Shooting the Rift - eARC (27 page)

Ertica shrugged, with the same disconcerting effect as on the previous occasion. “I’m a Freebooter. It’s in my nature.” She studied my face for a moment, realized I wasn’t buying it, and sighed. “All right, then, the truth is we were desperate. The Farland contract came along just in time to keep our ship from being repossessed, but it would only have bought us a breathing space. A quick, clean smuggling run on top of that would have got us out from under. And it would have worked perfectly if that stupid bitch hadn’t been exposed as a Commonwealth agent, and got us all caught up in a spy hunt.”

“All right.” I’d had enough practice at lies and misdirection in the last few weeks to be fairly sure there was a backbone of truth to that, at least. “You’re busted, stranded, and probably looking at jail time. And I’m concerned about this because . . . ?”

“I don’t know, actually.” Ertica shrugged again, but this time I ignored the result; it was too erratic to be a genuine tic, and too frequent to be entirely unintentional, and I wasn’t quite young or naive enough to be bamboozled into thinking with my hormones. But if she thought I was, fine; I’d grown up being underestimated, and knew how to turn that to my advantage. “Perhaps because you thought Numarkut was civilized.”

“I won’t make that mistake again,” I said. “But I still don’t see what I can do help you.”

“It’s simple enough. We need a ride. You’ve got a ship. Talk to your skipper, see what it’ll take for him to give us passage. I’m sure we can work something out.”

Which was more than I was. Given the amount of antipathy I’d already witnessed between Guilders and Freebooters, I couldn’t see Remington exactly falling over himself to do her any favors: but, at that, the
Stacked Deck
probably represented the best chance they had of cutting a deal with someone. They certainly wouldn’t get anywhere with Deeks and his chums, or the other Guilder crews interned here, and the shipping line employees were, if anything, even more hostile.

“I’ll talk to him,” I said, after pausing just long enough to look as though I’d been giving the absurd proposal some serious consideration, “but I can’t promise anything.”

“Good enough.” Ertica nodded briskly. “Have you finished your tea?”

“More or less.” I ignored the implicit dismissal, and sipped at it, finding it had gone cold while we talked, which hadn’t exactly enhanced the flavor. “What’s the rest of this rock like? You’ve seen a lot more of it than I have.”

“Not that much,” Rollo said. “Just the infirmary and the brig.” He gestured expansively at our surroundings. “And this bit. Which I can assure you is way better than both.”

“I can believe that,” I said. I took another sip I didn’t want. “So not much chance of getting orientated.”

“None at all,” Baines put in. “I tried tapping a node from the hospital, to get a map, but it’s completely secure.”

How secure?
I sent.
There are usually holes if you know where to look.
So, it might be possible to tap a node, if I could somehow get myself sent to the infirmary. Which didn’t sound like much of a plan, but it was the closest thing to one I’d been able to come up with since our arrival: unless you counted continuing to hang around Jas with my fingers crossed as a positive course of action.

Not here.
Baines clearly felt the need to prove the point; perhaps his pride had been hurt by his failure to mesh.
It’
s
got all this military grade stuff around it.
He kicked a file across to my ‘sphere, and my heart leapt. He’d recorded his attempt to mesh in, and the security protocols which had prevented him from doing so.

Looks pretty solid,
I conceded, with a nod. But he hadn’t had my sneakware, or my knack for adapting datanomes on the fly. I’d need to take a long, careful look at this, but it was just possible he’d handed me the key to the node.

All I had to do now was find a way to get near the lock.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

In which I become embroiled in a timely altercation.

As I’d expected, Remington didn’t exactly leap at Ertica’s proposal.

“What’s in it for us?” he asked, and I found myself suppressing a smile at the echo of the Freebooter’s words. There could be no doubt at all that John Remington was a typical Guilder.

“She was a bit vague on that side of the deal,” I admitted. “But it pretty much boiled down to ‘name your own price.’”

“Which pretty much guarantees she’s got no intention of paying up once she’s got what she wants,” Remington said.

Rennau nodded in agreement. “Of course she hasn’t, she’s a Freebooter.” The three of us were conferring in a quiet corner of our accommodation area, to which Remington had led the way as soon as I returned from the Freebooters’ quarters, ignoring the curious glances of our shipmates. Clio, in particular, had seemed relieved at my safe return, although quite what she imagined might have happened to me I had no idea.

“Is there anything they can offer that we might want?” I asked. Not that I cared particularly either way: from where I was standing it looked as though they’d brought their misfortune entirely on themselves, and I didn’t think I was going to lose much sleep at the idea of them finding out actions had consequences. Nevertheless, I felt grateful to Baines for the information he’d given me, even though he’d been unaware of its value, and I suppose I thought I owed them something in return.

“Like what?” Rennau snorted derisively. “They’ve only got the clothes on their backs. And damn few of those, in one case.”

“Information, maybe?” I was reaching, I knew, and tried not to sound like it. “If they were smuggling, they must have connections, here and on Numarkut. Could any of those be useful to us?”

“Gangsters and organized criminals?” Remington shook his head, smiling at my naivity. “We only deal with those through the local Guild reps. Who’ll have far better connections than a bunch of chancers like that.”

“Fair enough.” I nodded, unable to find a hole in his reasoning. “She made it pretty clear that they think we’re a long shot, anyway. I don’t suppose they’ll be all that surprised to find out we’re not interested.”

“Even if we were, they’ve broken the law here. We could hardly tell the League we’re taking them with us in any case,” Remington pointed out.

“Not without putting them under Guild protection,” Rennau agreed. He exchanged a brief, amused glance with the skipper. “Like that’d ever happen. Guildhall would piss themselves laughing if we even asked.”

“Even so.” Remington looked thoughtful for a moment, wondering if there could possibly be an angle he’d missed, then shook his head. He turned to me. “Next time they invite you to tea, tell them they’re on their own. Unless they can come up with a concrete proposal that’s clearly to our advantage.”

“Right.” I nodded too, in complete agreement. But I couldn’t help feeling a little regretful nevertheless.

I got very little sleep that night. I couldn’t resist taking a quick look at the data I’d got from Baines as soon as I got back to my room, and, as I should have anticipated, quickly became so engrossed that the passage of time barely registered; it was almost morning by the time I’d finished examining it. Even so, I felt surprisingly energized as I grabbed some toast and coffee: every step felt as though I was back in Aunt Jenny’s guest room, bouncing me off the floor a tiny bit higher than it should have done.

And with good reason. The more I’d worked on it, the more sure I’d become that I could actually get away with cracking a node if the opportunity presented itself. The sneakware I’d put together to get into Jas’s visor would mesh neatly with the outer protective layer, and I’d been able to construct some datanomes mirroring the protocols Baines had recorded lurking deeper inside the system with very little difficulty. I still might need to do some quick modifications on the fly, but I was good at that sort of thing, so it shouldn’t be a problem. All I needed was some kind of excuse to visit the infirmary.

And that, of course, was where the whole thing fell down. I’d need to create some plausible-seeming accident, which would require my hospitalization, but still leave me well enough to function when I got there. And not have anyone suspect that I might be faking it, or raise any doubts about the seriousness of my injuries.

So I went for a run as soon as I’d finished breakfast, hoping that something might occur to me, and that even if it didn’t I’d be able to dissipate some of the energy still coursing through my system. I’d been hoping Jas might be on guard duty, but there was no sign of her at either pressure door, and I completed a couple of circuits of the cavern completely wrapped up in my own thoughts.

The second time round I caught sight of Clio and Ensign Neville, who for some reason had become inextricably linked in my mind with the image of a hamster in a League Navy uniform, seated on a bench beside the fountain in the central garden. They seemed to be deep in conversation, although Clio wasn’t quite engrossed enough to miss me as I passed through her peripheral vision.

Hi
, I sent, not really expecting a reply. I wasn’t disappointed either; she simply turned back to Neville and laughed at whatever inanity he’d just emitted. Fine, I wasn’t exactly in the mood for conversation myself.

“Looking for your new best friend?” Recalled to my immediate surroundings, I realized I’d slowed down as I approached the Freebooters’ quarters, and glanced at it automatically as I did so. Deeks was standing in my way, one side of his face still swollen and red where Ertica had kissed it. His eyes narrowed. “You seem to be spending a lot of time with the ‘booters.”

“They had a business proposition,” I said, thinking it was none of his damn business, but determined to be polite anyway. One advantage of an Avalonian upbringing, at least in certain social circles, was the ability to seem affable to people you’d rather scrape off your shoes.

“Guilders don’t do business with Freebooters.”

“No, we don’t.” I nodded, in polite agreement. “Which is why we’re not interested.”

“Good.” He relaxed a little, some of the hostility draining out of his posture, while curiosity gradually got the better of him. “What sort of business?”

“You know better than that,” I said, keeping the tone light. As a rule, Guilders weren’t that big on sharing job opportunities, unless there was something in it for them. “Besides, you wouldn’t be any keener on taking them up on it than we were. Trust me.”

“If you say so.” He didn’t seem all that convinced, but that wasn’t my problem. “So you were just passing by, then?”

“Got a message to deliver.” I caught a flicker of movement inside the Freebooters’ quarters, and the first faint glimmering of an idea began to take shape. I allowed the merest hint of a challenge to enter my voice. “Unless you’ve got some objection to me having a quick word with your girlfriend.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He was rising to it, the unmarred side of his face darkening to match the part still inflamed from Ertica’s toxin. Attracted by the disturbance, a few of his shipmates started wandering over to watch the show.

“Just kidding,” I assured him, with patent insincerity, the trace of mockery in my voice belying the conciliatory words. “You know.” I blew a couple of air kisses. “You seemed to be getting on with her much better than I did.”

“Think that’s funny, do you?” His ego must have been even more tender than his face, because he swung a punch at me without any warning at all. Unless, that is, like me, you’ve sparred long enough and often enough to be subconsciously aware of even the tiniest shift in the weight of the person in front of you.

Which meant I was probably aware of the attack even before he realized he was starting to make it, and ducked out of the way long before it could land. I made a big show of blocking it, though, far more slowly and clumsily than I normally would, which was surprisingly hard to do; when you’re fighting you rely on instinct and muscle memory, which needs a lot of conscious thought to override.

“Quite funny,” I admitted cheerfully, hoping there were a nice lot of witnesses around. I was pretty sure I could ride a couple of punches, make out I’d cracked a rib or something, and get hustled off to the infirmary in jig time.

Since I wasn’t too bothered about getting hit, I risked a moment’s distraction to see what was happening around me. A couple of the troopers guarding the pressure doors were already running towards us, leaving only one man or woman guarding each of them; the ones left behind were leveling their weapons, presumably in case the brawl was nothing more than a diversion, and they were about to be rushed by a group of suicidal would-be escapees.

“Simon!” Clio was running too, I noted absently, a bemused-looking Neville a few steps behind, drawing his sidearm—although what he thought he was going to do with it was beyond me, as I suspected gunning down a Guilder or two would turn out to be a seriously counter-productive career move.

Deeks lashed out again, and I planted myself where it would catch me on the side of the face, just at the fullest extent of his arm: the blow landed more lightly than I pretended, with an impact that jarred my jaw, compressing the cheek against my teeth, and, by great good fortune, opening up a minor cut that let me spit out some blooded saliva in a suitably dramatic fashion.

“Get off him!” Clio launched herself at Deeks, a compact bundle of ferocity which took the pair of us by complete surprise, headbutting him in the groin. Deeks howled, and collapsed, leaving Clio free to kneel on his chest and attempt to twist his ears off.

“Clio!” I took her by the arm, and tried to haul her back to her feet. The rest of the onlookers from the
Ebon Flow
were surging towards us, no longer passive spectators, and clearly intent on avenging their fallen comrade. “Back off!”

“When I’m good and ready!” I’d never seen her this angry. She gave Deeks’ ears a final vengeful twist, and got back on her feet, glaring a challenge at his oncoming shipmates. “Come on then, if you think you’re hard enough!”

“Will you calm down?” I tried to push her behind me, but she was having none of it, ducking under my elbow to stand at my shoulder, her fists cocked.

We’re coming!
In the distance I could see Rennau, Rolf and Lena boiling out of our own quarters, a handful of our shipmates behind them. Another Guilder thing, I belatedly realized; attack one member of a ship’s crew and you attacked them all, irrespective of whose fault it had been to start with. But the crew of the
Ebon Flow
obviously felt the same way, and by the time our reinforcements arrived, Clio and I would have been pounded to mush.

At least that was probably what they thought; after the fight in the alley, I was feeling pretty confident that I could at least hold them off until our friends arrived. And I’d been hoping to contrive a trip to the hospital anyway . . .

“Be careful what you wish for,” I muttered under my breath.

Clio glanced at me. “What?”

“Never mind.” I braced myself for the charge. At least none of them seemed to be carrying weapons, so we’d be down to fists and feet, which suited me fine.

“Stop this at once!” Ertica’s voice cracked across the open space, and I turned in surprise to find her striding towards us, a look of exasperated disdain on her face. “Or if you must squabble like children, take it somewhere else. People are trying to sleep in here.”

“Think you can make us?” Clio turned on her at once, the lightning bolts of her fury finding a new conductor.

“Clio!” I took hold of her arm, trying to calm her, and she shook me off. “She’s not our enemy.”

“Of course she is, she’s a sodding Freebooter. Which you’d have noticed if you ever listened to what she says, instead of staring at her all the time with your tongue hanging out!”

“Whereas your tongue seems to be getting quite the workout this morning,” Ertica remarked, in the
faux
conversational manner which, in my old social circle, was the verbal equivalent of a stiletto between the ribs.

And Clio rose to it, swinging a punch at the Freebooter’s face without pausing to think.

I’d like to claim it was quick wits which led me to intervene, but in all honesty there was no time to think, and I acted purely on instinct. Before Clio’s fist could make contact I threw myself into the gap between the two women, receiving a right hook to the jaw which made my head ring, snapping me round towards Ertica; I just had time to register her impressively proportioned décolletage looming up in my field of vision before my face collided with it, and rebounded as Ertica took a belated step backwards.

For an instant, I staggered, regaining my balance, and, if I’m honest, enjoying the moment as much as any straight man would under the circumstances: then I clutched my face, screaming a good deal louder than seemed possible through a mouth now surrounded by soft tissue swelling up to what felt like double its natural size. It felt as though my entire face had been scorched with a blowtorch—I’d never felt such intense pain in my entire life, and sincerely hope never to do so again.

“Now look what you’ve made me do,” Ertica said, sounding no more than mildly tetchy about the whole thing. I tried to focus on her face, but my eyes were swollen into narrow slits by now, and I could barely pick out anything around me.

“Do something!” Clio demanded. “You must have some sort of antidote!”

“Must I?” Ertica sounded amused. “And if I did, what are you prepared to offer me in exchange? That is how you people think, isn’t it?”

“Get back, all of you.” Of course, Neville was taking charge, whether anyone wanted him to or not. That’s what junior officers did in a crisis. Started issuing orders, so everyone else would feel reassured. My datasphere began to hum with message traffic. “Medical emergency, internment area. Exposure to Captain Ertica’s dermal toxin.” A reply, through his handheld, too encrypted to read: fortunately I could still follow one end of the conversation by listening to his voice. “No, if he’s breathing well enough to make that much noise we can pretty much rule out anaphylactic shock.”