Nodding doubtfully, Colonel Vijay makes his way down the corridor alone. The moment he disappears around a corner, I bounce our prisoner against the nearest wall, and then do it again. He looks up from his knees.

‘Rules of war,’ he says.

‘First rule,’ I tell him. ‘There aren’t any.’

Dragging him to his feet, I go through his pockets. A handful of gold coins, a key card for a room, a watch with its strap broken. Another of those little pearl-handled knives.

‘What’s this?’

He looks at me in disbelief. Maybe he’s trying to work out the reason behind my question. The reason is,
I want to know
. My backhand bounces him into a wall again. This time it’s Neen who drags him to his feet.

‘If I were you,’ says Neen, ‘I’d answer his question.’

‘It’s a fruit knife.’ He says it twice, because he bit his tongue on the way down and now his lisp’s worse than before.

‘And what are you doing up here?’

‘Guard duty . . .’

I look at him. Young, expensively dressed and elegant if you ignore five days’ worth of stubble that barely troubles his cheeks. He should be playing cards in some Farlight café or dancing attendance on a general. To draw guard duty like this you need to piss someone off, badly.

‘What did you do?’

He shuts his mouth, and it remains shut while Neen slaps him around a little. But we’ve had all we are getting. Eventually, he falls back on telling us to fuck off and die.

I’m impressed. ‘Make it quick,’ I tell Neen. It’s the best I can offer in the circumstances.

‘Yes, sir,’ says Neen, reaching for his dagger.

Turning to go, I hear the young captain force himself to his feet. And that impresses me as well. Face death on your feet and look it in the eyes. Not enough of us take that vow.

‘
Challenge
.’

I could pretend not to hear. ‘You’re a prisoner,’ I tell him. ‘That’s one. You’re a traitor, that’s two. Challenge refused.’

‘
I am not a traitor
.’ The words bubble between broken lips.

Somehow, I find myself with one hand round his throat, and he’s against a mirror-hub wall and keeping still, because my prosthetic fingers have closed so tight that any further movement is going to snap his spine like a twig.

Neen is looking worried. Must be down to me, because there’s nothing else round here to worry him.

‘You’re all traitors,’ I say. ‘Every single fucking one of you.’

A tiny flex of muscle under my hand says the prisoner wants to shake his head. ‘Not,’ he manages at last. ‘Refused the virus.’

I let him go. ‘
They’re giving you the virus?
‘

He nods.

Fuck, now that is nasty. Once the virus has you, it’s for ever. You have it, your brats have it, and their brats have it. A hundred generations or more of little monsters growing braids. Makes me realize what uniting with the Uplifted would involve.

‘Do it now,’ I tell Neen.

He nods. And the captain asks my name.

Weirdest thing. But he
is
from a Farlight high clan. Maybe it’s rude to be killed by someone who hasn’t been formally introduced. Fuck knows, they’re not like you and me, the high clans. Actually, they’re not like anyone except themselves.

‘Sven,’ I tell him. ‘Sven Tveskoeg.’

‘Tveskoeg,’ he says. ‘That’s an old Earth name.’

Should have just killed him. Still got time, could do it myself
. A slash to the neck or a stab to the heart. A cut from abdomen to throat.

‘Old Earth?’ I say.

The man nods, introducing himself. Captain Emil Bonafonte deMax Bonafonte, Obsidian Cross, first class. ‘What?’ he asks, seeing my scowl.

‘You got an older brother?’

He shakes his head.

Heart
, I think.
Let’s get this over with
.

‘Why?’ he asks, watching a knife appear in my hand.

‘Used to know a Bonafonte in a fort south of Karbonne. Drank himself to death.’

‘My uncle. We were told he died in battle.’

Fucking great.
‘You know someone called Debro Wildeside?’

‘Of course I—’ He looks at me. ‘Bad business,’ he says. ‘Very bad indeed.’

He’s right too. Debro is Aptitude’s mother. Debro and I met on a prison planet called Paradise. As far as I know she’s still there.

‘You know Senator Wildeside?’ he asks me.

‘Yeah . . .’ I don’t tell him she reminds me of my sister, unlikely as that sounds. Even nags me in the same way. I don’t tell him I made a vow to protect her daughter that I will carry to my death. Some things you don’t say.

Colonel Vijay takes Captain Bonafonte being alive as proof I am improving; he makes that obvious. And it turns out they know each other. Of course they do.

Well, they have cousins who met on campaign.

At least they believe so.

Eldest sons of each branch of a high clan take the same name. It seems there are three Vijay Jaxx and four Emil Bonafonte deMax Bonafontes. It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t bother pointing that out.

Having asked for the captain’s parole, Colonel Vijay seals the deal by shaking hands. Apparently we are all now friends.

‘What?’ the captain asks, seeing me scowl.

‘He’d prefer you in chains,’ Colonel Vijay says.

The colonel’s wrong. I’d prefer it if Emil wasn’t a Bonafonte. I’d prefer it if he was dead.

THE ARGUMENT IS SHORT AND I WIN. AS WE WALK OUT OF A room together the Aux stare, and Neen slicks the others a glance that says,
Shut the fuck up
. So they pick their jaws up off the floor and stare straight ahead.

Coming to attention, Neen orders a salute.

As I return his salute, I tell Trooper Emil to join the ranks. We might as well begin as I intend to go on.

On my collar are Vijay’s silver eagles. Captain Bonafonte’s braid falls from my left shoulder. An Obsidian Cross with crown and oak leaves hangs around my neck, because I’ve taken Vijay’s medal as well.

Meet Colonel Sven Tveskoeg, accompanied by Lieutenant Vijay Tezuka . . . Aptitude’s father won’t mind me stealing his family name. In fact, he’ll probably approve, assuming he ever gets to hear of it.

With us go the Aux, including the newly cropped, shaved and demoted Emil Bonafonte deMax Bonafonte, who has lost three of his names, as well as his commission and his jacket. Falling in, he ranges right and takes his position.

He’ll do.

‘We couldn’t find the Silver Fist,’ I say, ‘because they’re not on Hekati. They’re camped outside . . .’

Shock greets my words.

‘An Uplift vessel is locked to her outer rim. It has been for months. A parasite on this habitat.’ Vijay opens his mouth to say something and I hold up my hand. He shuts his mouth again, although his face tightens.

Time to reveal my secret. ‘Hekati told me.’

———

We have a choice of seven ships. Four are museum pieces. Semi AI at the most, all fins and curves. One even has portholes. The fifth is ours. Well, the U/Free hopper we arrived in. The sixth is a standard Z-class tug, squat and battered. The damn thing looks like a beetle/wasp hybrid, with a grapple harpoon and a couple of mechanical arms. You could probably shift a planet if you had enough of them. You’ll find the Z-class anywhere cargo needs dragging.

The seventh is like the sixth, but small and rougher. I choose that one, obviously.

‘Suicide,’ says the SIG. ‘With added rust.’

Yeah, worked that out for myself.

‘Sure I can’t interest you in a retro-special? Or a neat little hopper? We can make up our cover story later.’

‘No,’ I say.

The SIG sighs.

Our new ship has been berthed for so long that space grit has blasted one side back to metal. The door creaks as it opens, and rust flakes onto the scuzzy deck of its airlock. Everyone pretends not to notice. Emergency lights burn on a bulkhead, and a calendar advertising Bukiball Towropes shows a long-dead blonde.

Assuming she was ever real to begin with.

The crewpit is tiny, designed to hold three at most. Gravity carpet covers the floor, the kind that sticks to those tiny hooks on the heels of cheap space suits. An area behind the pit will do for the others.

Although it means they’ll be without seats.

A lash-up of wire and cheap memory crystal provides a navigation system. Semi AI at most, probably not even that. A diode on the console announces our ship’s beacon needs recharging; which is one thing we won’t be doing, since the fewer people who know we are leaving here the better.

Using simple words, my gun explains what will happen unless the ship agrees to release the security block on its engines. The ship agrees before the SIG’s halfway through; but the SIG’s on a roll. ‘And then,’ it says, ‘I’ll screw every—’

‘I’ve unlocked.’

‘Oh,’ says the SIG. ‘Yeah.’

Ajac and Iona are to remain in the hub, that’s my ruling. The air’s got enough oxygen to breathe, the radiation is no worse than on Hekati itself, and we will leave them rations. I would tell them to go home, but they don’t have one. Not any longer.

Iona frets that she is being abandoned. So does Neen on Iona’s behalf. I always come back; he should know that by now. So I decide to fold one problem into another, to come up with a solution.