Chapter Thirty-four
It had been a long, hard trip. Three changes of train, and a terrifying ride (to a claustrophobe like Jay) through an endless tunnel that linked the two continents. Jay had been perplexed by the lack of air travel on Takis. They had fucking spaceships, but no planes? Then Hastet had pointed out the obvious. The Takisians had rejected metal ships about the time they threw out the Network. It took a telepath to fly a living ship. There were no Tarhiji telepaths, and no psi lord was going to serve the Tarhiji. Ergo no airlines. Jay saw a potential gold mine if he did get stuck on this lousy planet and could convince any displaced aristocrats to dirty their hands with something as commonplace as a job.
The train was slowing, swaying from side to side. Lights were now visible through the tinted window, and an occasional flash of wall.
“We’re running out of milk,” Hastet said as she shifted the baby to her shoulder and started patting.
“Not too much longer now. Hope her highness the ground sloth will be happy with formula.” Illyana let out an absolutely obscene belch. “Guess that told me,” Jay said.
No one in living memory had ever seen a Network starship. Takis still traded with the Network, but the Master Traders had learned to send small ships, unlikely to arouse the hostility or paranoia of the psi lords, and carrying only those goods that would interest the arrogant and insular Takisians.
So the thing filling the forward screen of Zabb’s flagship was alarming in the extreme. It dwarfed even the grandest Takisian warship as it hung next to the Bonded station and blotted out the stars. The most recognizable feature was the great bubble dome that housed the Aevré pilots. It was also the only feature of the ship which was not obscured by thousands of years of accretion. Pods and towers, strange box-shaped objects, long trailing antennae, clung like barnacles to the body of the ship.
“Ugly,” Taj offered.
“I wouldn’t want to fight the son of a bitch,” Zabb said, rightly interpreting Taj’s comment as less an artistic critique than a strategic one.
“You may have made that unavoidable. Do you realize the trouble the pair of you have caused?” Taj suddenly ejected.
“Sometimes I amaze even myself,” and Zabb forced a smile he really didn’t feel.
They met in a conference room provided by the Bonded station for just this kind of meeting. It was furnished with perches for the Aevré, tunnels for the Kondikki, a garden complete with a swing and other toys for the Rhindarians, and a comfortable collection of couches and tables for those who required less stimulation for their discussions. The Network representatives had taken up residence on one of the sofas.
Zabb had read the histories, which indicated that the Master Traders could appear as anything. The forms they selected were those most likely to be pleasing to the other party in a negotiation. He’d discounted it as sensationalism. He shouldn’t have.
The figure flanked by Nesfa on one side and a Ly’bahr warrior on the other was H’ambizan, the Ilkazam astronomer who legend held had discovered the living ships of Takis and tamed them to his will.
The presence of the Ly’bahr gave Zabb a nasty turn. The cyborg warriors were the most feared in the known galaxy, and Zabb couldn’t help but wonder if Taj and five guards were enough to handle the Ly’bahr if it should come to a fight.
Taj caught the thought and sent back a gloomy, We’re not, in reply.
Zabb hated to feel off balance, and he decided to rectify the situation. Fixing a smile on his lips, Zabb moved first to Nesfa and took her hand. She took it back, looking none too pleased to see him. “Nesfa, my dear, welcome back.”
The Master Trader rightly read the snub for what it was and took command, saying, “Prince Zabb, I am Master Trader Bounty, owner of the trade ship Bounty.”
Zabb raked the Master Trader from head to toe and back again. Coldly he said, “My class and kind represent the culmination of twenty thousand years of selective breeding. Whatever you are, you are not Takisian, and you are most certainly not H’ambizan. I resent your casual assumption of my ancestor’s form, as if your show of mirrors and smoke could ever make you one of the Most Bred.”
“No offense was intended, Prince. What form would you like me to assume?”
“I don’t care, so long as it is not Takisian.”
The Master Trader shrugged, and there was a momentary darkness as if Zabb had suddenly gone blind. When sight returned, Bounty had metamorphosed into one of Nesfa’s people.
Zabb graciously inclined his head. “Welcome to Takis.”
“I would be better pleased if I were here under more pleasant circumstances.” Bounty leaned forward intently. “You signed a contract with me, Prince.”
“Indeed? I do not recall it, sir.”
“With one of my Aevré pilots acting as my agent… if you insist on precision, sir.”
“I do, in everything. And I suppose under the conditions as you have described them, I did a sign a contract. Unfortunately events have necessitated an alteration in the terms.”
The Master Trader matched Zabb smile for smile. “Then you intend to return to Network service?”
“Let me be precise… no. I’m afraid I have terminated my affiliation with the Network.”
“And I am afraid that’s not possible. The sanctity of a contract is our highest law.”
“It is not, however, mine.”
“Then we have a very serious problem,” the Master Trader mused.
“I can see where you might.”
The Ly’bahr didn’t care for that. It focused its glowing optics — set on articulating stalks on each shoulder — on Zabb. The light glittering off its burnished red metal shell danced almost painfully in the eye. Zabb was willing to bet the alloy was extremely reflective of laser fire.
“So you are willing to make no accommodation to settle this problem?” the Master Trader asked.
“I didn’t say that —” Zabb began, only to be interrupted by Nesfa.
“Well, I’m not. I want him, piloting our ship, fulfilling the contract. Otherwise you’re in violation of your contract with me,” she said pointedly to Bounty.
The Master Trader sighed. “You seem to have had quite an effect upon our Nesfa.”
“It’s a positive gift,” Zabb said, and allowed himself a slight smile.
“You won’t return and fulfill the terms of your lifetime contract?” Bounty asked mournfully.
“No.”
“Then I suppose there is nothing more to be said, and we may be forced to take more drastic measures.”
“I would strongly urge against that,” Zabb said softly. “As you yourselves aver… wars are bad for business.”
“And the flouting of contracts is worse. You set a dangerous precedent, Prince Zabb.”
“I’m a dangerous man.” Zabb signaled to his escort, and they rose.
“Are these negotiations at an end, Prince?” Bounty asked.
“Let’s just say this session is.” And never turning their backs on the hulking Ly’bahr, the Takisians exited the room.
For most of his life Jay had been resigned to being average. Now he had the height advantage, and it was great. He could look over the heads of hundreds of milling, seething, and pushing Takisians and see hundreds more milling, seething, and pushing Takisians.
Jay hitched the luggage higher under one arm, and with the other gathered Hastet and the baby a little closer. “Something’s happened. Maybe we ought to get back on the train.”
“We don’t have tickets, and they’re turning people away.”
“Yeah, but money talks.”
“Not loudly enough to be heard over this. Let’s just get out of the station. The elevator is only a few streets away.”
“Okay, stick close.”
The problem was they were moving against the flow. Everybody wanted out of Ban. It hurt Jay to fly in the face of whatever conventional wisdom was impelling these crowds. A couple of times they got stalled, and Jay contemplated just popping bodies out of the way. But the last thing they needed was a panicked stampede. At last the stairs.
Inside the station proper, something wet struck his cheek. Jay looked up. The roof had been blown off the building. Rain was weeping down on the rubble and bodies. All the little shops were closed, a few barricaded. In one the Takisian version of hot dogs were cooking to a cinderlike consistency on the grill.
Off in the distance there was a rapid pulselike sound. It didn’t resemble gunfire, but it sure sounded like some sort of weapon. Jay hesitated. He was none too eager to sally forth into a war zone. On the other hand, he didn’t want to go back down into the ant farm. He decided he’d rather be shot than squashed like a grape in a wine press.
“I’m trying to decide if camping out here or looking for a hotel or hospital or something would be smarter.”
Hastet looked at him, startled. “We’re going to the elevator.”
“Honey, I don’t think this is the aftermath of a bad party. It looks like there’s a war happening here, and I suspect that normal service has been interrupted.”
“Not the elevators. They were built in common and owned in common. They’ll do everything to keep them running.” Hastet headed for a door.
“Okaaay,” Jay said dubiously to Haupi, who had ;snuggled down among Jay’s spare shorts and socks with only her head thrusting out the top of the case. The creature spit at him and dived for cover. Jay couldn’t really find fault with the sentiment.
Outside, the street was blocked with burned-out vehicles. Jay had been concerned about locating this orbital elevator. Now he realized it wasn’t a problem. A thing that stretched from the surface of the planet twenty-seven thousand miles to a synchronous orbit could not be missed.
It was formed of two circular conduits of some glass-like substance linked by bridges and gantries. The highest bridges looked like white lace strung between ice pillars. Jay assumed that some sort of capsules must make the journey up and down, though none were in evidence now. He tried to cultivate Hastet’s faith in the inviolability of the elevator. Maybe the capsules were in transit. One would be pulling in any minute now. Or maybe not. A high, melodious keening sounded overhead. Jay jerked his eyes from the elevator and watched as seven of the living Takisian ships made a flyby. The sound was emanating from them, and as he listened, the detective could almost distinguish words.
“Singing the victory,” Hastet said.
“Yeah, but whose?”
The passage of the ships had reminded them of their vulnerability in the square outside the station. They darted toward a street and were brought up short by the sight of an old man swaying on the steps of a stalled tram. Half his face had been burned away, and he was groping with his credit spike for the pay slot. Over and over he thrust in the spike, as if it were a lack of funds that kept the tram from moving.
More by instinct than in conscious thought, Jay started for the old man, only to be brought up short by Hastet’s hand grasping his sleeve. No words were necessary. Jay fell into step with her as they headed for the elevator. It was the right decision. It still made him feel like shit.
So far they hadn’t encountered any ground troops. Jay was beginning to allow himself to hope. Maybe Hastet was right. The squaddies were off blowing up some other section of the city since the elevator was off limits.
This area seemed to be the showcase of Ban. Broad boulevards led like spokes on a wheel toward the elevator. The architecture differed from that in Ilkala; it was lower, boxier, with fewer windows, and a lot of frieze work on the pediments. The buildings were also constructed of cut stone in contrasting colors, all laid to form Escheresque patterns. Jay assumed the lower floors of the buildings had contained shops, for all the windows were busted out, and in one a forlorn little necklace lay on display.
Illyana had awakened, and her piercing shrieks echoed off the stone walls. Ahead they could hear a sound like a growling, restless sea. The final hundred yards, and the street debouched into a square that was the granddaddy of all squares. It was so huge that it even managed to diminish the effect of hundreds of uniformed people milling about the base of the elevator. With the predominant colors of the uniform being red, black, and purple, the crowd looked like an animated bruise.
The scene had a manic, festival quality. Despite the uniforms, the crowd didn’t act like professional troops. In the brief second before Jay spun them back around the concealing corner, he had seen a man passing a bottle, and another firing a shot at the scarred and pitted walls of the elevator.
“Vayawand!” Hastet said.
“I didn’t figure they were the Good Humor men.”
Now that they were closer, the growl became words. Most of them were Takisian, but dropped like harsh clanks amid the music of the alien language was another tongue altogether.
“Continuons la grève! Le capital se meurt!” a voice was shouting shrilly.
“Nous irons jusqu’ au bout!” another sang back.
“Le pouvoir aux travailleurs!”
Jay’s high school French was really rusty, but it was good enough to give him the drift… and a headache. Blaise had been raised by a French communist. A man who had mounted the barricades in Paris in 1968. So the slogans marched on; Claude Bonnell to Blaise, Blaise to Takis, and Takis plunged into revolution. As they stood, backs pressed to the wall, a curious face poked around the corner. Gaped at the trio. Jay popped him. What came around the corner next was a particularly large and ugly gun barrel. Jay popped that too. Then he and Hastet ran like bunnies.
Tisianne was waiting for him when they returned from the station. As her hands closed urgently on his lapels, and she stared intently up at him, Zabb realized how very, very tiny she was.
“Gently, gently, merrida,” he said, disentangling her fingers from the fruit salad that adorned the breast of his uniform. “You’ll ruin my decorations.”
“Praise Ideal that you’re back.”
“What is it? What’s happened?” This was directed over Tis’s head to Mark Meadows.
Before the human could answer, Tisianne was off again. “Never, never give orders not to be disturbed. Your people are all such fools they took you literally.”
“What?”
“Blaise is, like, doing a Hitler thing,” Meadows said. “He’s simultaneously hit six Houses!”
“There’s heavy fighting in Jeban, Ss’ang, and Tandeh,” Tis amplified. “Lirat, Birjis, and Maz’tariq have all fallen. And come, you must see.”
Zabb quirked an amused eyebrow at the tall human, but there was no answering smile from Meadows. Apparently he did not find Tisianne’s little fidgets as entertaining as Zabb did.
She led him to the family laboratories, and opening the door to the cells, she yanked out a Vayawand soldier.
“Look at this,” she ordered, displaying the man with the air of a person presenting a prize fish.
“He’s… ah, quite… something.”
“Don’t you see? It means Jay is still alive and at large.” She caught herself with an annoyed frown. “Of course, you don’t care about that —”
“You’re quite right there —”
“But at least I can begin to breathe again, and if nothing else you have a source for intelligence.”
Zabb again eyed the frightened soldier. “One could have wished for a somewhat more highly placed officer.”
“Gee,” said Meadows. “We’ll let Jay know the next time he checks in. This is a real drag, but I think you better, like, up the timetable for evacuating the kids. Blaise is going to be bringing the fight to us next.”
“You’re probably right,” Zabb said.
“Well, do something!” Tis demanded.
And before he could inquire as to just what she had in mind, there was a soft pop, and a pulse rifle appeared in the cell and went clattering to the floor.
unnamed