The Wind After Time: Book One of the Shadow Warrior Trilogy (10 page)

“So we’re screwed?”

“Hmmph. Make yourself some more tea, Commander.”

• • •

“Oh, my. That’s cute. That’s very cute. They have a wonderful little booby trap set up so that anybody who tries to crawl his way in using an ANON password gets back blasted.

“Very sexy,” Davout said admiringly. “So let’s try another way.”

“Damn! Pardon, Commander. But a man living by himself gets careless about his language.”

“What’s going on?” Wolfe was getting a little bleary. He’d been sitting in the chair, and occasionally on the cot, for six straight hours with no breaks other than what Davout considered tea and a visit to the redolent toilet.

“I tried another way in and got my paws slapped,” Davout said. “Hmm. This may take a little thought.”

• • •

“Ah hah, ha hah, ha hah,” Davout crooned. “You didn’t even see me slip past the gate, now, did you?”

“You’re in.”

“I’m in. Isn’t it a good thing that we’re honest people? We could be very rich if we weren’t.

“Now, what, or who, did you want to know about? Rialto is an open ledger, as their bankers might say.”

“That’s the second problem. All I have is a single name. Sutro. Spelled like it sounds. It’s a person, male. I’m not sure if he uses or even has a second name. It would be an active account, very active, with lots of credits going in and out. The only action I know of for sure would be a bill paid to an account called YORUBA or possibly BEN GREET.”

“Very good, very good. That’s what I like about you, Commander. You never come to me with the easy stuff.”

• • •

“Sutro, Sutro, there you are.”

As Davout spoke, the printer beside him clicked, and sheets of paper spat out.

Wolfe started up from his drowse. It was after midnight, and Davout hadn’t said anything at all for the last hour and a half.

“We now have everything there is to know about your Mister Sutro. My, but he’s rich. Spends it, too.”

“What’s his home world? Do you have that?”

“I have everything he had to file with the bankers to set up his call account.” Davout lifted the helmet off. “Rialto, it appears, is very sensitive about exposing themselves to any risk, so I have quite an extensive dossier on Mister Sutro, which you’ll be holding in about five minutes. But to end the suspense, his home world is a place called Trinité. If you want — ”

“I’m familiar with it — at least where it is. Mister Davout, you’re a hell of a guy. I can’t say how grateful I am.”

The little man smiled shyly. “Thank you, Commander. Thank you.” He was silent for a time. Wolfe waited, knowing he was trying to find the courage to ask something. Finally:

“You said I’ve helped you. Would it be out of place for me to ask for a favor?”

“Anything I can do.”

“I know there’s a thousand, maybe a million like me, who’ve got family held by the Al’ar. But would you mind, would it be possible, for you to see if you can learn something? I mean, I don’t know what kind of connections you Intelligence people have behind the Al’ar lines, but is there anything you could find out?”

The little man’s eyes were pleading, desperate.

• • •

“Joshua, this stinks on ice.” Sector Marshal Achebe held the microfiche as if it belonged in a fume cabinet.

“It’s a perfectly legitimate complaint,” Wolfe said, trying to suppress a grin.

“Legitimate, maybe. But don’t you think there’s something somewhat irregular when a complaint gets filed about some resident of the planet of Trinité, by name of Sutro, on a charge of conspiracy to violate Federation statutes up to and including murder and further alleges that this Sutro also conspired to conceal his part in said crimes and further is likely to commit even more heinous crimes if not brought to the bar immediately?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“It reeketh when the person filing said complaint happens to be a warrant hunter named Joshua Wolfe,” Achebe complained. “Now what are you going to do? Go out and serve your own warrant?”

“Of course.”

“Samedi with a new derby,” Achebe swore. “Are you also going to post a reward?”

“Nope. Thought that might be a little much.”

“Joshua, Joshua. Why?”

Wolfe’s smile vanished. “Because I might run into some trouble with whatever passes for law on Trinité. I’d like to have some cover.”

“You know this Sutro doesn’t have any record with the Federation? At least nothing I could find.”

“I know. That’s another reason for the complaint.”

“Trinité’s quite a planet.”

“Never been there.”

“Let’s say it’s got a
lot
of gold. I’m glad it’s not in my sector. The people there seem to think they can do pretty much what they want and buy off any complaints afterward.”

“Are they right?”

“Damned close,” Achebe admitted. “Which brings up my last question. If the shit hits the fan, what do you think I’ll be able to do to help?”

“Send flowers, maybe.”

Achebe sighed in relief. “Okay. I’ll approve and E-post it. I assume you don’t want any real circulation but just want it there for the record.

“I was afraid you’d slipped a notch and thought the law in the Outlaw Worlds maybe was going to actually be able to do something.”

“I know better than that, Jagua.”

“You have time for a drink? Might be your last, you know.”

“With a cheery invite like that, how could I refuse?”

“So you’re alive.”

• • •

“Alive? I do not know if that is the proper concept. All systems are locked into green. All circuitry is performing better than before I was refitted, and my sensors advise that all parts of me are as good as or better than when I was first launched. Thank you.”

Joshua was astonished.

“Thank you?”

“My programmer said you would be startled,”
the ship went on.
“She said a bit of a personality was needed. I have no computation on the value of her belief.”

Joshua chuckled. “All right. It’s nice to have you back, if your circuits can now interpret that. I could have used your services a couple of times in the last month. Is everything go?”

“Affirmative. Destination tape running. Tower clearance granted. At your command.”

“Let’s do it.”

The
Grayle
shuddered, came off the shipyard ways, hovered down a solid-painted line to a lift point, then rose still higher, canted to near vertical, and screamed up off Carlton VI.

The unobtrusive man wearing dark, sober clothing put his binocs back in their case and started unhurriedly toward the com booth at the back of the observation deck.

The first Al’ar struck the boy from behind, sending him sprawling. Joshua, as taught, tucked and rolled, coming up as the second Al’ar youth flashed a hand across the boy’s stomach, a seeming touch that made Joshua scream in agony and stumble back.

The third was maneuvering to get behind him, and Joshua spun kicked, his boot crashing into the Al’ar’s thigh. The alien fell but made no sound, although his hood flared wide in pain and both hands grasped his leg.

The first came in once more, thin white arm darting out like a pointer, touching Joshua’s wrist and sending pain burning up his arm.

Joshua had the alley wall at his back, and he waited, trying to keep tears from welling and blinding him.

The Al’ar attacked again, and Joshua ducked his head to the side and sent a hammer strike into the Al’ar’s chest. The alien squealed and fell, and one of his friends dragged him back. The other two hesitated, then grabbed the third by the shoulders and were gone into the evening mist.

Joshua fought pain, fought collapse.

Another Al’ar moved out of the darkness.

“You fought well,”
he said.
“For a groundworm.”

That was one of the Al’ar terms for terrestrials.

“To the mud with you,”
Joshua managed.
“If you wish to share what your friends found, you have but to ask.”

“I desire no self-proving this evening,”
the Al’ar said. Joshua only half understood his words. His family had been stationed on Sauros for only three E-months, and he was still being tutored.

“Then remove your worthless self from my way.”
Joshua limped forward.

“I will help you,”
the Al’ar said, seemingly undisturbed by the insults. He stepped forward, and Joshua managed a guard stance.

“You need not fear me. I have spoken my intent.”

Joshua hesitated, then, for an unknown reason, let the Al’ar lift his arm around his neck. All the Al’ar appeared emaciated but were able to lift far more than most terrestrials — another mystery unanswered.

“I live — ”

“I know your burrow,”
the Al’ar said.
“You are the hatchling of the One Who Speaks for All Groundlings.”
Astonishingly, the Al’ar continued in strangely accented Terran: “Your word is ‘Ambassador’?”

Joshua stopped in his tracks. “You speak my language! No one has ever done that.”

“There are a few of us who are … weird? No, aberrant It is not thought good to … reduce yourself and speak like a Lesser One.”

“Thank you for very little. I will not embarrass you any more,”
Joshua said.
“I must learn your words better, anyway.”

The Al’ar made no response, and they limped on.

“I was interested seeing the way you fought,”
the Al’ar said.
“I have never seen a groundworm do that.”

“It has the name of — ”
Joshua was forced back into Terran. “ — tae kwan do.” Then he returned to Al’ar.
“It is a discipline you must work at My father is a master, and when I learned all he had, he found one who was his master to teach me more.”

“Perhaps you should learn our ways of fighting. They are very deadly. Those hatchlings were but toying with you. If they had learned their skills well or intended real harm, you would not be on this plane. So I would say our ways are better than your
tae kwan do.”

“Who would teach me?”

“Perhaps,”
the Al’ar said,
“I might If I wished.”
Joshua stared at the alien but decided not to question him.

“Why,”
Joshua asked,
“did they attack me?”

“Because they were curious.”

“Three of them against one? And hitting me from behind?”

The Al’ar turned his snakelike head toward the boy.
“But of course,”
he said, and Joshua thought he distinguished surprise.
“Would you have us fight one at a time from the front? That way dictates loss. Pain.”

“That is what we call
— ” Joshua hunted for the word, couldn’t find it in Al’ar, and switched to Terran. “ — a coward.”

“That is a word I have seen but do not understand.”

“We do not respect those who lack courage to fight
— ” Again there was no Al’ar word, so he returned to Terran. “ — fairly.”

“I think my mind can hear that last word and know it. We have our customs, you have yours.”

“So why are you helping me?”

There was a silence.

“I do not know,”
the Al’ar said finally.
“Sometimes I think I am mad.”

“You are the first Al’ar who has been anything other than a … a worm turd to me.”

“As I said, there are those who think me mad. But you do not have my name. You may call me Taen. Perhaps that explains my behavior, for it would be, in your language, the One Who Stands Aside and Wonders.”

• • •

Joshua’s eyes opened, and the ship noticed and brought the lights up slightly. He lay without moving for a while.

“Now why,” he mused, “didn’t that dream bother me?”

After a while his eyes closed, his breathing became regular, and the ship, after the programmed time, dimmed the lights.

* * *

• • •

The
Grayle
came in on a lazy braking orbit, the ship circling Trinité three times before closing on the main island of Morne-des-Esses, giving Wolfe a chance to turn computer images into reality.

Trinité was mostly water and islands, with two desert landmasses near the equator that cut the tidal action of the triple moons and made the equatorial islands habitable and the shallow seas around them navigable. North and south of the continents the waves rolled ceaselessly, hammering at the few rocky skerries that still jutted from the boiling seas.

Morne-des-Esses curled like a protective snake around half a hundred tiny islets. The world’s capital and only real city, Diamant, sat on Morne-des-Esses’s largest bay, its streets twisting up the steep hills that ran almost to the water’s edge.

“I have Trinité Control on-line. Need input.”

“Patch ‘em through,” a speaker went on. “Trinité Control, what’s your problem?”

“Negative problem,”
the voice said, and Wolfe wondered why it was obligatory for all pilots and navigation points, human or roboticized, to drawl as if there were all the time in the world.
“We have two landing options, as your ship was advised. One is Wule, conventional spaceport, all facilities, on land. The other is Diamant Port, just offshore from the city. Your charts should indicate details. Ships berth like watercraft at buoys, com links available at buoy head, water taxis available on call or signal.

“Wule Port is ten credits a day, Diamant fifty. Have you reached a decision?”

“That’s affirm, Trinité Control. We’ll take Diamant.”

“Understood. Turning you over to Diamant Subcontrol.”

“Take it on in,” Wolfe said. “Try to land like a rich bitch’s yacht. Blow spray in somebody’s face or something.”

“Assumption: That is not an order,”
the ship said.
“You are making a joke.”