Chapter Twenty-Nine
Marker Two
It was a half-hour to M-2 on a crowded shuttle, though Tessa and her new husband weren't with us. We exited quickly upon docking and retrieved our pallet five minutes later. I walked purposefully, knowing exactly where I was going.
This was Marker Two. I'd lived here with my mother for fifteen years, until she'd died. Then stayed three years after that, until I'd entered the academy.
I knew exactly where I was going.
M-2, like M-1, was a cylinder, but more squat, with three wide access rings splitting it irregularly, and two series of smaller gate rings on Level 2 and Level 8. Access rings and gate rings served as landing pads for small shuttles and cargo tenders.
Fleet offices filled Levels 1 through 11. We'd docked on 13, in the middle of the commercial levels. Shops, pubs, private offices flanked both sides of the curved corridor.
I found the bank of lifts I wanted, crowded the three of us and the pallet into the narrow lift. No room for anyone else. We headed down.
Below the commercial levels was residential, both Fleet and private, through private was kept separate in a small section of Level 17.
We descended past that, heading for Level 27. Storage, auxiliary offices, maintenance. And, if we were correct, one level from a fully operating gen-lab.
But we couldn't head there, yet. Not dressed as Englarians, in full view of everyone scurrying through M-2's corridors. No one must be able to connect the destruction of the gen-labs with the church. Not simply out of any concerns for Englarians, but because we still needed our identities in order to get back to the Karn, unquestioned and alive.
Our request, under a fictitious company name, for rental of storage space on M-2 had provided us with knowledge of bays and offices that were empty. We chose one down a side corridor that on the schematics would be out of the way of most pedestrian traffic. I remembered it being so, as well.
There hadn't been much else to do when you're sixteen, an orphan-unless you count the father you never see-and the only respite you get from the overbearing guardian the court appointed to watch over you is a game of hide and seek. I'd easily slip the lock on my mother's apartment after Proctor Fernanda would leave. Dinner and, as far as she was concerned, her duties for the day were concluded. Then I'd just as easily slip into the throngs of stationers going somewhere, going anywhere, for the night.
There were others like me, but not many. Six of us the year I turned seventeen. We'd steal bottles of ale from unsuspecting droid waiters' carts and head downlevel, savoring our freedom as we sipped our ale. Sooner or later someone would break out a deck of cards. We'd drink, laugh and gamble. Sometimes, there was even a little kiss and grope.
And sometimes there was a flask of honeylace, a pipe of rafthkra. Not for me. Amaris was dead but she wasn't gone. She'd made me promise her-always have fun in life. But never, ever be stupid. Only fools have no fears or refuse to see the danger in front of them.
I had a friend die from an overdose of rafthkra. And I'd heard stories of people who drank too much honeylace and thought they'd grown wings, like soul-stealing shape-shifters, and tried to fly.
I had fears, well-grounded fears. I was no fool.
I walked down Level 27's corridor with Sully, Ren and all these memories by my side. Knowing exactly when the groups of stationers would thin, as they did. Knowing exactly when more offices were closed, or vacant, which they were. I saw the signs of decay, of neglect. And now and then, an empty ale bottle, tucked between the hand railing and the corridor's inner wall.
If the neck pointed up, tonight's party was on. Down, party was off.
"Really?" Sully seemed impressed when I pointed it out. Ren laughed softly, a bubbling stream, as frothy as ale.
Green 8. A short corridor, dead-ending at station core. A core that was a large maintenance shaft, holding lifts and pipes and clusters of cables. Crisscrossed with scaffolding, thin metal ladders. Emergency exits. Narrow tool bays.
I knew all that, too. Another world, when you're seventeen. Behind the scenes, behind the walls and bulkheadings. Private, dark, mysterious, dangerous.
I knew the moment I stepped into it, two words would sound in my mind: welcome home.
* * *
Ren and I stood together in a meditative stance, heads bowed, our bodies shielding Sully as he played with the lockpad by the door. Our pallet was skewed, one end resting on the decking, the other wobbling in midair. To anyone passing by, we were two luckless monks, praying while waiting for a repair tech.
Three people did. We nodded, smiled, blessed them. Yes, unfortunate how no one made a reliable pallet anymore. Blessings of the hour.
"Got it!" A hushed, gleeful exclamation sounded behind us.
We stepped quickly into the dark, windowless room. The door slid closed, relocking with a muted click. The next click was the lights. One overhead. The others were burned out.
"They wanted three-hundred twenty five credits a month for this dump?" Sully put his hands on his hips, surveyed the room.
"Sinful," Ren agreed.
"Bathroom works. Shower, no tub," I announced.
Ren nodded. "That's sufficient, if we're delayed."
I hoped we wouldn't be. We had eight hours until our first meet-point with the Karn, arriving as the Lambent Beacon, back at Marker Terminal. If we weren't there, Gregor had instructions to return at the twelve-hour mark, under another ship name. Our third and final meet-point at the Terminal was at twenty-four from when we disembarked.
There was no fourth meet-point. After that, we'd be on our own. Or dead.
We pulled off the robes and folded them. Opened the duffels, pulled out weapons and explosives. I sat on the floor and began assembling the small charges laced with poison gases.
"Let that wait." Sully knelt next to me, a dark and powerful figure in black fatigue pants and black high-necked thermal shirt. Black holster straps hugged his shoulders; the Carver snugged against his left side. "Our first priority's to confirm location."
He found the small datapad, flipped it on and brought up M-2's schematics. We were in Green 8, Level 27. The gen-labs were on Level 28, M-2's lowest level, with a small access ring running around its perimeter. The labs were either in a converted storage area on Level 28-Blue, directly across from Green. Or Level 28-Yellow, between Green and Blue.
Sully snatched his jacket from where he'd dropped it on the floor. "I want to find that lab. I want to make that first meet-point and get the hell out of here."
I put down the casing and arched an eyebrow. "Late for a hot date?"
"No. A wedding." He winked then pulled me to my feet. "What's your guess, Ren? Level 28 Blue or Yellow?"
"Blue," Ren said, without hesitation.
"Fine. I'll take Yellow. Double or nothing?"
"Agreed. Double or nothing."
"You're witness to this, Chaz."
"I'm witness to this, Sully."
I looked at Ren. "How much does he... No. Forget it. I don't want to know."
Sully slapped me affectionately on my rump. He handed me my dark green jacket. "Let's go."
He unlocked the door to the corridor. We stepped through, listening but heard nothing. There was an access panel a few feet away at the corridor's end. I had it unlatched, sliding sideways in a matter of seconds, feeling sixteen years old again. Slightly giddy. And more than a bit frightened.
I squatted down, squeezed through with Sully immediately behind me, sliding the panel closed.
Abrupt darkness closed around me. I crouched, unmoving, aware of the open grating under my boots, aware of the low railing at my back. Aware of the open core behind that, a drop of hundreds of feet to the bottom filled with the hard, jutting forms of generators and recycs and other machinery that kept M-2 alive.
Aware of Sully next to me, our shoulders and thighs touching. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the red-tinged dimness.
Shadows sharpened and became less muddy. Everything was painted in shades of gray and black and dark red. A constant clanking of lift mechanisms far to our right and left echoed hollowly. Thin stripes of light showed the location of lift corridor doors. And there were other noises. Water rushing through pipes, the occasional squeal of metal stressing.
I turned, still hunkered down, put my back against the wall and took a deep breath of the cold, sharp air. Sully moved as I did. We did nothing, said nothing for a moment. Just so I could hear it clearly.
Welcome home.
I felt, more than saw, his wicked Sully-grin. "Downlevel?" he whispered.
"Downlevel."
We soft-footed, carefully, quickly. It was always possible to run into a maintenance tech or worse, a crew. But, as I'd told Sully and Ren while we were on the Karn, they were typically loud, noisy. They had a right to be in the core. Stealth was unnecessary for them.
The double red light on the wall ahead signaled a ladder. I headed for it, stopped just short of it and touched Sully's arm. "The double lights," I whispered. "Down or up, they-"
His hand clamped over my mouth just as a noisy clang sounded followed by several short clanks. A light flashed above us as an accessway opened. We flattened ourselves against the walls.
A woman's voice sounded harsh, tired. "Goddamned breaker feeds. Think they'd invent one that'd last more than two goddamned weeks."
Another voice, unintelligible but male, filtered in from the corridor.
"Yeah, yeah, budget. Well, screw budget," she answered. There was more clanking, then a hissing sound and a loud clank.
Then darkness.
I let out my breath in a long rush. "Sully-"
"Hush, Chasidah." Fingers against my lips. Listen.
I listened.
Let me link with you. There is safety in this. No sounds from us as we move, but no lapse in information either.
I started to open my mouth to speak but caught my action. You can do this, without touching me? I was used to the occasional mental comments that accompanied his touch, but didn't know he could keep a constant link with me especially when we were single file on a narrow walkway. I wasn't a Stolorth, or Ragkir. Then I remembered his angry probe spearing my thoughts when we'd encountered the Morgan Loviti.
I can, yes. He hesitated for a moment and I damned the uncertainty he no doubt had sensed in my mind. Will you be comfortable with this?
Yes. No problems. After all, he'd also been in my mind when we made love.
Okay. I felt his smile, his warmth. Got it.
I reached for the ladder. Stopped and put my fingers instead on his arm. Sully?
Yes, Chasidah.
All my thoughts? When we made love, I was focused on him. But I belatedly realized now that our current situation might lend itself to some rather undiplomatic thoughts on my part from time to time. I'd be in the captain-mode, not lover-mode. I didn't want him hurt by the kind of things he'd uncovered when we'd met up with Philip's ship.
Except for emergencies, your touch or mine is the signal.
I climbed down first, Sully following. Reached Level 28's grated, narrow platform. Swung off the ladder, grabbed the handholds, scooted sideways.
Touch. Blue's across the way, I told him. Yellow's closer.
Double or nothing?
Oh, shut up.
It took us five minutes to go a quarter of the way around the core, almost to the single bank of lifts between Yellow and Blue. There were no more interruptions, no more flashes of light. Only the clank and clatter and hiss of a station at work.
I stopped at the third access panel, its handle painted yellow as the one we'd entered through was painted green. It was difficult to see in the dim lighting but then maintenance techs all had handbeams. We did too, but not to use right now. Not unless we had to.
Touch. Mid-point here, I told him. We had to exit the access, unseen, and cross the corridor. Blend into any stationers passing by, our jackets covering our weapons.
He fingered the access lock. Ready?
I nodded. He pulled it back an inch. I listened, held up one hand when I heard footsteps, forgetting I could send my thoughts. The footsteps faded.
Touch. I remembered this time. Okay.
He slid the access hatch sideways. We slipped through, straightening quickly as if we just stepped from an office, not the core.
The corridor was quiet, though I could hear voices far behind us. Sully draped on arm over my shoulder, pinning my braid down. I reached back and flipped it out. He snugged me closer. Just two freighter crew or techs on break, catching a little body-heat time.
Windowless metal doors studded the bulkhead on our left. Some had names. In-system Datatronics. Alexander Sound and Vid. Storage Locker 6-Yellow.
We were looking for Storage Bay 10-Yellow.
A man in a blue lab coat walked quickly by, head down, eyes on the datapad in his hand. I turned casually as he passed to read the letters on the back of his coat. In-system Datatronics.
What did I expect, Jukor Gen-Labs?
Probably won't say Crossley Burke, either.
Quit peeking!
Gentle laughter filtered through his link with me. Sorry.
Sorry, my ass.
We can discuss that as well, if you like. But later.
I elbowed him. So much for a subtle touch signaling my thoughts.
But I knew what he was doing. My heart pounded. I'd crossed nervous when we'd left our appropriated office on Level 27. I was into scared that could head easily into panic, Fleet training or no. He was trying to keep me relaxed, trying to keep me from focusing on the fact that I had to face a jukor again.
Only fools, as Amaris had taught me, had no fears. And jukors, winged hellspawned demons that were immune even to the mind talents of a Ragkiril, ranked right up there on the top of my list.
Storage Bay 9.
We slowed. I could see a wide set of doors about ten feet ahead of us on the left. I sniffed. Nothing. We came closer. I sniffed again. Jukors had a rank, rotting smell. Though how someone wouldn't notice, and inquire, had probably already been considered by Cousin Hayden and friends. They'd have to have put powerful air recyclers in place.
Storage Bay 10. Doors were locked, in need of painting. But the dust on the decking was mottled, unlike the undisturbed coating of dust in front of Storage Bay 9.
Someone had walked through those doors, recently.
Sully slowed, stopping a few feet past. Touch. Wait. One hand rested on my shoulder, the other in his pocket. He pulled out a handful of lightpens and dropped them on the floor. Then bent down to pick them up.
Innocent and not uncommon situation.
I stooped to help.
His eyes were infinite, dark. He stared over my shoulder as I picked up the pens, one by one. Something hazed, flickered over his face, briefly, very briefly. If I hadn't seen it before, I wouldn't have noticed it.
Gray fuzzy soft.
Then it was gone. He pulled me to my feet and pushed us onward.
Touch. No.
No? Disappointment mixed with relief. That means 17-Blue.
Great. There goes my shot at double or nothing.
The arm draped over my shoulder seemed to weigh a little heavier this time.
We crossed into Blue. Our target was another storage bay. This one was numbered 17.
More offices, more repair shops. Many more doors with no names. Several storage lockers and bays. We almost collided with two stripers exiting from one, a pallet between them loaded with boxes labeled 'toilet paper.'
I scooted sideways as soon as I saw the uniforms. Shit!
Prophetic, that.
Oh, shut up.
Yes, my angel.
The stripers didn't even look twice at us. Marker Shipyards had always prided itself on its security. If you were on M-2, then you'd been cleared and belonged here.
Storage Bay 15. 16. Then 17, only a few steps away. I was prepared for the routine this time: pens scattering to the floor and both of us bending down. Sully turned. His eyes seemed incredibly dark, incredibly distant. I caught the faint shimmer of something silvery. But for a few seconds longer this time.
I tried sniffing but smelled only dust this close to the decking. But here too, the dust in front of 17 was blotchy.
Sully straightened, slowly, took the pens I offered, pocketing them absently. His arm clasped tightly around my shoulders, moving me on. We walked.
Sully?
No answer. His eyes were still dark, no difference between pupil and iris but all obsidian. Hard.
We kept walking.
Sully?
A minute.
My heart started pounding, hard. I waited and felt as if my throat wanted to close up.
He pulled me into a side corridor and pushed my back against the wall, his body covering mine. I could feel him breathing hard, almost rasping now. I raised my hands to his shoulders. To anyone passing by, we were lovers, catching that serious body-heat time.
He closed his eyes, his lips resting against my forehead. Then his finger touched my mouth. Chasidah?
I nodded, waited, listened. Heard one word.
Yes.