The Vastalimi Gambit (13 page)

“He had a thing for
mahu
not yet of age, and when he saw me, or more likely an image of me somebody showed to him, he wanted me.

“The man could have just had one of his thugs grab me and deliver me to his bed. But the flesh seller was a sadist. It was not enough to simply collect me and rape me; he wanted to season the experience with my terror.

“He commed me. Told me who he was and what he was going to do to me, in great physical detail, and the day and hour it was to happen. And he made it clear that there was nothing I could do about it except to get used to the idea. In a ha’month, he said, I would be his and he would use me every which way, then put me to work at the docks as a whore.

“I was thirteen, my parents were working poor, we had no clout and no recourse. If I told them and they tried to stop it, they would simply be removed, maybe killed. And I had a younger brother and sister, and I didn’t want them to suffer.

“I thought of running, catching a ferry to one of the barrier islands, maybe even stowing away on an orbital lifter, but I realized the first time I went outside our plex that Limanui was having me followed.

“Running wasn’t going to happen. Hiding wouldn’t work.

“I could maybe get a weapon and try to resist, but against his hired thugs, I would have had little chance.

“I could have killed myself, and I considered it. It was my fallback option.

“What I had going for me was I was smart. I shoved my panic down deep and thought about all the ways I might save myself and my family.

“A deadline looming for rape and slavery does wonders to spark the imagination.

“Once I hit upon an idea, I did the research. I found what I needed, how to do it, and I thought about the best way to effect it.

“My cousin’s wife was a clone tech, she worked in a lab making prosthetic implants, most of her work in recreational dentition.”

Off of Gunny’s look, zhe said, “She made dress teeth. Cosmetic things—fangs, oversizers, jeweled, like that.”

Gunny nodded.

“I went to see my cousin-in-law, told her what I wanted and why. She didn’t want to do it, but she understood how limited my options were. I was family, so she agreed to help.”

“I was accosted on my way to school by Limanui’s thug on the date promised. He took me to his master’s mansion. I was stripped, searched, made to shower, and led into Limanui’s bedroom to await his pleasure.

“He was a big man, fat, beefy, and he expected to find me quivering with terror when he arrived, and that’s what I showed him. He inspected me, turned me this way and that, poked at me, and commanded me to kneel before him.

“I did, crying and begging, which only made him more rampant. He grabbed my head and shoved his penis into my mouth.

“I had already snapped the protective tip off the implanted canine tooth by the time that happened, and the act of biting triggered the tiny hypodermic injector inside, the needle being made of the same ceramic as the tooth so it wouldn’t show on a metal scan.

“I didn’t have to bite hard at all. Just a little nip.

“He backhanded me hard enough to knock me sprawling, but it was too late. The blue-spider venom I had extracted was under enough pressure so it blasted into his flesh. The needle was on a spring, and it retracted enough so that I wouldn’t stick myself on it even though there wouldn’t have been any poison left in it by then.

“Before he realized he needed help and could call for it, the venom took him down.

“The blue spider’s poison is a fascinating substance—it’s both a smooth-muscle paralytic
and
it causes blood to clot.

“My rapist was unable to move, and, after a few minutes, his blood began to thicken. Either his heart infarcted, or a pulmonary embolus blocked a lung, maybe a stroke, any or all of them. It didn’t matter to me which.

“He died.

“Once he was gone, and I was sure he was too far to bring back, I opened the bedchamber door, and screamed: ‘Heart attack! He’s having a heart attack! Help!’

“When the medics showed up, I left with them. I was unarmed, small, they didn’t even consider that I had done anything to cause it. By then, the guards didn’t care, they were already wondering about their next job.

“Who would notice a tiny wound on a man’s prick if they weren’t looking for it? An exam wouldn’t reveal the presence of spider venom unless they were specifically looking for that; and so the cause of death was obviously natural.

“Even rich men kick off from heart disease. Happens all the time.

“Oh, yes. I recall the first one I killed. It’s one of my fondest memories.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Nobody had anything to say when Formentara finished.

Hell of a story, hirs.

Nancy finally broke the silence: “Males, Fems, and Other, we have arrived at our destination, and I hope it won’t be anybody’s final one. Local weather is sunny, visibility twenty kilometers, right at human body temperature out there, but it’s a dry heat. Mind your step as you depart the hopper, try not to run into the trees, and thank you for flying Nancy Air. We hope your flight was a pleasant one, and we hope to see you again real soon.”

“You heard the fem,” Cutter said. “We’re on the clock. Go. Formentara and I will save your seats for you. Try not to get your clothes all dirty.”

Wink was across the table from Kay at the cafeteria when her com buzzed. “
Kluth
fem speaks.”

She looked at Wink, pointed at her ear.

Wink activated his com, set no-talk to the same channel. He had it tied into his translator, which was good, because the speaker used the native language.

“—will speak with you. Today, one hour. You may bring your human, no one else.”

“Agreed.”

The voice—Wink couldn’t tell if it was the messenger or not, though it was feminine—said “I remind you of your agreement: No
Sena
, tell no one else.”

She rattled off a series of coordinates that Wink didn’t understand but that Kay obviously did.

“We will be there.”

The com ended.

“Here we go,” Wink said. “They didn’t say anything about my bringing a hidden pistol.”

“No, they did not. Though it would probably be best if you didn’t shoot anybody until we find out what we can.”

“I’ll put in a timed message to Droc. How long should I set the delivery delay?”

“Two or three days.”

“That long?”

“If they plan to kill us, chances are we will be dead sooner, and it won’t matter to us. If we die, speed won’t matter. Droc will call Leeth eventually, and she will find our killers no matter how long it takes. If the meeting is legitimate, that will give us enough time to perhaps circle around and track them.”

He shrugged. “Your show.”

“Include the coordinates in the message,” she said. “Let’s finish eating and go, no hurry.”

Forty-five minutes later, using a cart, they arrived at the meeting place. Their cart was trackable, and its PPS locator sig would be recorded somewhere if anybody went looking for it.

Which they probably wouldn’t, and not for a couple days if they did.

It was a warehouse, in a block of dozens just like it, a squat, single-level building of cheap, off-white preplast, no windows, a rectangular box forty meters by sixty, three meters tall.

There were Vastalimi about, going into and coming out of other buildings. Assorted cargo carriers rolled or fanned by, but their designated structure seemed quiet.

“We didn’t beat them here,” Wink said.

“Of course not. Whatever they have in mind, they were already set up when they made the call.”

Wink resisted the urge to loosen his pistol in its waistband holster or touch his knife’s handle in the SOB sheath under his short tunic.

They alighted from the cart and walked across the street. The air had a sharp odor, smelled like some kind of solvent.

The door they approached slid open automatically as they reached it. Kay walked through the entrance as if she owned the place, no hesitation.

Nobody shot at them, leaped from hiding, or otherwise tried to do them harm.

So far, so good . . .

The place was almost empty. There was an office kiosk, the rest of the building, well lighted by solar pass-throughs, held a square table and four chairs. Two of the chairs were occupied by Vastalimi, one male, one female. Neither stood as Wink and Kay approached.

The male gestured at the chairs.

Wink glanced at Kay.

She took the chair to the left and sat, not looking at him as he moved to occupy the chair on the right.

The female spoke, using her own language: “You may call me
Broj
fem. This is
Dvah
masc.”

The translator gave it to Wink: Number One and Number Two. Cute.

“You know who we are,” Kay said. “You have something to say to me?”

Number One said, “You left our world years ago, and your decision then was smart. We understand why you returned but better that you had not.”

“You called us here to tell us things we already know?”

“You are involved in matters deeper and wider than you comprehend. Best for you and your family if you quit the hunt.”

“People are dying from an incurable illness, and that includes some of my family,” Kay said. “And we both know, by your calling me here, that this is unnatural, so it isn’t an unfortunate happenstance but intentional. If you have knowledge of this, better for you to share it now.”

“Or what, fem?” Number Two said.

Kay looked at him. “As agreed,
I
have not told the
Sena
of this meeting, but you should know that they are aware of the problem and investigating it. The Shadows’ claws carve exceedingly fine.”

“The
Sena
do not frighten us,” Two said. He smiled. “We know who your sister is.”

One said, “Our offer: Leave now, quit your investigation, and live.”

“I will not quit.”

The Vastalimi exchanged glances.

Two said, “I told you.”

“Nothing lost in trying. You should learn that taking the easy path is not always a weakness.”

Wink’s urge to pull his pistol was overwhelming, and fuck it if it was improper. He carefully allowed his hand to centimeter toward the weapon’s butt . . .

“Touch that weapon, and you die, human,” One said.

Now she spoke Basic.

“Unless you are a lot faster than I know Vastalimi are, I’ll get one of you, at least. Kluth won’t be sitting on her hands, either. I like our odds.”

“You didn’t think we were
alone
in here, did you, human?”

“Wink,” Kay said, “leave it. There are three more of them covering us. One in the ceiling, one in the office, another behind the exit to the left. They will have guns.”

“Very good, Kluth,” One said. “One doesn’t expect a Healer to have such sharp senses.”

“Sharp senses, but dull wits,” Two said. “Now you are nothing but a captured pawn, and you just walked in here and let us take you.”

“Did I?”

One said, “Remove your gun, human, and drop it. Carefully—twitch wrong, and you’ll be spiked—The People know how to shoot, too.”

Wink pulled the pistol from its holster and gently put it on the floor.

“Have you any other weapons?”

“No.”

“Put your coms onto the table. Your earbuds, as well.”

Both of them did.

“Good. Stand and follow us.”

Wink and Kay did as they were told.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Relax, Singh,” Gramps said. “Everything is on schedule.”

“I am okay, sah. The plan is sound.”

“And won’t survive first contact with the enemy,” Gunny said.

They had their helmet face shields up and were off com, to make sure nothing leaked for the Masbülc unit to hear. If their intel was correct, and Formentara was the one getting it, so it damn sure was correct, there were a couple heavy platoons moving in, sixty troops, with some light APC and carts and a couple of drones. More than enough to knock over some big vans full of vegetables, stupidly guarded only by a squad.

“When they get here, we’ll give them a chance to lay down their weapons and surrender,” Jo said. “Once we get them in our sights, of course. In case they make the wrong choice.”

“Do you think they will surrender, sah?”

Jo shrugged. “Probably not. They are paid to fight, not to give up, and they will likely assume it’s some kind of trick by a force they think they have outmanned and outgunned. In their place, I’d need to see some proof. Any luck, by the time they see enough to convince ’em, we’ll own them.”

“You are all so calm.”

“No, we ain’t,” Gunny said. “We just have more practice looking that way.”

Jo said, “There’s the pulse from Formentara. Ten minutes. Helmets down and lock and load.”

“I don’t understand that term,” Singh said. “Shouldn’t it be ‘load and lock’?”

“That’s yours, Gramps,” Gunny said.

“It predates modern weaponry,” Gramps said. “Ancient flintlock rifles were put on half cock before being charged with powder and shot. You locked an external striker in this position to prevent an accidental discharge. The command hung on even after the weaponry changed.”

“Do history afterward, Gramps,” Jo said. “We have company coming to call.”

“Copy, that.” He flipped his face shield down.

_ _ _ _ _ _

They sat on the bare floor, backs propped against the wall on either side of the room’s only door. Unlikely that somebody would step in and give one of them
their
back, but dumber things had happened. They had padded Kay’s claws with some kind of locking gloves and slippers, hands and feet, but they had not bothered to search him, which he still found amazing, so he had his knife.

He had told Kay this, and she’d shrugged it off. “You told them you were unarmed.”

“And they
believed
me? No search?”

“The idea of
two
handguns probably wouldn’t occur to them. Vastalimi who own any sidearms figure one is sufficient. I expect they wouldn’t consider you a threat even if they knew you had a knife.”

Wink shook his head. “And you don’t think they are listening to us?”

“Why bother? We are locked up. Nothing we can
say
will change that.”

“You really don’t think about things like humans do.”

“Why would we?”

“And you don’t want me to get those off you?”

“Not yet. We need more information.”

After a time, Kay said, “I have not told anyone offworld why I left. Given the circumstances, it seems fair that I should tell you.”

“I’m all ears,” Wink said.

“There was a male named Zolo. He was old, well respected, a hunter’s hunter. A longtime Council member, and, by all accounts, a scrupulously honest politician. He developed an illness and was hospitalized, diagnosed with Red Fever.

“This is an uncommon and often-fatal sickness, an opportunistic viral pathogen that sometimes takes hold when a patient is injured or debilitated. The virus is common, most of us carry it, and it is harmless most of the time, kept in check by normal flora and fauna.

“Zolo, hunting alone deep into a reach, apparently twisted a knee and broke an ankle chasing prey. It took him two days to limp home, during which time he apparently succumbed to the viral infection.

“He was not my patient. The diagnosis was made, the treatment commenced, and his condition was considered grave.

“I had patients in the
bolnica
wherein Zolo was undergoing care. I knew his Healer slightly, a fem of considerable skill. She was doing what could be done, the prognosis was not good, and Zolo, who was in and out of a coma, had said his good-byes to his family and friends.

“Old people die, and Red Fever has a high mortality rate. Death comes, one shrugs, that’s how it goes.

“Of a morning as I was making my rounds, I passed Zolo’s room—he rated a private space—and chanced to glance in as I walked by. I got a good look at him in his bed.”

She paused. “Do you know why my brother asked me to come home?”

“I understood that you were considered an excellent Healer.”

“Yes, and mostly for an odd reason. Do you know the term
intuicija
?”

“No.”

“It means something like ‘clear sight,’ though this is an idiomatic use. It is a relatively rare phenomenon among Healers. There have been theories put forth as to its cause, but no one knows for certain why or how it works. What happens is, a Healer can look at an ill patient and immediately know what the problem is.”

“Augenblick,”
he said.

She regarded him, head turned to one side. “I don’t know this term.”

“The blink of an eye,” he said. “A word used among humans for the same medical abilities. One of my professors had it; he could now and then walk into a room, look at a sick person, and
know
what was wrong with them.”

“Ah. I did not know that humans could do this.”

“So you have this ability.”

“Yes. It is erratic, unpredictable, and infrequent.

“When I saw Zolo, I knew that he had been poisoned.”

Wink nodded.

“I spoke to his Healer. She thought that I was mistaken. There was clear evidence of the viral pathogen in Zolo’s system, in sufficient amounts to be considered the clinical illness.”

“But secondary to the poison?” Wink offered.

“That is what I offered. The Red Fever was a complication but not the primary cause. Because the diagnosis was made immediately, nobody thought to look for anything else.

“So the question became, if he was poisoned, what was it?”

“And,” Wink added, “if it was accidental or deliberate?”

“That was something for the Shadows to worry about,” she said. “My concern was for the patient. However, the idea that somebody might have intentionally poisoned Zolo was a matter of some delicacy. He had powerful enemies and powerful friends, and the balance between various factions in the Vastalimi government and industry was—and still is—precarious. Family, pack, they are all entwined and sometimes complicated. A step this way, a half step that way? There might come a collapse that could ruin thousands, send dozens to prison.

“A small stone tossed into the sea there might swell to a tsunami there.”

Wink nodded. “Lot of that going around among humans, too.”

“As a Healer, my concern was for the patient. I was young, sometimes righteous in my views, and I insisted that a search for the poison be done. Maybe he was too far gone, maybe the fever would kill him, but it was possible that the poisoning could be treated and if so, that might make the difference. And later, the Shadows could sort those who had done what and mete out appropriate justice.”

She paused. “Poison scans came back negative, at first. A few days later, Zolo went to hunt on the Other Side. But I had raised the question, and there were people who had good reason to wish that it had not been raised. An old Vastalimi had gotten hurt and developed Red Fever and died, that was the story they wanted everybody to believe, and there was no place for a young Healer ranting on about poison; they didn’t want anybody digging through that offal.

“So whispers began. Evidence disappeared. Zolo’s body was quickly cremated, pursuant to a request that nobody remembered him making.

“It was made clear to me that if I stayed on Vast and continued to prattle on about poison, stirring up muck that did not need to be stirred, that I and my family would be made to suffer. My relatives, say, would suddenly be Challenged every time they stepped outside. The chances of our having fatal accidents would rise. Doors that had been open in this business or that would close. If, however, I were to find that I wished to pursue opportunities offworld? There would be no repercussions to my family for my mistaken view that one old male had been poisoned.”