The Szuiltan Alliance (The Szuiltan Trilogy) (30 page)

I'm free.

Chapter 46

The Seven Deadly Sins squatted in the quarantine area of Akasian's Central Spaceport which, despite its name, sprawled across reclaimed desert less than five miles from the most outer suburbs of the city. In other areas of the spaceport people pursued their own routine as they always had, perhaps a little more tense because of recent troubles, perhaps because of the increased security and the occasional evidence of Bosen activity, more by the lingering smell than any sighting, but the spaceport functioned in the majority of ways as it always had. Still, The Seven Deadly Sins sat confined, awaiting decisions and instructions from whatever authority currently held sway.

"Seven hours," complained Steve, pacing the control room floor. "How long does it take them to verify my trading credentials?"

Jason sat in one of the control room chairs, rocking gently back and forth, watching Steve pacing. His expression conveyed calm and patience but his mind raced. Did the Aksian authorities suspect his true identity? Were they being delayed to allow the military to get here? Would they be allowed to leave this spaceport alive?

All he said was, "They are at war. I guess they're just being cautious."

Steve paused in his pacing, turning a look of contempt upon his younger companion.

"They've been at war ever since I started trading and I've never had any trouble before. You're a jinx. I should never have agreed to let you come along."

Jason's calm expression creased into a smile as Steve resumed his pacing.

"I really don't think you can blame this on me," he said.
Stop pacing you whingeing bastard.
"This planet is facing civil as well as interplanetary war. I'm sure you saw the reports of riots and terrorism. They're bound to be very cautious, suspicious even, of visitors at a time like this."
Step out of line while we're here and I'll take great pleasure in killing you.

Steve dropped down into an empty chair, pressing a hand over his tired eyes.

"I guess you're right. It's just getting to me. Normally this sort of thing wouldn't bother me, I mean, I've seen it on enough worlds to be used to it, but... well, this time it's different isn't it? In the past I've always been trading, nothing else, so I've had nothing to hide, nothing to worry about. But this time..."

"The cover's tight. Don't worry about it. This
is
a legitimate trading trip. The fact that we have other motives for being here as well is unimportant where this situation is concerned."

"You think so?" Steve yawned, shuffled in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position, trying to relax. "I guess you're right. I don't think I'm cut out for this spy stuff."

"Just get some rest. Everything will be fine, they're just taking their time, that's all."
I wish I was as confident as I sound.

Steve closed his eyes, hoping that sleep would overcome his tired bones and depressingly active mind.

Murder, agents, riots, terrorism, spying. Jack, what did you get me into?

Ursa Mirram stood in the viewing gallery of the spaceport, gazing out towards the quarantine area and the ship that she was here to meet. Somewhere nearby, she knew, was John. Others were here too, other rebels from Simon Walker's growing army of the suburbs. She felt uncomfortable with them around. Many were convicted murderers. Most were, at the least, unreliable. Yet she had no choice. She could not continue as a useful agent for the T.I.C. if she were on her own with no contact to what was happening. Even so, she felt uneasy with the situation and guilty over having brought John with her.

It had been Walker's group who had rescued them both when escape looked impossible. The memory was still fresh, still vivid to her.

She had woken to what had first appeared to be total blackness, a blackness so complete that her immediate thought was
am I dead
? Then her eyes seemed to adjust, to realign themselves for the surroundings, and she began to make out areas of both pale and deep darkness. Shapes took on meaning. A chair. A cabinet of some sort. The suggestion of a shuttered window off to one side.

I'm alive then. No afterlife could be this mediocre. But how?

It all came back to her. Bosens. Alan. Running through the alley. The soldiers. The pain of being shot.

John! Where's John?

She pushed herself up on one elbow, gasping at the pain that seared her chest. She pressed a hand to the centre of the burning, felt the wound dressing, crude but effective. As her fingers brushed the skin around the dressing she realised for the first time that she was naked, covered only by a rough blanket of what felt like sacking that had slipped to her waist as she sat up. She thought at first she was on a bed, but now realised, as she swung her legs to the side to stand, that she was on a mattress on the floor, every bit as rough as the blanket.

Standing up was difficult. Her muscles ached and the wound in her chest flashed agony through her at seemingly random intervals. But she must find John. He was her responsibility.

She had managed to stumble to her feet by the time the door opened, throwing a slab of light across the room that caught her at its centre. She turned to face the two men who stood there, uncomfortably aware of her nakedness but determined not to let it put her at a disadvantage. It was safe to presume they had already seen her body when she was stripped before being put into the bed, so there seemed little point in being embarrassed about it now.

"I see you're awake."

She could not tell which man spoke, they were little more than silhouettes in the doorway, and the voice was one she did not recognise.

"Where's the boy who was with me?" she said, her voice strong and demanding. It would not do to show weakness. Until she knew differently, she had to presume these were enemies and that her nakedness was a crude but often effective means to belittle her and make her feel inferior to her captors.

"He's safe." It was the same voice as before. "But what about you? Can we get you something to drink, to eat? You've been unconscious for some time."

Ursa hesitated. They could be trying to put her off guard, just waiting to pounce when she was least expecting it. She shrugged. There was no point in turning down any offers that would improve her current situation.

"Food and drink would be nice, and perhaps some clothes?"

"Of course."

She saw the silhouette on the left turn to the other.

"See to it immediately."

The second man turned and left as the first moved into the room. As the door swung shut behind him, the room returned to total blackness and Ursa stiffened, ready to move, to defend herself against the attack she suddenly thought was coming. Instead, an overhead light flickered on, filling the room with a dull but adequate light. She looked at the man who had stopped a respectful distance from her.

He was a big man, over six feet tall and well over 18 stone in weight. His face was sharp, no apparent roundness or softness to it. His chin jutted to a point, his nose long and aquiline, his eyes narrow and shifting. Thick black hair had been tied back in a rough ponytail, loose strands hanging about his face like trailing spider webs. His clothes, while not rags, were unkempt and well-worn. There was no pretence of style or luxury about him.

"My name is Simon Walker. Perhaps you've heard of me?" He did not smile, but held out his hand in greeting.

Ursa took it cautiously. His grip was firm. His eyes flickered down her body, almost unnoticeable but obvious to Ursa's trained awareness. He was a strong, powerful man. She could feel it in his handshake, sense it at this proximity, and she suddenly felt very vulnerable.

She turned away as he released her hand, suddenly not sure whether she felt safer facing him or with her back to him. She wished the other would hurry with her clothes. Despite her best efforts, her nakedness was causing her to feel unnerved.

"I've heard of you," she said, feeling that talking kept her mind away from the worst of her thoughts. "I saw you speak once. Perhaps I should have recognised you, but it was some time ago and you were a distance away."

"You were a member of Alan's group. I liked Alan. A good man."

Liked. He's speaking in the past tense. That can only mean...

"Did any of the others escape?" She feared she knew the answer even as she asked the question.

He shook his head. "Only you and the boy. All the others were killed, either by the Bosens or by the soldiers outside. We were only able to get to you because you were lucky enough to choose the right alley to run down."

"Those were your men who shot us?" She remembered seeing uniforms, but uniforms could be stolen.

"Yes. We only just got there in time. Seconds later and the real soldiers would have got you."

She pressed a hand once again to her wound as it sent another spasm of pain through her.

"What did you shoot us with?"

"A tranquilliser. Powerful enough to knock you out immediately, with a small charge at the tip to cause a messy but superficial wound. To anyone watching it would have looked as if you'd been shot and killed. Clever don't you think?"

"Clever, yes," she nodded. "And painful too."

He laughed. "But better than being dead."

The door to the room swung open and the other man, a smaller, younger man with a bland but not unattractive face, entered with her clothes, a tray of some undistinguishable food and a steaming drink. He placed the tray on the floor and handed the clothes to Ursa, his eyes lingering on her breasts rather longer than was comfortable, and left without a word.

She dressed quickly, some measure of confidence returning as the warm material enclosed her. Finally she felt able to think clearly.

So this is Simon Walker.

He was a natural leader, she had heard enough to know that. But she also knew him to be a dangerous psychopath.

"I must leave," he said suddenly. "I have other things to attend to. But first, there's something I need to know."

"I'm not in a position to refuse to answer."

"Are you Ursa Mirram of the T.I.C.?"

She was surprised that he knew her name, but even more surprised that he knew of the existence of the T.I.C. Then she remembered that the Council had infiltrated many areas of Aksian society and it was logical that someone should have contacted, or been part of, this rebel group. She saw no reason to lie.

"Yes."

"Good, good." Walker was obviously pleased, although his mouth did not twist into anything resembling a smile. "We have honoured our side of the bargain."

Bargain? What bargain?
For a moment she worried that he had made a deal with Suzex to get her back, but then she considered the situation more fully, forcing herself to be calm.

Suzex has enough control of Lane that he could have ordered the soldiers to take me alive. He would not use these rebels. Was the bargain made with the T.I.C. itself? Has the Council taken the risk of revealing itself to these people?

She wanted to ask questions, to find out more about this bargain, but Walker had turned and left the room and she had been in too much pain and too hungry to follow.

That had been some weeks ago and now, following a coded message from the Council sent through Walker's own communications network, she was here at the spaceport to meet some trader and another agent sent by the Council for a job she was not informed of. She was to see they were safe and put them in touch with the rebel group.

That shouldn't be too difficult
, she thought,
seeing that they're all over this spaceport at the moment.

Why were the Council sending another agent? And why involve a legitimate trader? She had sent those questions back through the same network but as yet had received no answer. The coded message had been signed by Councillor Braben himself with his private seal. She had no doubt it was genuine, and no doubt it was important. She just did not understand why.

A young man joined her at the window, standing close without looking at her. She did not know his name but recognised his face. He was one of those with Walker's rebels. He seemed about to say something but then fell silent. In a reflection from the window she saw why and concentrated on looking towards a passenger liner waiting to load its passengers as two Aksian soldiers, automatic weapons slung over their shoulders, walked by behind them. Security was tight in the spaceport, that was one of the reasons Walker had not accompanied them on this trip, his face was too well known. Even so, Ursa suspected that the rebels had smuggled some weapons in. She did not believe they would come here unarmed, although she had no weapon and, as far as she knew, neither did John.

As the soldiers moved away, the man took a casual step closer.

"We've had news. They'll be coming out of quarantine soon."

"What was the hold up?"

"No one seems to know, but it's all cleared now. Be ready."

The man moved away, disappearing into the crowds.

"Thank Larn for that," said Steve as he clicked off the communicator. "It's about time they let us out of here."

"What will happen to the ship?" asked Jason, slipping his jacket on. It felt strangely light without the concealed handgun he normally carried beneath it, but he could not take the risk of it being discovered by spaceport security.

"They'll taxi it over to the unloading area to take the cargo, such as it is. Meanwhile we can get out of here."

"There should be someone waiting to meet us."

"If they haven't got fed up and left."

Steve made one final check of the control room and slipped a short jacket over his trackovers. He led the way out.

Stepping down onto the plastic compound that covered the ground of much of the spaceport, Steve took a deep breath. Fresh air. It seemed forever since he had tasted fresh air. Between Szuiltan domes, Sellit's complexes and the air conditioning of the ship it had been far too long since he had breathed natural air. The Akasian Central Spaceport, out of simple necessity, was outside the climate domes of Akasian's centre, and what little weather control there was concerned itself with keeping the sky clear of storm clouds to ease the passage of the incoming and outgoing traffic. There was the slightest hint of detoxifiers and deodorisers in the air to counter the effect of so much engine activity, but compared to the artificiality of most air control systems, even the most advanced of the Reagold Corporation's, it was still sweet.