The Vastalimi Gambit (9 page)

Jak was no less truculent than he had been before, but he tried to keep it hidden better. Perhaps because Wink was with Kay this time, and Jak did not want to reveal anything that might put him at any kind of disadvantage in front of a human. Given that she already knew what a
kurac
-head he was, he wouldn’t put much effort into trying to sway her.

He couldn’t help himself, though. When he saw Wink next to Kay, he said, “So this is your tame human I’ve heard about.” He spoke in
NorVaz
instead of Basic.

Jak didn’t know that Wink Doctor had an unseen translator feeding his earbud, and the sound was low enough so that Jak couldn’t hear it.

Before she could speak, Wink said in Basic, “Yes, that would be me. I have heard much about you, too.” He smiled, not showing his teeth. “All manner of things.”

It was a good insult. Veiled, not enough to trigger a Challenge for slander between two Vastalimi, and Wink would be immune to such in this case anyway. Nicely played.

Still running on surprise, Jak said, “You understand me?”

“Oh, I understand you perfectly well.”

That shut him up.

Kay said, “I have more questions about your uncle.”

“Ask them, then.” He had to clench his jaw shut to keep from saying something else that would make him look bad.

Kay already knew the answers to the questions she meant to ask. Jak’s responses were less important than his knowing she had a purpose in asking and what that purpose was. She was on the hunt, she had quarry, she was seeking a trail, she wanted Jak to know what it was and, generally, where she was heading.

They went through her list, Jak growing more impatient and wary with each question, and finally they were done. They left.

On the walk back, Wink Doctor said, “Okay, what was that all about? You already knew all that stuff, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You think Jak is involved? Trying to rattle him?”

“No reason to think he is directly involved. But Jak is weak. He will speak of this to somebody, and word will get around that we suspect the illness was a deliberate attack upon The People.”

“Ah.”

“If we are wrong, it won’t matter. But if we are right, it might provoke someone into
doing
something. People suddenly made nervous by the notion that we are looking for them. Skittish prey will make mistakes.”

“Won’t it also make you a target?”

“A risk I am willing to take.”

“Hmm. I had a thought: Could Vial have been a part of this?”

She considered it. “Possible. Although we had history that he might have thought necessary to play out. I suspect he was contracted to challenge me before I left Vast and never got the chance to act on it. But maybe somebody took out a new contract.”

“Somebody worried about you could hire somebody else.”

“Yes. And there are those swaggerers who would dismiss Vial’s abilities as inferior to their own willing to try. However, they will now know that their actions will fall under careful scrutiny.”

“And this means what?”

“It is technically illegal to Challenge for hire, though the crime is hard to prove, and thus the law seldom enforced; however, with the Shadows paying close attention, potential challengers will thus have to step with care, and anybody who would hire them would know there would be a chance they could be found. They might not wish to risk such.”

“That’s something, at least.”

“I would rather they try, and give me a direction in which to go. Meanwhile, I am going to talk to my sister. I should be back soon. I’ll meet you back at the hospital.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

They were in Leeth’s office, a spartan cubicle mostly devoid of decoration. There was a window, screened and open to the outside, so the air wasn’t so stale.

There was a computer terminal on a desk, two chairs, and a row of silvery medallions, a dozen or so, mounted on small, stripewood plaques on a shelf. Awards for winning various competitions: shooting; martial arts;
Za
, the Vastalimi version of three-dimensional chess.

Only Firsts were on display.

“Don’t keep the second- and third-place medals?”

“What joy in showcasing a loss?” There was a pause, and she shook her head. “I am unconvinced.”

“You can’t see the possibility?” Kay asked.

“Of course I can see that it is
possible
. But I find the idea hard to believe.”

“That somebody would do it? Or that they could?”

“Both.”

“Yet the problem persists. The top Healers on Vast have been unable to find a cause, using the best available equipment and tests.”

“Which does not mean your theory has any more weight. One does not automatically follow the other.”

“No. Save that we have eliminated all kinds of possibilities, to the point where we have no idea how to find a solution. We must look at other things. To ignore this might be a critical error.”

Leeth was obviously skeptical.

“I have a feeling,” Kay said. “Not as strong as some of the times when I have
known
, but there is something there.”

Leeth looked at her. She knew of Kay’s ability in unsubstantiated diagnoses. She raised an eye ridge. “Really?”

“Yes.” Kay wasn’t above using that to add impetus to her request. “Consider the gravity of the situation. So far, the deaths have been relatively few, but without a cause, there can be no treatment, so any new cases that arise will continue to have a one hundred percent mortality rate. If the rate of infection increases, it could become pandemic, epidemic, and the death rate catastrophic.”

“Or it might disappear as quickly as it appeared.”

“True. But that’s a completely passive approach, and we are not prey to sit frozen and waiting for the end. If it does not stop, or if it increases, what then? What is the cost then?”

“High,” Leeth allowed.

“
Sena
investigate. So let them investigate this.”

“Easy to say. We are stretched thin, you know that. The pool of qualified applicants has never been deep, and those who will make it through the training? Not many. We are always working simply to replace those who die or retire; we never seem to gain. Fewer of our young ones now elect to travel the Path. When I began, two or three thousand hopefuls would apply each year. Now? We are lucky to get a third as many.

“Each of the
Sena
has much more territory to cover than we did, even five years ago. There has been talk of . . . relaxing standards.”

It was Kay’s turn to raise an eye ridge. Relaxing standards? Oh, Leeth could not abide such a foolish concept. Her loyalty was to the Shadows, first, last, and always. To put somebody
unqualified
by her measure onto the streets? An abomination.

“It is true. The People as a whole simply do not realize how critical the
Sena
are. Something must be done. But in the meanwhile, to spend effort on this will take resources from our other areas we can ill afford.”

“Surely crime is not so rampant that such a potentially disastrous situation should be ignored? How many murders have there been, compared to those who have died from this mystery plague in the last few months? It’s a matter of priority, and
Sena
make such choices every day.

“Besides, Droc has been given a clear and wide path to pursue this. If you need resources, he can make certain that you get them. I see no reason why the Hierarchy wouldn’t allow such an investigation under your leadership.”

“Under
my
leadership? You play to my ambition?”

“Well.
Some
body has to be in charge—and who is better qualified? Aside from which, given your relations with the lead medical investigators? Would not that be a selling point?”

Leeth nodded, if grudgingly so. “You make a valid argument. I will approach my superiors regarding the matter. We will see what can be done.”

“I appreciate it.”

Leeth grinned. “You could always talk the shrells right out of their burrows, Sister.”

“If my theory is right, we are dealing with much worse than a pod of vermin chewing on maize stalks. If they exist, perhaps you can find them.”

“Yes,” Leeth said. “Perhaps I can.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

“How’d it go?” Wink asked.

They were on their way to the garage to collect a vehicle. The Vastalimi to whom Kay wanted to speak personally was more than two hours away on foot, and she would forgo the pleasure of a nice run in the interests of time. A ten-minute ride in a hot and smelly cart was better than spending four hours for what might turn out to be a wasted trip anyway.

“As I expected. My sister is too good a Shadow not to consider that a crime might have been committed, and mass murder is high up the list of things to be looking into. I allowed as how the Hierarchy would certainly allow her to run such an investigation, and that Droc could channel enough money their way to make sure she got the resources she would need.

“She is unrivaled among the
Sena
in her dedication, to the public good and to the Shadows themselves; however, she is also ambitious. Heading such an investigation and solving the crime, if one is found, would add greatly to her prestige. She is fated to become a high-ranking officer. A successful mission here would make that happen sooner rather than later.”

Wink grinned and shook his head.

“Something funny?”

“No, just interesting how much humans and Vastalimi are alike in some ways. Organizations seem to run for reasons that don’t always seem apparent.”

“Here, family is important,” she said. “What reflects well or badly on one can reflect the same way on one’s parents, siblings, offspring, or even more distant kin. The primary goal here is to find a cause for the illness and stop it. If that means Droc and Leeth will wind up elevated in status or popular esteem? I see no harm in that.”

“Me, neither,” he said. “More power to ’em.”

The garage where the vehicles were kept was noisy and stank of lube and hot fuel cells. Kay headed for the nearest one.

“Do we need a card or some kind of key?”

“No. They are not kept locked. They are just carts.”

Wink shook his head. Take a human’s cart without permission, and many of them would kill you without a second’s hesitation. “What about this guy we are going to see?”

“
Shan
masc,” she said. “Jak’s cousin, another nephew of Teb, who was the third to die of the malady.”

“And we are talking to him because . . . ?”

“Because Teb was a world-class criminal who had claws in many illegal activities. He was a thief, gambler, sold illegal chem, ran unlicensed prostitutes, and likely had people killed. He would have enemies who might throw something like this at him and not care about bystanders who died.”

“Wow. I mean, I guess since you have cops, you have criminals, but somehow I didn’t think much about that until I met your sister.”

“We have our share of baddoers and sociopaths. Not as many as human worlds, of course.”

“Oh, of course.”

“Uncle Teb was among the worst, but he was passing clever, and the threads never led directly to him, else the
Sena
would have taken him out long ago. I don’t know if Shan is involved in Teb’s business, but if he is, the
Sena
don’t show evidence of it. He doesn’t need to be—Teb put away enough money so his family can live like royalty all their lives through the great-grandchildren.”

They climbed into the cart. She waved a hand at the control panel, then rattled off an address. The cart’s engine powered up, and they began to roll toward the garage’s door.

She shook her head.

“What?”

“I mentioned prostitutes. Such activity is not illegal if licensed. Uncle Teb had scores, maybe hundreds of them, illegal, and he was the first Vastalimi to import aliens for the purpose. Males and females, mostly humans.”

Wink considered that. It was no revelation that interspecies sex went on around the galaxy. When he’d been in college, he’d had a human roommate who had a thing going with a Rel female. Human males were randy enough to stick a willie into a damp spot on a carpet, so that wasn’t a surprise. He hadn’t gone down that road, having limited himself to humans, and fems only, but he could see the attraction. Everybody needed somebody.

“You ever been tempted?” he asked.

“By a prostitute?”

“No, by somebody other than a Vastalimi?”

She thought about that for a moment. “Tempted? Yes. Acted upon it? No. Until recent times, it was illegal here and considered enough of a perversion to cause consternation if it was made public. The laws have relaxed, but there are still many of The People who think anybody other than Vastalimi are prey, and you don’t fornicate with prey, you eat them.”

Wink let that one rattle around for a while without speaking to it.

“No,” she said.

“‘No,’ what?”

“I don’t consider you prey. In case that’s what you were wondering.”

“There’s a missile dodged,” he said.

She whickered.

Jo went to make the recon of the site. She was alone.

She took a ground cart to a wooded spot ten klicks away, after dark, the lights off once she got close, using her augs to navigate. Having built-in nightsight was a useful toy when you wanted to keep a dark profile.

And she had a shiftsuit, for all she didn’t like wearing it; it was a big plus. The suit was proof against a bunch of small-arms fire and eyes using the human spectrum, plus it could rascal basic pradar, to a degree. Yeah, it slowed her down and was awkward, but she wasn’t going to fight, only to spy, so it was to the good.

Besides, even in the suit, she was faster, stronger, and could see and hear and all like that better than anybody not running top-of-the-line augware. It balanced out.

To see and not be seen; the best spy was one you never knew had been there, and that was her goal. Go in, find what you needed, get out.

She had picked out a path, and while it wasn’t the most direct, it was unlikely anybody would be out taking the night air until she got right to the encampment. If they had half a brain among them, there would be pickets, and the local sensors might catch a quick bounce if she wasn’t careful, but she knew where to put her feet, and she’d been doing this a while . . .

“Jo? You on-station?” Gramps.

The com was tightbeam, shielded, and encrypted, the suit’s rather than her own radiopathic aug, so even if somebody detected it, they wouldn’t know who it was or what they said. And her hidey-hole was in the radio shadow of an agrotruck-dispatcher station, with coded chat spewing all over half a dozen channels, and one more sig wouldn’t raise any eyebrows on somebody bored and channel- surfing.

Proper-planning-prevents-piss-poor-performance.

“I’m here.”

“Copy. Get a nice nap, it’s a long walk.”

“Ten klicks? An evening stroll. I’m leaving on schedule.”

“Got that. Take care. Call us if you’ll be late; you know how your mother worries.”

“Why don’t you go bother Gunny? I’m a working fem here.”

“Yeah, sure, sell that one to somebody else, I know better. You’d pay us to do this.”

She discommed but grinned. He was right about that.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Military camps ran in shifts, day and night, so there wasn’t any time that would be completely dead; however, most planets had diurnal/nocturnal cycles and were more slack once the local sun went down. Big civilization ran like the military, but on less-populated worlds, the clock sometimes slackened in the middle of the night. Humans could adjust themselves to all kinds of cycles, but left alone, most of them would be up days and sleeping nights. An army base would have fewer interactions with civilians as a result and be less busy.

Besides, in a human camp, only sentries and a few scope-watchers would be apt to see in the dark, and you took every advantage you could.

Jo was outside the perimeter, which in this case was a quik-stretch wire fence three meters high and topped with needle-barbs. The trick was in getting past the wire where there was a blind spot, where a cam wasn’t apt to be looking, and guards were somewhere else.

From the drone-flyover recordings, Jo had a good idea of the camp’s general layout. They had elected not to drop disposable cams, so as to not alert anybody to possible visitors.

She looked at the layout. There, the HQ prefab; here, the barracks; over that way, storage units. Ferrofoam domes, most of them, wearing simple electronic camo and set among trees so they’d be hard to spot from orbit if you didn’t already know where they were.

Her suit’s scanners told her the fence was inert, no zappers, and not even motion sensors in the wire, which was sloppy but cheaper. On a site where you weren’t expecting visitors, this was often SOP: Put up wire to keep the curious and local livestock out, call it good.

If visitors with any skill came round? Not such a good idea.

What was it about being in command that made spending a noodle when a tenth
might
suffice seem like a good idea? Corporate mentality? People who didn’t understand that a gram of prevention was worth a kilo of cure . . . ?

It was never a good idea to underestimate one’s opponent when he was armed and might shoot you.

Of course, if they did? So much the better for your team.

She could find a dead zone, run a cutter down the wire, and slip through. She didn’t need to spend a whole lot of time snooping around, just enough to verify what they already suspected, maybe get some numbers, see what kind of gear these Masbülc mercs had, then glue the wire back together and toodle off, with them none the wiser.

Whoever had put up the fence hadn’t done so close enough to the trees so somebody could climb up one and drop over the top, so they weren’t totally inept.

There was a place, just there, where the fence was mostly blocked from view inside the camp by a shed close to the wire. Again, sloppy—always best, when you had the room, to leave open space between the fence and the nearest cover. Were this camp hers, she’d at least have a cam on the back of that maintenance shack, eyeballing the wire, and maybe a guard patrolling that stretch every so often.

Well, if it were hers, she’d never have put the fence that close to the building in the first place, the wire would be lit and sensored, too . . .

Then again, if it looked too easy, it could be a trap. Probably wasn’t, but you didn’t lose anything if you assumed the worst; assuming the best could get you spiked.

Don’t see a guard? Must not be any.

No guards, and no obvious cameras, but, of course, a lens could be so small as to be invisible, or built into the wall’s camo. And since it seemed like an invitation to
Come on in!
she decided to decline.

It took half an hour of edging along, playing scan-ghost, until she found a place she liked better.

Generally, the perimeter was fairly well lighted, biolumes mounted on posts next to the fence every thirty meters, casting a bluish green glow bright enough to see movement. But the terrain had a dip in it, and the line of sight not as clear for distance, the light posts lower. As long as she moved slowly and carefully, the shiftsuit would take care of anybody looking in the human spectrum. Somebody might be running a scope, but the suit’s confusers would make it look like a scan-ghost on any but top-of-the-line sensors, and she knew how to move so she could enhance that impression if anybody was paying enough attention to notice.

What’s that?

Scan-ghost. See how it drifts back and forth? Floats away like that? Fucking cheap gear!

Jo approached the wire, creeping. She mentally marked the location, then used a vibroblade cutter on the wire, drawing a line that followed the mesh pattern. She watched, waited, then eased through the opening, made sure it didn’t gape behind her, and began to slowly work her way across the ground, drifting back and forth. The ground was mostly covered in grass that came to midshin, mowed, but not for a couple weeks, she guessed.

She moved, stopped, moved, tried to make her motions float aimlessly, as a sensor-ghost would. Gradually, she made her way closer to the nearest building, which was a big storage unit with large doors. Probably a garage of some kind, maybe a hangar for aircraft, hoppers, or flitters.

She opened a small entry door—wasn’t even locked—and sure enough, the place was full of rollers and ground-effect vehicles, ranging from two-seaters to troop carriers that would hold a platoon.

She had an on-demand squeal, and she attached it behind a dust plate on a midsize roller. The little semiorganic caster was inert, not putting out any kind of signal, but if you beamed a certain series of radio frequencies at it, it would emit a very short PPS sig. A scanner might catch it, but it would ordinarily be too fast to triangulate and find even if somebody did hear the squeal, and the sig would tell its operator where the roller was.

So even if they picked up and moved the camp, the Cutters could find it. Or at least this vehicle . . .

She slipped out of the garage, carefully closed the door behind herself.

Let’s see what else they had here . . .

She was feeling pretty good about her sortie, having avoided any guards patrolling and keeping to the shadows when she became aware she was being watched.

Nothing she could see, but she knew.

She froze. Did a slow scan, her augmented sight ramped up to the maximum. Nothing. Nothing . . .

Wait. There. Thirty meters away, in the shadow of the big dome. A figure.

She had her pistol out, covering the target when it moved from the shadows and headed toward her. The light here wasn’t bright, but her aug was more than enough to see it, and it was—

A Vastalimi!

The alien drew closer. She wasn’t holding a weapon, and she was dressed much like Kay usually was, which was to say, wearing nothing but a belt with a holster and a couple of items clipped to it.

Jo came up from her crouch. She held her pistol low, pointed at the ground.

Five meters away, the Vastalimi stopped. In clear Basic, she said, “Ho, intruder. Have you anything to say before I rouse my comrades?”

Jo realized she was in trouble. At a dead run, she could make it to the fence well before the yard filled with soldiers, and she’d have a head start outside the base, albeit they’d have vehicles. Of course, there was this Vastalimi, who could give her a head start and still beat her to the wire.

She could shoot the Vastalimi, but even as fast as Jo was, that might be iffy, and nothing less than a fatal hit would stop the call for help.

Not a lot of choices. She hadn’t expected to come across a Vastalimi here.

Jo said,
“Career nama borba do pojedinac inacˇe oba nad nama umreti.”

The Vastalimi blinked at that. “
You
offer
prigovor
? How can you even
know
about such?”

“I have a furry friend,” Jo said.

“Ah. That explains it. Why is he not here instead of you?”

“She’s busy.”

“A human who offers a Challenge. I have heard such things, but I didn’t truly believe them. You are serious?” She sniffed, inhaling deeply. “You are multiply augmented.”

“Of course. I’m nearly as fast and strong as you are.”

“Even better. You qualify the Challenge?”

“As I stand,” Jo said. “Of course, I’ll put the pistol down and get out of the suit, and I’ll use a knife, to offset your claws.”

She whickered. “What a story this will make around the hunt fires! A human who gave
prigovor
!”

“You accept?”

“Oh, yes, I could not miss such an opportunity. But keep your knife sheathed, fem, and I will do the same with my claws. I would not take such an advantage, four to your one, there would be no honor in such a victory. Blunts will do well enough. I might not even have to kill you.”

Jo grinned as she put the pistol onto the ground. At least she had a chance. She stood and began to peel off the shiftsuit. Underneath, she wore a thin polypropyl bodysuit and slippers, nothing else.

“Will we be having company?”

“Unlikely if we are not too noisy. I am the camp’s primary guard after dark. Nobody bothers to patrol or man sensors.”

Jo nodded. She understood that. There was no need. One Vastalimi was more than enough for such light duty. Obviously.

“I’m Captain Jo Sims, of the Cutters.”

“Ah. Your group has bested mine in several encounters.”

“We’re just getting started on that.”

“As are we. Recall a recent vehicle explosion?”

Jo nodded. Of course, that was how they got past the farmers’ guard to the fuel supply—they had a Vastalimi. Knowing that alone justified the sortie.

They obviously hadn’t been using her much yet.

She whickered. “I am
Mish
fem, Em to my friends, and now to an honorable, if mad, human. Shall we dance?”

“Whenever you are ready.” Jo smiled and showed her teeth.

Em crouched and Jo knew she was going to leap. They did such extremely well, the Vastalimi.

And it was to Jo’s advantage that she knew it . . .

_ _ _ _ _ _

Shan was young, at least he seemed so to Wink, and his fur was dyed or stained in bright splotches, with sections of it cut short or even shaved to the skin, as if he were wearing a jester’s motley. He wore some kind of skeletonized helmet, thin strips of what looked to be platinum or iridium, glowing with a kind of rainbow sheen. He was outside the doorway to a large home, watching as Kay and Wink arrived, fifty meters away as they pulled the cart into a parking area.

“Bukvan,”
Kay said, under her breath.

His translator rendered that as “fop.” Which didn’t do him much good—he knew it was derogatory, but not exactly what it meant. So he asked her.

“He is a preener,” she said. “He affects dye, jewelry, even clothes, to impress with his appearance. He spends considerable time on it each day, I would guess.”

“Doesn’t seem to be working on you.”

“I do not begrudge the young their exuberance and folly. If it kills them, too bad, but their choice. That headlet he wears? An entertainment receiver. Probably cost what an average, honest citizen makes in a year. And he will have a
brijacˇ
—a fur cutter attending to his chosen look, trimming, shaving, dyeing. Shan is a person who has wealth and glories in flaunting it. I find such ostentation lacking subtlety.”

Wink chuckled. “When I was young, there was a fad among humans in my set for migratory tattoos. Skin nanos that would creep over one’s body, interacting with other images, pulsing and flashing pictures that ranged from gross to obscene. I had a red-demon installation on my right shoulder that would crawl up a sub-Q net to my neck to meet the blue demon from the other shoulder, where they would fornicate in glorious, glowing purple for an hour before ebbing to their stations.”

“And you thought this amusing?”

“At the time, yes. We did it more to irritate our elders than anything else. Fortunately, they were temporary tattoos, a year or so half-life and fading completely after that. Good thing, else many humans my age would look pretty silly. What seemed so funny and cutting-edge and radical at fifteen more often than not seems passing lame at thirty.”