The New Space Opera 2 (58 page)

It was against everything Bryce had told him—or his father had told him—but it was Evan's life and Bryce's that were forfeit if he didn't—because he was out of ideas himself. “Karl Albert Stoner-Hall. My father's Ambrose Delaney Stoner-Hall.” He might as well go all the way. “He owns Fairing Spacelines.”

“Thank you,” Glia said, sitting back again. “Bryce was right; that's dangerous knowledge. I hope your brother doesn't crack—those two will demand ransom, mindwipe him, and sell him—double profit.”

“And I promise,” Karl said, louder, “that when I'm grown, when I have my own resources, I'll come back and reward you.”

“Doesn't have to be me, or even Novice,” she said. “Any humods. But we'll be watching.”

Time passed. Karl dozed off, roused to eat, then slept again. He was able to get to the little toilet off the main room by himself, and change to the clothes out of his luggage, retrieved somehow from the hotel room. He wanted to know about the men he'd left behind, but Glia—who stayed with him—shook her head without answering when he asked. He still hurt, though less as the hours passed; Mongan reapplied both the turquoise and the orange goo a couple of times. When word finally came of where Evan and Bryce were being held, Karl tried to get up, but Mongan shook his head. “Ribs don't heal in an hour,” Glia said. “Even if we had access to regen tanks, those cracked ribs would take longer than that to heal. Lie down—sleep if you can. I don't know how long it will be.”

Mongan grinned at him, then pulled on his mask and his five-fingered gloves before leaving the room with Glia.

 

Evan had finally gone to sleep, exhausted by fear. Bryce stared at him, having nothing else to look at but the blank wall, and wondered what he could possibly do to get them out of this. Merrick and Cosgrove had applied very effective bonds, true professional grade, similar to the ones he himself carried in his black case. For all he knew, if they'd broken into the room while he and the boys were out on the concourse, they'd used his own bonds on him. So no heroic escape. The two were far too smug about their capture to be interested in making any deals, and anyway he had nothing to deal with but the reputation of the boys' father—and yielding that could be, and probably would be, fatal.

How long could Evan last? The boy was smart and as tough as his life had let him become—their father valued toughness—but he was only ten, and he was in the hands of men who knew how to exploit any weakness.

The snick of the lock brought Bryce to full alertness; Evan stirred in his sleep and Bryce braced himself for another session.

But it wasn't Merrick or Cosgrove who stood in the doorway. Five people he didn't know…and a sixth he did. Glia. His betrayer. Come to pretend to rescue them, no doubt. They'd be taking them to another captivity, but he might have a chance to get Evan free, in transit, when they were pretending to be friends.

“Quiet,” said the big man in the lead, very softly. He looked dubiously at Evan. “Will he be quiet if we wake him?”

“Maybe,” Bryce said. Behind him, someone snipped the bonds on his arms; circulation returned, tingling sharply. He flexed his hands as soon as they were free, and moved his arms cautiously. “Let me try?”

“Yeah, but quick and quiet. Got sedative.” The man's voice was low, but thick, and the accent unfamiliar.

Bryce took the decoupler someone handed him and touched Evan's bodywrap; it opened, no longer sticky, shriveling to dry shreds as he watched. He touched Evan's shoulder and murmured into his ear. “Evan…Evan, it's me, Bryce, we're getting out. Wake up…” Evan's eyes opened, blinked, and he started to cry out…but Bryce laid a finger on his mouth. Evan stared at the others, lips tightly compressed. “Time to go, Evan. Remember the codes…” Evan nodded.

“I'll carry him,” the big man said. “He looks stiff.”

“I will,” Bryce said. “He knows me.” He looked at Glia. She nodded; the others formed around them and Glia led the way.

Outside the room was another, arranged like an office; through a door to one side were cots, blankets now tumbled on the floor, food containers piled in a messy heap. Merrick and Cosgrove made two more messy heaps; Bryce looked away, hoping Evan hadn't seen them.

No one was in the narrow passage outside the final door; the lights were on full, the way Novice delineated first shift, the most active. At the first cross-passage, Glia turned right, and right again at the next. Fourth door…through a door to a flight of utility stairs. Bryce's arms and shoulders trembled with the effort of carrying Evan.

“I can walk,” Evan said in his ear, barely a murmur.

“Take it easy,” Bryce said. If they thought the boy couldn't walk, then that could be a useful surprise.

Up the flight of stairs…into another passage, a little wider, another set of turns—designed, Bryce was sure, to confuse them. No real way to escape—the passages were too narrow to push past those in front or behind and they were too close for him to gain the momentum he'd need for real attack. Maybe, if he'd been alone…but not with Evan. Glia finally stopped and opened a door to a largish room. Bryce followed her in, and stopped short. Karl lay under a blanket on a cot, looking the worse for wear. Bryce's case and the boys' players lay on a table; their luggage was stacked neatly in one corner.

“I had to tell my name,” Karl said at once.

“What did they do to you?” Bryce asked; he set Evan down and went to Karl. No one stopped him.

“They didn't hurt me—” Karl waved a hand stained blue at Glia and the escort. “It was the others—the ones who snatched you.”

Karl had been fooled. He'd been fooled by one of the most elementary tricks. He was only a kid…anger burned in Bryce's chest. He turned on Glia.

“How could you?” he said to her. “You helped me and now you're preying on children?”

“It wasn't me,” Glia said. She didn't sound angry or defensive; she was the same Glia, laying out the facts. “You've got someone else to thank for this mess.”

“Who?”

“I don't know.” She glanced at Karl and then met Bryce's gaze. “I may have suspicions but there's no way I can prove them. I'm the only one who knows his name. Other than the one who employed those thugs, and possibly the thugs.”

Leaks multiplied…one person became two, four, eight, sixteen…

“You have Karl to thank for this—” She nodded at their luggage. “And your rescue. He found some of them clearing your rooms, and tackled them. He used their own trank needles on them and he may've overdosed them.”

“How did you—?” Bryce asked Karl.

“I—it just happened,” Karl said. “I didn't mean to hurt them, but—I was scared, and they tried to needle me.” Bryce knew exactly what his expression meant. “It wasn't anything like a match,” Karl went on, looking away now. “But my instructors were right. It does work…”

“I'm glad,” Bryce said.

“Karl brought some of your stuff—what he thought he could sell—to
the Day Market,” Glia said. Bryce just had time to remember what that could be like, when she went on. “There was some…disturbance. Luckily, I'd dropped by for lunch and stopped it. But the two fights did some damage. It's being taken care of.”

“You have a medbox?”

“No. You won't remember Mongan, probably…”

But he did. The thickset younger kid with the odd eyes, the three-fingered hands, and the ugliest tongue he'd ever seen. Always wanting to lick things, and nearly always drooling green slime.

“He grew up,” Glia went on. “And he has the full medical mod; he's got eighteen different medicinals in his saliva glands alone. He's our medbox.”

Mongan, gloves and mask off, grinned at Bryce and stuck out his tongue. “If I'd been old enough when you were hurt, Boris, I could've fixed that broken nose. Even your arm. When I grew, the pubertal hormones kicked the med glands into production.”

“I'm glad for you,” Bryce said. “And Karl.”

“You need treatment too,” Mongan said. “Your face is all over stinger stripes, and I'll bet there's more of them.”

Bryce shook his head. “First I want to know the rest of it—if it wasn't you, Glia—then who? And how did you know where to find us?”

“Karl again. He described Merrick and Cosgrove well enough—and we got confirmation from some witnesses. Then Sinna borrowed your camouflage suit that Karl had brought along, and went back to the hotel, with Karl's key, to get your luggage and deal with any…debris. She recognized the two Karl had left tied up as part of Merrick's bunch. After that, it was getting to Merrick's before you took too much damage or they moved you, without being spotted. Then taking care of those two.”

“So…we can go?”

“You have to go. But not back to Blue. That hotel's not secure. Blue isn't secure. And the liner you're waiting for,
Altissima
, just reported in the system and won't dock for another eight days. I understand you have a yacht chartered—”

“Yes. Allsystems. But it can't leave before—what time is it, anyway?”

“Day after you were taken, fourteen twenty.”

“We lost a whole day?” No wonder he was hungry. And Evan—He looked around the room. “Where's Evan?” Panic rose again.

“Gracie took him to clean up. It's all right, Bryce. They're just in the next room.”

“It can leave as early as nineteen hundred,” Bryce said, dragging his mind back to the topic at hand. “But I need to pay. I need to find out where the dock is they're using—I'd asked if they could get permission to use Blue—”

“You need to sit down and let Mongan treat you, and eat something. There's time.” She pushed gently and he sank into the chair she'd offered before. Mongan came over and wiped turquoise goo on Bryce's face; it felt cool, soothing, and the pain receded.

“You should take the yacht this evening,” Glia said. “Merrick's associates will be looking for blood—and profit—and you and these boys are exactly that. We can't hide you for eight days, not for sure. Call Allsystems and ask to board as soon as possible, wherever they're docked now. If you really need any of this—” she waved at their things “—you may find it tricky to get through Customs on the way out…it should have a stamp from the Customs at Blue, but Sinna tubed it. Only way possible.”

Evan came back in the room, dressed in fresh clothes and holding something in a bun that smelled delicious. He'd already eaten half of it. “Is it over?” he asked Bryce.

“Almost,” Bryce said. “I hope.” Then he ate the food Glia brought him, let Mongan treat more of the stinger marks, and called Allsystems on his parle as soon as his face looked respectable. Cevrilene Baskari answered.

“We've been trying to call,” she said. “Was your parle out of order?”

“Yes,” Bryce said, that being easiest. “Are we still good for departure today?”

“Yes, but I was unable to get clearance to use a Blue Zone dock. Would you like to pay the balance now?”

“Certainly.” Bryce pulled out his credit cube and gave the explanation Glia had suggested. “We're up in Four—I'm using an auto-reader, is that all right?”

“Certainly,” she said, smiling. He plugged the cube into the reader Glia offered and in a moment, Baskari nodded. “Received and clear. Will you be coming by to pick up the paperwork, or shall I have it at dockside?”

“Dockside, please. And—any chance that we could board a little earlier? The boys are restless and, frankly, I'm worn out trying to keep up with them.”

“You could board by seventeen hundred if you don't mind coming to the service area we use and some noise as the last items are loaded.
Karoe Star
is docked at Orange Eighteen, berth six. I'll just flash you the
location—” It displayed in Bryce's parle. “Do you need assistance from where you are? And Customs will need to see your luggage.”

“We'll allow time,” Bryce said. “Thank you very much.”

When he'd put the parle back in his pocket, Glia said, “You might want to think about who did this. It wasn't me; it wasn't anyone I know. Merrick might've made you, but he's not usually up on that end of the Concourse. None of his people should've made you. Cossie wasn't that bright; with those teeth and that nose, he'd have passed right by you. Got any enemies in that fancy new job of yours?”

“Not that I know of,” Bryce said. “Thank you, Glia. I'm sorry I—”

She shook her head sharply. “No apologies. You did nothin' wrong. You had those boys to care for; I understood that had to come first. Just don't forget us.”

He looked at Glia, the Glia who had saved him before, and tears came to his eyes. “I never forgot you,” he said. “You could come with us—there's plenty of room on the yacht—”

But she shook her head, as he'd known she would. “And what about my people here? You know I'm the chameleon, the one who can blend in best. You can't take them all.”

Bryce nodded and turned away.

 

The voyage to Gorley in
Karoe Star
passed without incident. Her captain had been able to communicate with
Altissima
—a long lag, but the message got through. Without passengers to pick up, the liner had no reason to stop at Novice, and changed course for Gorley; they should arrive almost simultaneously. The boys complained about nothing—not the smaller stateroom they shared, not the food, not the lack of advanced entertainment facilities. Bryce watched the crew carefully, but saw nothing suspicious.

Gorley, a major trading nexus, had every facility Novice lacked: the Premier Lounge came with human attendants, actually attentive. They were still ahead of
Altissima
, but only by hours; the liner was on the arrival board for sixteen hundred and it was twelve forty now.