Queen of Chaos, page 20
part #3 of Sequoyah Series
“Oh, I’ll send them somewhere safe. Don’t worry. I’m thinking stripped–down survival shelters, or retrofitted containers. They just have to hold atmosphere for a few hours.”
“How can you be sure they’ll get picked up in time?” Gren wanted to know.
Moire grinned. “I’ll make it completely irresistible. Don’t worry about that. Just fix up enough for every one of those bastards. And they don’t have to be comfortable, either.”
“Moire, what are you planning?” Ennis murmured, gently rubbing her back as Gren stumped away.
“I’m going to put Sequoyah’s coordinates on the outside of the shelters,” Moire said. “The secret isn’t going to last. Might as well give Toren some competition.”
Chapter 11
Charlie Does the Foxtrot
Moire eyed the dropout indicator, one hand loose on the realspace controls. “Ready, shuttle?”
“Ready as I'll ever be,” Lorai said over the comm. She didn't sound like her usual happy–go–lucky self, and Moire couldn't blame her. Kulvar was bad enough, and now sneaky spy–stuff with the shuttle on top of it. And in her case, Kilberton was back on Sequoyah attempting to put the mobile web–detector system in action so she had to dock Raven all by herself. Getting spoiled, she was.
The indicator blinked, Moire hit the dropout, and immediately started scoping out the possibilities on the screen. Yolanda was watching too.
“How about that three–engine rig? Big enough?”
“Yeah, but it looks rough–edge. Gotta be a clean ship. Hey, big freighter—up three an' out two. They'd never let them dock that thing on Kulvar; they'd hafta use shuttles.”
“See it,” Moire muttered, altering her course just a bit. “Signal?”
Yolanda stared at her screen. “Not much. What we expected.”
“Shuttle free and shadowing,” Moire said into the comm. The indicator pinlight for the exterior dock flickered from green to red. Yolanda Menehune was cursing under her breath, manipulating the communications console.
“Shuttle, freighter is Daisunae Ri with a listed dock of two thirty–four. Say the main shuttle is usin' it or something and ask around,” Yolanda said.
“Coming in for drop.” Moire eyed the approaching freighter and slowed her speed. They were in line, the freighter blocking Kulvar's sensors. “Go shuttle!” She pulled a sharp turn up and away, as if suddenly realizing how close the freighter was. There were enough crappy pilots around here it wouldn't even be noticed, and there was the shuttle, hiding in the shadow just like they'd planned. Now Lorai could pretend to be coming from the big freighter and have no connection to her piratical self. Moire nodded to Yolanda, who opened up another channel to negotiate their supposedly only dock.
This had been Ennis's idea. He was even more paranoid about Toren showing up on Sequoyah than she was, if that were possible. They needed more ammunition, medkits, all kinds of stuff that would bring unwanted attention when Zandovar was too suspicious as it was. So they had brought extra crew, none of whom had been to Kulvar before, and Ennis and Yolanda had briefed, trained, and harangued them on how to survive and not blow cover. They would go out in separate teams, get the gear, and bring it back to the shuttle that would now be associated with the freighter Daisunae Ri. She hoped that wouldn't cause the freighter trouble, but really, did anyone innocent show up at Kulvar?
Ennis entered the bridge, already in his Kulvar native disguise—jacket with Raven insignia, boots with strange metal plates and rivets, and a black shipsuit discreetly covered by roustabout trousers and a vest with stiffened protective sections.
“You're going out with the decoys too?” Moire asked, resigned.
He grinned. “Decoys have to be noticed to work. Besides, it has to look like one of our regular supply runs.”
“Huh. Ask if anybody has heavy shells; I always do.”
“If I have time.”
Moire rolled her eyes. “I thought you were going to do decoy shopping?”
“We need new gear for the midnite,” Ennis said, his face carefully bland. “We can't go like this; Zandovar would be offended.” He gestured at his current outfit.
“What's wrong with the stuff I've already got? We don't need any new gear! Besides, what you are thinking of costs a lot of money. Money better spent on bulk purchases of bloodglue,” Moire grumped.
“He's right. Show up in yer grubbies, might as well not show up at all,” Yolanda said. Seeing Moire's expression become more cheerful, she added pointedly, “and we already discussed this. Ya gotta go if we want to come back again, ever. So do it right and stop whining.”
Moire slumped back down in the pilot's chair. “If I was a real pirate I could shoot you for being an insubordinate smart–ass,” she grumbled.
“Ain't worried; I seen you shoot,” Yolanda shouted back as she left the bridge.
“Fine. We'll look nice for our funerals,” Moire said, glaring at Ennis who was shaking with suppressed laughter. “Try to find some cheap criminal party clothes, will you?”
“I'm getting substantial hazardous duty bonuses,” Ennis said. “If the general fund runs out I can extend you a loan.”
“Might have to take you up on that. We haven't had time to fix up any ships to sell, and all the wrecks we bring back are getting used as quarters or orbital defense. Good thing everybody is taking their pay in land or I'd really be—” She looked up, startled, as Harrington entered the bridge, followed by Inathka. “Aren't you supposed to be locked up?”
“She has a suggestion I thought you would find interesting,” Harrington interjected smoothly. “Involving improving the security of this ship.”
Moire narrowed her eyes. “Why now? Why not earlier?”
“'Cause I just got it workin', an' I knew you'd take it with a nose,” Inathka mumbled, but she kept her head up. “Keep the govmint from gettin' in; anybody else too. Kulvar fulla pokarounds, usta be one myself.”
“Yeah, I remember. Can you think of a reason why I wouldn't want you mucking with my ship, then?”
Inathka blinked, then shook her head. “But you'd know about it! You got me outta Zandovar's slave bin; remember that? Think I'd wanna go back to it? Got even more reason than you, keep them hardbodies off an' out.”
Moire glanced up at Ennis. He gave Inathka a hard, appraising look. “She's correct. Most of the usefulness is in keeping the device hidden. I wouldn't advise trusting her alone just yet, but if she does the installs under supervision and we keep the controls, it should be all right.”
“Great. Harrington, you just volunteered.” Moire got up from the pilot's chair and stretched. Inathka seemed genuinely worried, and she would have a better idea of what to watch out for here. Ennis could double–check the work and see if they could trust her further. “I'm all for keeping this visit nice and quiet.”
¤ ¤ ¤
Alan checked his weapon again, trying to remember all the rules that were new. He couldn't take his sniper rifle—Ennis said it wouldn't help here, and the other people would wonder why he had it and maybe take it away. The fabric of his new shirt was slippery, and it was hard to keep the butt of the new gun from slipping on his shoulder. If he shot it, he would have to hold it very tight. The new shirt felt good, though. Soft, and it had little gold points all over. Lots of people had new clothes for the midnite. Mostly they were black, which wasn't very interesting. It would have been even nicer with red and blue and orange.
His mother had new clothes too, but she didn't seem to like them. He wasn't sure if he liked them either. They made her look like a different person, maybe one that wasn't very nice. She had a black silk thing tied over her head and dangling down the side. The gold dragon he and the other Created had given her—she always had that. That was OK. But instead of a regular jacket she was wearing a vest that looked like it was made of dark scales, and the shirt under it didn't come up all the way. The sleeves were too short too, and he could see the white scars slashed on her arms. Moire always hid those, and he was glad. Seeing them made him feel strange.
Ennis looked like a different person too. His hair looked all wet, but still curly, and while he had a jacket, it went all the way to the floor and he didn't have a shirt at all. This must be a very strange party. Alan was glad he got to stay on the outside, with the other crew.
“Alan. Try and persuade the critter it wants to be with you.” His mother was keeping her voice calm, like they had learned to do when the nerya was nervous, but he could see the muscles in her jaw flexing.
He made a soft chittering noise in the back of his throat. Ash had taught him how. The nerya's head popped up from beneath her hair, all three eyes in front. That was good, it wasn't frightened. He chittered again, and the nerya flowed down his mother's arm and jumped to him. Alan tapped its head softly, and it cheeped.
“Good job, kid. Everybody ready? Remember—you are one of my crew, and therefore dangerous. Don't start anything, but look like it's only my explicit orders preventing you.”
She turned away, and had only taken one step when the little nerya yeeped and sprang suddenly, landing spread–eagled on top of her head. The headscarf confused it, and it grumbled as it slipped until it found itself back in its preferred location, in the crook of her neck.
Alan reached for it, but it skittered away. “It doesn't want to go. If you wait it might, though.”
She shook her head. “We can't be late. It had better behave itself and not run off because I am not going back for the little furball. Idiot nerya.”
“I think it gives you a properly piratical air,” Ennis said, with the kind of face that didn't look like it was laughing even though it was. “Suitably updated.”
“Gaaaaah,” Moire snarled and strode out.
It wasn't the whole crew, but most of the regular ones. They moved through the corridors in a big black group, not too close. Alan could hear the instructions Ennis had given them all, repeating in his head. Observe, but don't stare. Notice what is unusual. There weren't that many people out, but he knew why already. The party was a big one, all over the dangerous parts of the station. Only very important people got to go to the party at Zandovar's place, where they were going. In the corridors he saw just a few of the ones George called the lump people, who didn't move much of anywhere and looked like they were dying.
So quiet, too. The few people who were in the corridors scrambled to get out of their way, especially if they saw Moire's face. A big man in grimy coveralls was towing several linked float–pallets loaded with compressed plastifiber blocks and other reuseables, and he had to scramble to get it all to one side of the corridor.
Alan gave the man and the float–pallets a quick glance as they passed. He wasn't sure what made him notice it so much. There weren't many other worker people out now. The man didn't seem like the other reusable gatherers he'd seen, either. Nobody seemed to like the job, but this man didn't seem to care. The float–pallets weren't completely full, but there wasn't much empty space either, and he was headed in the direction of the docks, not back to the processing station. Maybe he was going to pick up from one more small ship before he stopped for the party? That would make sense. Alan relaxed and looked around for more things to think about.
Kulvar wasn't that bad when there wasn't yelling or fighting. He wondered why they didn't have parties more often. Did they like fighting? Alan always wanted to make anything fighting him to go away as fast as possible, even if that meant fighting back.
Now they were going past the big door that went to the upper levels that were safer. They hadn't docked up there, so they didn't have to go through this time and make the guards let them in. Alan blinked, surprised. The big door was open all the way, and while the guards were still there they were just standing around and not making people pay them. One was even talking to a woman who was dressed like an ordinary person—an ordinary person on a nice station, he amended. A slender girl with wide, mournful eyes stood behind her, tense and nervous. She kept looking at the door and then looking away.
Alan glanced back after they had passed the door, and that's when he saw the guard point to them.
“Mo—Captain.” Alan tilted his head back just a little, indicating the woman who was headed their way, a grim, purposeful look on her face. The girl trailed behind, her expression even more unhappy. Moire stopped, and the woman strode right up to her. She was considerably shorter than his mother, but it was like she didn't know that.
“I'm looking for someone wearing a jacket with a black bird on it,” the woman said. “Like that.” She pointed at one of the crew who didn't have fancy new clothes.
“Come back later,” Moire said, looking bored and annoyed. “I have no time for you now.”
“My husband has been missing for nearly four years. Don't tell me to be patient! I got a message from him, from this station, and the clerk said someone with a grey jacket with a black bird sent it. It wasn't him, and nobody has seen him on this station. He said his ship was wrecked, and he was rescued…just tell me where to find him, please.”
Alan glanced at his mother, eyes wide and about to speak until he saw her make the handsign that meant “don't say anything.” He felt hurt. He knew better than to say any of the secrets, like Radersent, or Sequoyah. It must be something that he didn't know was a secret? Sometimes it was hard to remember.
“She shouldn't be running around here,” Ennis said in a quiet voice, his eyes flicking around. Some people, including the guards, were starting to watch. “Better hold her until we get back.”
Moire nodded once, sharply. “Right. Dammit, I don't need this…Alan, Jensen, Siguero—take them both back to the ship and secure them. Call back when you're done and don't leave until I tell you to, got that? Now let's move before anybody else gets in our way.”
Alan wasn't sure what to do. Everyone said look mean, act mean out here, but he knew his mother didn't want him to hurt them. The small woman was angry and didn't want to go, and the girl was starting to cry. The two crew grabbed the woman and started to drag her away. Alan stared at the girl and hoped he looked mean.
“Move,” he said, and the girl whimpered and ran to the woman. He wanted to tell her it was all right and she wasn't going to be hurt, but he couldn't out here where the real Kulvar people could hear.
He felt different being in a small group, and he watched everything even more carefully than when they left. That's why he noticed the edge of a float–pallet near their dock. He walked faster, moving ahead to check it out. It was piled high with plastifiber cubes, one of which he recognized because there was a big blue piece on the side from a starch–puff bag, just like he had seen earlier. But this was only one pallet, and the man had been pulling at least three. And why was it here, instead of at the cargo hatch where the reusables always got picked up? Nobody used the personnel hatch.
He felt better when he saw their hatch open and a familiar face.
“What the—what happened?”
Alan pushed past. “She said bring them here and keep them secure. Where can we do that?”
“Why are you doing this? We just wanted to ask some questions!” the woman yelled. “Let us go!”
Now that they were on the ship they could talk. “We are helping, really!” Alan said. “We can take you to Perwaty. I think we can,” he added, cautiously. “Or bring him to you.”
“Where is he?” the little woman asked, staring at him intently. “Is he all right?”
“He's…at home,” Alan paused, “and he isn't hurt or anything. We found him in his wrecked ship. Um, I'm not supposed to say any more. When my mom gets back she can tell you.”
“But why do we have to stay here?” the girl blurted, looking frightened by the sound of her own voice.
“Because there are lots of bad people on Kulvar. You have to follow rules, and you were doing it wrong.” Alan remembered he was to call in now that he was here. The comm wasn't working. He tried again, but the little screen just said unable to contact code. Was it broken? What should he do now?
¤ ¤ ¤
Zandovar's private area was subtly and expensively decorated, sometimes with people. At the entrance a man and a woman with stunning physiques and clad only in some kind of dark, nacreous paint like black pearl greeted the guests. The whites of their eyes had even been darkened somehow. The effect was eerie. Their greetings were sometimes quite physical, if the guest appeared interested.
“I guess that paint doesn't rub off,” Moire muttered softly.
“Amazing stuff,” Ennis agreed.
“Let's find Zandovar. The sooner we tell him how much fun we are having the sooner we can leave.”
Ennis shook his head, smiling slightly. “Sorry. He won't even show until everyone is here.”
“I hope everybody hurries up, then,” Moire said, glancing around. “Zandovar really put on a show.”
The adaptive walls, which she had last seen when Ash was dripping blood everywhere, had been changed to reflect the dark pearl theme. A wispy servant wearing shreds of dark green film like seaweed offered wreaths of dark pearlized flowers. Moire felt the nerya shift when the wreath was placed on her head, but it didn't reveal itself from underneath the black headwrap. Maybe it would, and Zandovar would be repulsed and tell them to leave?
“You look like you might be enjoying yourself a little,” Ennis murmured. “Or was that a nervous twitch?”
“Momentary lapse. Won't happen again. Do we dare eat the food?”
“We should at least pretend to. You know, pick some up, wander around, drop it off after playing with it. Or feed it to the fluffball—it would probably regard any nasty additions as flavoring.”
They were in the conservatory now, where the plants were backlit with something that made them fluoresce, and long sheets of dark shimmering fabric hung from the cathedral ceiling. A woman in a thin, dark pearl kimono was playing an instrument like a zither. A few other guests were standing in small groups, silently watching each other. Those faces that had expressions looked tense or uncomfortable.
