The gang leader’s body was naked. It was also missing more than clothes. The work had been carried out slowly and with care. Even to Subar’s young eyes, which were inexperienced in such matters, it was clear that a certain amount of time had been expended. Too mesmerized to run and too horrified to turn away, as he examined the crumpled corpse from the vantage point of the high bathroom window he found himself surprised that so much of a person could be removed while still leaving the basic shape intact. There was also a lot less blood than might have been expected, no doubt because the bulk of it had been drained off earlier. He could not recall where he had heard the hoary old expression dying by inches. He did not know what an inch was, but the pithy phrase had stuck with him nevertheless.
As he looked on, the tall, slender alien disappeared from view. The creature reappeared a moment later wrestling a naked, bound figure in front of him. Or her. Knowing nothing of the furry, high-eared species, Subar was unable to sex it. Despite his lack of clothing the new prisoner, however, was immediately familiar. Dirran struggled futilely against his bindings. They were causing him considerable discomfort, as were the neat, even strips of skin that were hanging from his face and other parts of his body. His appearance was shocking enough to stop the girls’ screaming.
Leaning forward, the large muscular man began yelling first into Zezula’s face, then Missi’s. Subar reconsidered. Maybe Chaloni hadn’t told his captors everything. Or despite his captors’ ghoulish professionalism, maybe the gang leader had been inconsiderate enough to expire before babbling everything he knew. Otherwise, why were Dirran, Zezula, Missi, and Sallow Behdul still alive? Why hadn’t they already been skyed screaming down the road Chaloni had taken?
A moment later, the subjects of his wondering were reduced by one as the alien placed a huge hand over each side of Dirran’s head, lifted him off the floor, and gave a single sharp, athletic twist. Subar did not hear the snap. He didn’t have to, because Dirran was now looking directly back at the alien while the rest of his body continued to face forward. Exhibiting an air of complete indifference, the creature tossed the now lifeless body onto the couch. It landed between Zezula and Missi, who despite their bonds did their frantic, panicky best to edge away from it.
This time the big man yelled first at Missi before switching to Zezula. A hard, open hand began to rise and descend, rise and descend. A helpless Subar could only watch and grind his teeth. Hair flying, Zezula’s head snapped back and forth until the man stopped; then it dropped forward onto her chest. Every muscle, every ligament and tendon in Subar’s body felt stretched tight enough to snap. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do.
He needed a weapon. But even if he had one, he realized, using it would mean going up against four professionals and trying to take them out without getting any of his friends hurt in the process. He was neither that good nor that experienced a shot.
More than at any previous time in his young life, he felt completely helpless.
Picking up the unconscious Zezula, the alien effortlessly tossed her onto the shoulder that had previously been occupied by Chaloni. The man who had conducted the interrogation gripped the sobbing Missi by one arm. Ungently yanking her off the couch, he shoved her toward the doorway. Turning back, he vanished briefly from view before returning with a more thoroughly bound Sallow Behdul. The big youth’s expression was blank as he stumbled after Missi. He looked like someone already dead who was only continuing with the motions of living because he had been ordered to do so.
It was at that moment, making a last check of the priv place, that the interrogator happened to glance up as well as back. His eyes met Subar’s. Both sets of opposing oculars widened simultaneously.
The big man shouted as Subar bolted. Absolute terror lent extra energy to his legs and feet. Behind him he could hear more shouts and the sounds of heavy feet pounding on rooftop. A glance backward showed the Amazonian twins in hot pursuit. One was aiming a device in his direction.
As he made the leap across to the next building, something seared his right arm as if it had come in contact with a heated metal bar. Looking down, he saw wisps of smoke rising from his skin. The smell of his own burning flesh would have made him gag, if he’d had the time to squander on such things. The voices behind him commanded him to stop. Remembering the sight of Chaloni and what had been done to Dirran, he knew that his chances for survival would be better if he simply threw himself off the nearest roof.
He was small but quick. In the teeming, festering warren that was Alewev, those were advantages. Down a chute he went, barely bothering to thrust out hands and feet to slow his descent. Then up a serviceway, across a bridge of parallel power conduits, down yet another gap between two buildings, and out onto a side street. No one there even bothered to look in his direction. Like poverty and powerlessness, flight and pursuit were part and partial of everyday life in the district.
The rooftop meeting room wasn’t the only covert location known to the members of the rapidly disintegrating pod. In addition to their collective hidey-holes, each of them had his or her own special, private places. Out of breath, strength, and adrenaline, Subar finally threw himself into one of several service bins that were bolted to the back of a large refuse recycler. Inside the bin, the nonstop hum and rattle of the city service unit onto which it backed was deafening. But no one could hear him here, or pick up his heat signature, or smell him out. Huddled back against the bin’s interior wall, face pressed between his knees and arms around both, he waited for a massive hand, be it human or alien, to wrench the door aside and fish him out.
Time passed. An hour, then another. He dared to think that he might have shaken his pursuers. He couldn’t go home, he knew. Chaloni might have spilled that information along with everything else. With his home and family possibly under surveillance and the priv place violated, he had nowhere to go.
Alone in the gloom, safe for now and having nothing else to do, he finally allowed himself to cry.
He awoke with a start in the dark, the hidden hulk of the recycling machinery rumbling smoothly behind him. Wanting to scream, he knew enough not to. Once he’d rubbed his already sore eyes as clear as he could manage, he slowly opened the bin door a crack and peered out.
The serviceway was empty, the ground damp. It had rained while he had been asleep. There was no sign of the grim-faced twin giantesses, the muscular interrogator, or the frighteningly silent alien. Pushing open the bin door, he climbed out. It was still dim in the artificial canyon formed by the surrounding structures, but an irregular smear of orange-brown sky showed overhead. A glance at his unduly expensive and absurdly fashionable new communit indicated that it was a few minutes before eight in the morning. Exhausted and terrified, he had slept through the remainder of the previous day and on through the night.
He stood there, alone, rubbing his eyes. He could not go home. Depending on how much Chaloni had told his captors before he died—and he had probably told them a great deal, Subar surmised—they might be waiting for him in its vicinity. Secreted in a hallway, perhaps, waiting to snatch him as he wandered in, disappearing him before anyone noticed. Knowing his parents as he did, Subar doubted they would spending much time grieving over his disappearance. Nor could he try to obtain supplies from the priv place: that was certain to be under surveillance.
They would be after him, he knew. People like that didn’t let insults pass. They would be relentless in their pursuit, not stopping until they had accounted for every one of those who had boosted the warehouse. He had nowhere to go and no one on whom he could unload his misery. Except, maybe one…
The last time he could remember being as relieved when Ashile responded to a communication of his was when that peculiar tall offworlder had saved him from the thranx and the police. He met her in the usual place on the roof of her building, though not before watching her from hiding as she stood alone and searched for him. There was no reason to suppose that Chaloni or any of the other pod members knew about the place
, or even the casual friendship, but he was taking no chances because he knew he wouldn’t get any.
When he finally stepped out of hiding, she caught sight of him with a mixture of bewilderment and irritation.
“There you are! What kind of game are you playing today, Subar? I don’t think I like…hey, take it easy!”
He half guided, half dragged her back into the cluster of service conduits where he had concealed himself. Her attitude changed the moment she got a good look at his face.
“You said it was an emergency, Subar, but I didn’t realize—”
He cut her off, everything that had happened to him the previous week spilling out in a torrent of words. She listened closely to all of it, not even nodding, just letting him gush until he concluded with a description of the dreadful events of the preceding day. When he finally finished, she reached out and tentatively put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“What are you going to do?” she asked as compassionately as she could.
“I don’t know.” His eyes were haunted with the memory of the horrors he had witnessed yesterday morning. “I can’t go home; they’re liable to be watching the whole building. The bin-hide I used last night is safe, I think, but there’s nothing there. It’s just an empty box. I have nowhere else to go.”
She hesitated. She had never seen him like this. Typically cocky and fearless, respectful of that awful shatet Chaloni but not afraid of him, suddenly Subar looked…he looked…
He looked his age.
She heard herself replying before her thoughts were fully formed, and she was almost as shocked at them as he was.
“You could stay with me.”
He gaped at her. “I mean,” she continued hastily, “I could hide you in my building. There are storage places, rarely visited and not at all full, that are climate-controlled. I could bring you food, and you have your communit for information and ’tainment.” Growing enthusiasm replaced her initial uncertainty. “You could hide here for as long as necessary.”
The look he gave her was one she had not seen before; its most prominent component was confusion. “That might work,” he finally commented, not bothering to thank her. “For a while, anyway.” He nodded, as much to himself as to her. “At least it would give me a base of operations.”
Now it was her turn to show uncertainty. “Operations? Operations for what? Staying alive?”
Gradually he was starting to look and sound a little more like his old self. “I can’t just crawl into a hole and aestivate like some dumb squinad,” he told her, referring to a local species of vermin that plagued every housing structure in the district. “They took Zezula and Missi and Behdul away alive. For sure to ask them more questions, if only for corroboration of what Chaloni told them. Maybe”—he swallowed hard—“for other things as well. I can’t just forget about them.”
“Yes you can,” she snapped. But his thoughts were already streaking ahead.
“Sallow Behdul’s big, but he’s useless in a situation like this. I wouldn’t be surprised if the sahongs kill him out of hand. The girls—they’ll at least talk to the girls. For a while.”
“They’re not your problem, Subar.” She did not like the turn their conversation had taken.
He met her gaze. “They’re my friends, Ash. I have to do something. I have to at least try. With Chal and Dirran dead, I’m the only hope they’ve got.” His voice dropped. “I don’t know what the people who have them are going to do to them, but one thing I know for sure: they’re not going to let them go. I’ve got to try.”
She stepped back in exasperation. “‘Try’? Try what? This isn’t an entertainment vit, Subar, and the people you’ve described to me aren’t acting. They killed Chaloni and Dirran, they’ll kill you, too. What are you going to do? Tell the police?”
He shook his head violently. “Worst thing I could do. People like this, if they get word the authorities are looking into it, they’ll just sky Zez and Missi and Behdul out to the Torogon Straits and dump them into the outgoing current.”
“Then what are you going to do?” She softened her tone. “You’re a great guy, Subar. I—I like you. But you’re just a kid. A seriously tough kid,” she added quickly, seeing the expression on his face, “but there’s just one of you. I’ll help you as much as I can, but that doesn’t include walking into the house of some semi-legal trading family, or whoever’s behind this, with guns flaring. I know my limits, and you should, too.” Moving forward, she once again rested her hand on his shoulder. “The more you talk like this, the more I keep seeing you dead, and I—I’d rather not.”
He looked up at her, then nodded slowly. “You’re right. If I’m going to do anything for Zez and the others I need help. Serious help.”
“You don’t know any serious help,” she told him. “You never went illegal enough to make friends with those kinds of people. You don’t know anyone anymore. Except me.”
“No.” He stood up so suddenly that it took her aback. “I do know somebody. I don’t know if he’ll help, but all he can do is refuse. That is, if he’s even still on Visaria.”
She frowned doubtfully. “Subar, who are you talking about? You don’t know any…” She broke off, remembering. “Are you talking about that strange offworlder you introduced me to? The one we escorted back to his hotel?”
He nodded, a glint of excitement in his eyes. “Flinx, his name was. Yes.”
Ashile eyed her friend as if he had lost not only his companions, but his mind, too. “He’s just one offworlder. Not all that much older than you and me, either. He didn’t strike me as the soldier type, and he doesn’t dress like a Qwarm.”
“You don’t know him,” Subar insisted, conveniently avoiding the fact that he didn’t know Flinx, either. “I saw him do—certain things. To Chal, and Dirran, and Behdul. I don’t know exactly what he did or how he did it.” He struggled to remember. “He said something about letting them taste dark water, whatever that means. If he can do something like that to the people who are holding Zez and the others, they might have a chance. If we can just break them free, they can go into hiding, too. And,” he finished, “the offworlder said that his pet was poisonous, remember?”
“Tchai, I remember.” She was more than a little exasperated. “You’re going to go up against the people who slaughtered Chaloni and Dirran and are still after you with the aid of one skinny longsong? And his ‘pet’?”
Subar was adamant now. “If he’s still on Visaria, yes. And if he agrees to help. Which,” he was compelled to add disconsolately, “he very well might refuse to do.”
“That’ll determine if he has any sense,” she shot back, “or if, like you, he’s lost it all.”
Looking as helpless as he felt, Subar spread his hands imploringly. “I have to at least make an attempt, Ash. These scrawn, they’ve taken my friends.” He eyed her intently. “Will you come with me? This Flinx, I got the feeling he liked you.”
“Tnai,” she muttered sulkily, “I’ll come with you. I don’t know why, but I will. Maybe because I’ve always had a soft spot for dumb, abandoned animals.”
Coming toward her, he gripped her upper arms. His grasp was firm and confident, his expression grateful, his tone gentle. “I knew I could count on you, Ash. You’re a good friend.” Leaning forward, he kissed her—on the forehead. It was a thankful, respectful, chaste kiss. She wanted to hit him.
While he waited below, concealed near the main entrance to her building, she mumbled an excuse to her parents about leaving to visit friends for a couple of days. Her mother barely looked up from her in-home work to acknowledge her daughter’s declaration. Stuffing a few essentials into a backpack, she made her way downstairs. As the lift descended past other overcrowded floors, she found herself pondering.
What in the world was she doing? She could get herself killed. Or Subar could. She told herself that she was doing it for a good friend. A seriously good friend. Who was planning to risk himself for his friends.
A serie
s of foul words she would never have used in public slalomed through her mind, tainting her thoughts. “His friends.” She knew on whose behalf he was risking himself. That apathetic slut Zezula. He was always talking about her, always going on about how she looked, how she moved, how she talked, how she dressed, how she…
What a very great pity, Ashile thought as she exited the building and rejoined Subar, that the brutal unknown assailants had chosen to take out their anger on Chaloni instead of his worthless girlfriend.
CHAPTER
12
Even among the emotive roar and howl of the city, even while lying and relaxing on the bed in his room, Flinx’s casually roaming Talent was able to pick out the pair of desperately focused feelings coming toward him. He was able to do so for precisely that reason: because they were coming toward him. Years of running, of living in a state of constant wariness, had sensitized him to feelings that were aimed in his direction. Furthermore, he recognized both of them. They belonged, unless he was very wrong, to the two youths he had once conversed with on the roof of a run-down apartment complex in another part of the city.
He was not pleased. He had told the youth—what was his name?—Subar—that work beckoned, and had made his good-byes. Now the boy, and his more estimable female friend, were entering the lobby of the hotel where Flinx had taken a small suite. Their emotional states were—unsettled.
He could simply ignore them, he knew. Refuse to respond to their request for access to his floor, pretend he was not in the room. Check out and move to another residence, another city even, to avoid them. Only one thing stopped him. As it so often did, his damnable curiosity got in the way, just as it had on that morning days ago when he had intervened to rescue the youth from the attention of the authorities.