Night's Pawn (21 page)

"Welcome to Pueblo," she said.

17

Chase kept the window open and let the cooler night air fill the room. Noises entered, too, the sounds of a city that could not sleep. He understood.

Denver.

The
Rapier's Touch
had just barely managed to slip across the Pueblo border when most of her avionics began to fail. Through sheer skill, Gordani kept the T-bird airborne as Blanchard bravadoed their way past the Pueblo Forces lines. Lucky for them, their high-profile kill—on the military sensor net anyway—had earned them a degree of respect from the defensive forces posted there. Blanchard's radio conversation had ended with a chuckle and an unseen grin, and they were allowed past.

Gordani nursed the T-bird another hundred and sixty kilometers north, before grounding her near a small camp known as Keane's Corner. Here they could get limited repairs for the bird and some basic medical attention for Freid. The mechanic cum paramedic living at Keane's Corner was reluctant to do much for her beyond superficial treatment of her few external injuries. Hearing that she was a mage had made him just a little nervous. He also knew enough from his training to realize that the medicines and treatments usually administered to a "normal" person were more dangerous to a magician. A mage's nervous system, wired tight from the workings of magic, was far more susceptible to harm from chemicals and Pharmaceuticals than a mundane's. That would limit the possible treatment and, thus, Freid's recovery.

With the help of some local herbal inducements, she slept in the cushioned hammock they set up for her all the rest of the way to Denver. Chase manned her position as best he could, quietly thankful that they weren't going to have to put up any further resistance.

Cara became nearly hysterical during the running fight with the Aztlan forces, to the extent that she had still not regained control even after it was all over. Refusing the strong dose of tranquilizers that the paramedic offered, she did accept the help of more conventional administrations. Chase made several attempts to speak with her, to which she responded politely, but he could see in her eyes a well of dark emotions that the violence of the previous days had churned up. Unable to bridge the chasm between them, he ended up helplessly walking away from conversations that dribbled away into uncomfortable silences. Maybe help for her was best left to the experts they'd find in Denver.

Cara had brightened as they approached the outskirts of the city, the T-bird swinging to the west but within sight of Denver's southern leg, which stretched precariously down to Colorado Springs. The multihued points of city light seemed to call to her and she actually joked with him slightly as they watched the lights passing on the monitors.

Now, in his cheap hotel room, Chase heard the pops of firecrackers, maybe even light gunfire, coming into the room from the streets. He shifted in his chair and adjusted the sling that held his right arm relatively immobile. He'd barely realized it at the time, but a shaft of metal had sliced into his shoulder and nicked a bone during those last few moments in Aztlan. It cost Chase a few hundred extra nuyen to buy the silence of the clinic doctor who treated him and Freid. He didn't want his friends to know that the wound was only to the flesh. Normal bone would have chipped from the impact of the metal, but that part of his shoulder had ceased being natural two years after Cara had been born. The doctor was amazed at his healing rate, predicting that Chase would have full use of the arm within a day or two.

They'd booked into two adjoining rooms in a Cozy Inn on the fringes of the Confederate American States sector of town. The
Rapier's Touch
crew had a long-standing financial relationship with a point of entry official in that sector and so the LAV had entered the city across the CAS border.

Cara and Freid were asleep in the other room. Gordani and Blanchard were staying with the
Rapier's Touch
as it underwent necessary repairs in one of the vehicle barns on the city's outskirts. Freid was too hurt and exhausted to maintain the edge she'd need in that barely civilized corner of the city. Her comrades had asked Chase to take her into town with him for a while. He agreed immediately, triggering Cara's apparent disapproval. She'd walked off by herself, cursing under her breath but still audibly.

It was Cara, however, who offered to share a room with Freid. Girls with girls, she'd said. Chase had wondered what she thought the alternative was.

The telecom beeped, and he answered it on the second ring. "Yes?"

"Priest," came a woman's voice, synthetic and crystal clear.

"Lachesis. That was quick."

"Your message was received, and the allusion to your location insufficiently obscure. You must be more careful."

"I'll keep that in mind. Do you have the other information I asked for?"

There was no reply, only the dead, clear quiet of the line.

"Lachesis?"

"I am still here. I am weighing the tone of my reply."

"You don't have it?"

"The information you requested has been compiled and correlated, the little there is. I, however, do not have it."

"You don't?"

"No. He does."

Chase felt cold, either from a sudden breeze or his own reaction to her words. "I understand."

When she spoke again Chase almost heard a trace of the human somewhere behind the electronic persona. "I feel I must apologize for the unintentional violation of the confidentiality of our agreement. I honestly do not understand how he found out about the nature of my data searches."

"He has his ways. I do not hold you responsible."

"Thank you."

"I take it he wants to see me?"

"Nothing of that nature was stated or implied."

Chase chuckled. "Yeah, he knows I'll come. Tell him, Lachesis. Tell him I'll come."

"If he knows you'll come, then I do not need to tell him."

"No," Chase said, almost to himself. "I suppose not."

After finishing with Lachesis, Chase knocked on the door to the adjoining room. He heard movement, a muffled noise that might have been a voice and then the sound of the door latch. He was surprised; he hadn't heard it lock. He was even more surprised to find Freid standing there.

"Hoi," she said, leaning against the frame of the half-open door. The light from Chase's room spilled past her and across Cara's sprawled form. She was asleep, sprawled at an angle across the bed, wrapped tight and twisted in her sheets. Freid glanced over her shoulder as the younger woman shifted slightly and made some noise Chase couldn't decipher. Freid stepped toward him, gently closing the door, but not shutting it all the way.

"She restless?" asked Chase.

Freid nodded and ran a hand through her own disheveled hair. The rest she'd gotten since Aztlan seemed to finally be helping. Her face was still reddened and her hands still slightly blued from the bruising, but much of the visible damage had faded faster than Chase would have expected. He'd been in enough fights to know that the kind of bruising she'd taken usually needed more than a week to fade,

Freid sat down on the edge of Chase's bed. "I talked with her a little bit, but she's holding everything in. I'm not sure why."

He nodded. "There's something going on in her head, but I can't figure it out," he said. "But that's just what I've got to do."

Freid shrugged helplessly, and Chase saw her eye the room's built-in refrigerator. "Can I get you something?" he asked. "A drink? Room service?"

"Just a drink would be fine. Whatever they have that's closest to water. Nothing sweet."

He stepped over to the fridge and quickly rummaged through its contents to see what it might yield. He flipped her a plastic bottle filled with sparkling liquid. "There you are. The most expensive bottle of water you'll ever have."

She laughed, saying, "I'll savor it," then popped the cap and took a long drink. Chase sat down again near the window and watched her. She was wearing the long, oversized T-shirt she'd pulled out of her bag earlier. He was surprised and amused at the images of Dalmatian puppies scattered all over the shirt, staring innocently at their beaming parents. He wondered where she'd gotten it.

She recapped the bottle and looked at him. "Mind if I ask you what's going on?"

"I told you back in Dart Slot."

"Look, I know biz is biz and what I don't know can't hurt me and all that drek, but could you tell me a little more of what you're up to?"

He glanced out into the night for a moment, then back at her. "Why do you want to know?"

She shrugged. "I just do. Maybe I can help."

"You probably could, but that won't be necessary."

She looked down and Chase could see her lips tighten. "You seemed concerned enough before to ask me."

"I'm still worried, but not overly. I think what you said that night was right."

"I think you're lying."

Chase stared back at her.

"Look," she said finally, "I can appreciate your concern, and I'm flattered, but I do want to help." She paused for a breath. "Gordani told me about Cara."

Chase cursed. "Wonderful."

"Who the frag am I going to tell?"

"I know you won't tell anyone," he said wearily. "I'm just cursing whoever else Gordo might have told."

"Only me and Blanchard. That's it. He had to tell us," she said.

Chase leaned forward. "Okay, he told you about her. Did he fill in the rest?"

She looked at him quizzically. "The rest?"

"This is the scenario. I'm escorting Cara Villiers down the middle of what could be the start of the biggest corporate civil war anybody's ever seen. Fuchi's always been known to field the best company men and to stage the best covert ops. They were among the first to start deploying full mages as a standard part of their combat teams. If the families that run the company go to war, God only knows where the security forces will hit, or even who they're allied with now."

Freid was staring at him, listening. He could see her taking in everything he was telling her, then analyzing it, piece by piece. He was beginning to suspect that she had a sharp mind along with everything else she had going for her.

"And if what Cara says is true, that's exactly what's happening. The Nakatomis, at least, are backing an attempt to kill her father, who owns and controls the Villiers faction of the company. Bang. Instant schism."

Her eyes widened. "I can't imagine that leading to anything particularly pleasant."

"Exactly. The race would be on to control Richard's slice of the corp."

"Wouldn't that depend on how his will read?" she asked. "They wouldn't automatically gain control of his shares, would they?"

Chase shrugged. "Don't know. Maybe not, but there's a whole other spin that starts up if her father dies. Suppose his corporate shares are hereditary? Who gets them?"

"You tell me." There was a growing gleam in her eye.

"Four possible people, to the best of my knowledge. Martin Villiers, her uncle, but he was opposed to the merger of the Villiers family assets with the Japanese from the beginning. I can't see Richard bestowing his shares on his brother."

"Could he have written a death rider in?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know," she said, " 'In the event of my tragic and violent death my will is null and void and all shares go to my brother,' or something."

"A poke in the eye from beyond the grave? Martin would pull the Villiers' assets out and leave the Japanese high and dry, so I think the Japanese would want to make sure that Richard dies peacefully, of natural causes."

"Assuming they know what his will says."

Chase snorted. "If the Japanese are anywhere near as paranoid and fond of, um, 'tactical intelligence-gathering' as Richard was when I worked for him, they
know
to the jot what his will says. Besides, it may be part of the corporate agreement."

She nodded. "Who else?"

"Well, there's Martin's son, Darren, Cara's cousin. He's actually an employee of Fuchi, but in the Nakatomi camp, or at least under their control. Risky, from Richard's point of view. Maybe he hopes Darren'll come into his own. Who knows?"

"But, as you say, risky. Next?"