Bringer of Light
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Synopsis
Jarek Reen is trying to save a lost world. He discovered the primitive theocracy of Serenein by accident, and now he wants it to take its place in human-space. To do this he needs a shiftspace beacon - without it, there is no way to find the planet again. The beacons were made by the Sidhe, the race that originally gave humanity access to the stars - and dominated human-space for millennia, before a coalition of human rebels and Sidhe males brought the evil Sidhe females down. Most people think the Sidhe are long dead, but Jarek knows better: a renegade female Sidhe is one of his companions, and a male Sidhe gave her and her lover the special powers that made them Angels, very unusual trained assassins. Jarek's only hope is to find Aleph, the hidden system where the last Sidhe males are rumoured to live. But even if he can persuade these eccentric, introspective beings to put aside their interminable internal squabbles, he still has to persuade Serenein that joining the rest of humankind is a good thing ... for the price of progress is likely to be high. Can he stop it turning into tragedy?
Release date: August 18, 2011
Publisher: Gollancz
Print pages: 416
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Bringer of Light
Jaine Fenn
This was no way to save the universe. Taro fiddled with the sauce dispenser on the table and tried to look inconspicuous. Business like this should be going down in a dingy
bar, with a scowling barkeep and shadowy booths where trigger-happy space-dogs were striking smoky deals. And here was he, in a family diner full of grizzling brats, wipe-clean surfaces and
eye-searing ceiling lights. So much for the glamorous freetrader lifestyle.
His attempt to act casual was rewarded by a trickle of yellowish goo from the dispenser. He snatched his hand back, resisting the instinct to lick the sauce off his fingers. He’d made that
mistake once already. Instead he wiped it on the edge of the table, warily eyeing the garish menu emblazoned across the tabletop. Now he’d finished his bowl of crunchy-deep-fried-whatever he
expected he’d be asked to order more food or shove off. He probably shouldn’t have eaten so fast, but even the local junk was a pleasant change from his usual diet. No matter how good a
ship’s reclamation unit was, shit was still shit.
When the menu display didn’t light up and try to sell him more food he risked a glance at the nearest diner, who was tucking into a plate of orange rice-type-stuff using one of the
oversized spoons that passed for cutlery around here. Nual had arrived a few minutes after Taro, because they didn’t want anyone getting the idea she was with him – which, of course,
she was, in every way. She must have sensed him watching her because a warm spark blossomed briefly inside his head. He looked away reluctantly. Mustn’t let himself get distracted.
Taro checked the door for what had to be the twentieth time. Still no sign of the contact.
The only reason they’d agreed to this meeting was credit – or rather, lack of it. Perhaps they should’ve refused the request from a local freight service asking if they could
transport a box of ‘biological samples’ – but whilst they’d got themselves a paying passenger for the trip back to the shipping lanes, they had a half-empty cargo-hold, and
half-empty cargo-holds made customs officers suspicious. Plus, the freight company had offered nearly as much as ‘Apian Lamark’ (almost certainly not his real name) was paying for his
ride. Freetrading might be just what they did as cover for their real mission – the important, secret one – but if they didn’t score some heavy credit soon, they
wouldn’t have a ship with which to carry out that mission. Jarek had still been sorting their ongoing cargo when Taro had commed him, but he’d agreed it was worth following up the
request.
Rather than watch the animated woodland critters on happy drugs dancing around the walls, Taro looked out of the diner’s picture window; the view was filled with flying people, locals and
tourists alike in neon-bright wing-suits, swooping and gliding through whirling vortexes of multi-coloured petals against the pale mauve sky. The imaginatively named Star City sprawled up and along
a ridge of pink-grey rock of the sort that was apparently common in this particular region of this particular continent on this particular world. (The world was called Hetarey, he remembered that
much; he’d looked it up on the way here, but the details hadn’t stuck. They didn’t need to. It wasn’t like they planned to be here more than a few hours.) The starport
itself was on the flat top of the ridge; the other flat land, at the bottom, was for the rich coves who liked houses with flat floors and big rooms. In between, built into a slope that varied from
inconvenient to impossible, were the houses of the average folks, plus all the diversions and entertainments that went with being the only place on this backwater planet where the universe came to
call. The slope was extra-steep just here, and heavy-duty grav-units and massive fans had been installed at the bottom to give those without Nual and Taro’s unnatural advantages a chance to
fly.
When he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, Taro turned his head quickly enough to blow any pretence of being a casual customer. That had to be his contact. The locals had a thing
about hair – everyone wore theirs long, and shaving was against their religion or something – and while that wasn’t such a prime look on the men, especially combined with their
preference for short trousers and stupid hats, on a good-looking woman waist-length red curls were pure blade. And this was a good-looking woman.
Even if he wasn’t currently gawking at her, she’d have no trouble spotting him. Hetarey didn’t see many offworlders – in a busy week, they might get two whole shiftships
landing. Taro was unfeasibly tall and thin, and dressed the way he knew he looked good – big boots, tight leggings, vest top and black jacket – he had already attracted the attention of
the other diners (‘Eat your greens darling or you’ll grow up like that’ – not in this gravity you won’t, kid). Nual had also drawn looks, though for a different
reason: she was beautiful, probably the most beautiful woman they’d ever set eyes on – though Taro was biased. People looked at her like they wanted or admired her, and the same people
looked at him like he was an alien who shouldn’t be allowed. Which was funny, really, given he was the human one, and she was the alien.
The woman smiled and headed straight over. She had a sense of style most of the locals lacked, and she moved well. Her body wasn’t bad, either, from what he could see of it under that
flouncy top.
He felt a tickle of amusement in the back of his mind. He resisted the temptation to look in Nual’s direction. Instead he smiled at the newcomer, and gestured to the chair opposite. She
ignored the offer and instead took the seat at the end of the table, which put her immediately to Taro’s right. More annoyingly, it meant she had her back to Nual.
‘Thank you for coming, Medame Klirin,’ he said. ‘Did you, uh, want anything to drink? Or eat?’
‘No. Thank you.’ She tapped a dark spot on the table – so that was how you turned the damn thing off – then leant forward and gave him a sideways look. ‘La, not
meaning any offence, but why do we need to meet in person? Can you take the shipment? Or not?
‘We – I – just like to meet potential customers.’ The gappy-sounding question thing was just how they spoke around here, so he added, ‘Right?’
‘Sirrah sanMalia, are you actually the captain of the Heart of Glass?’
Taro didn’t need Nual to tell him what she was thinking: she was wondering why someone who’d yet to survive his second decade was making deals on interstellar cargo. ‘No,
I’m the junior partner. The captain is tied up elsewhere.’ He spread his hands. ‘If you’d got in contact sooner, I’m sure he could have met you, but at this short
notice, I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with me. All right?’
In the brief pause while she digested his apology he sent a silent query in Nual’s direction. Her reply came through at once:
‘Sorry,’ Medame Klirin was saying, ‘No offence taken, right?’
‘Er, right. Really, we just wanna know more about this cargo you want us to ship. And why the sudden rush?’
She brushed back a stray strand of hair, and Taro tried not to be distracted. ‘It’s a matter of commercial confidentiality, see?’ she said quietly. ‘A delicate and
perishable product which we need to get to a company in Perilat. All sealed and safe; and we’ll provide the permits and specs to keep customs sweet, la. We’ve been watching the listings
for a ship heading out to Perilat, haven’t we? So when you registered that as your next destination we got in contact.’
Before Taro could query Nual her comment arrived in his head:
he sent back.
Which was, Taro had to admit, somewhat freaky. Oops, Nual would pick that thought up too, of course.
‘Are you all right?’
He realised Medame Klirin was staring at him. ‘Yeah, I’m— Let’s just say you were right to avoid the food here. Um, when you say “we”, who d’you
represent?’
‘A corporate interest.’
This time Nual was sure.
‘That’s a bit vague,’ said Taro. ‘Can I have some details?’
‘I can provide them, la.’ She held up a hand to show her com; like his it was a slap-com on the back of her hand, not an implant. Jarek had advised them against getting implanted
coms – not that he could afford one right now – because they could cause issues with their not-entirely-accurate-and-subject-to-future-change IDs; that she also hadn’t an implant
was another point against Medame Klirin. Then again, what did he know? He was pretty new to this whole freetrading lark. Madam Klirin continued, ‘Did you want details of the company at
Perilat who’ll eventually receive the goods? Given the confidential nature of our research, we’d rather you just dealt with their agents, you know?’
Taro projected,
He realised Madame Klirin was frowning at him. ‘Listen,’ said Taro, with what he hoped was a sympathetic smile, ‘I don’t think we can take your cargo. Sorry.’
‘What?’ She looked understandably confused.
‘It’s just . . . maybe if the captain was here, he might think differently, but like I said, I’m the junior partner, and I really don’t wanna make a bad call.’
‘But he trusted you to meet me, surely he trusts your judgment . . . he does know you’re here? Or are you acting alone?’
Taro had been in enough shit in his life to read the worst into that question. ‘Yes, Captain Reen knows I’m here; in fact, he’s expecting me back at the ship soon. And
he trusts my judgment, but I’ve decided to play it safe. Sorry to screw you around and all, but we’ve got a rep to maintain.’
‘What are you implying here, la?’ Medame Klirin said coldly.
Taro cursed his loose tongue. It wasn’t like she’d actually said or done anything smoky. Then again, pissing her off – just a bit – might make her let down her guard.
‘I ain’t implying anything, and I ain’t saying you and your people aren’t prime and lovely. I’ve just decided not to take this job.’ He made sure he had eye
contact when he added, ‘We can’t risk potentially dangerous or dubious cargo.’
‘Fine,’ she said, and stood up. Her unspoken response was strong enough that he heard it in Medame Klirin’s voice even though her words arrived via Nual:
As she turned to go he began to stand, nerves thrumming. Nual’s mental voice froze him in place:
He read what ‘this’ was and forced himself to sit back down. Even so, he felt the Angel reflexes kick in: body calm but ready for action, mind alert to danger without being impaired
by fear.
Medame Klirin was making her way to the door. Nual, apparently oblivious, grabbed her tray, stood up and turned—
—and ran straight into the other woman. The tray went flying.
Taro heard Nual’s embarrassed apology: ‘So sorry!’
Medame Klirin tried to step back, and hit a table with her hip. Nual was fussing, trying to brush rice off the woman’s top. Taro watched the woman’s hands; one grasped the edge of
the table she’d fallen against, the other was flailing; she wasn’t going for a weapon. Around him, people were looking up, but no one was making a move.
Medame Klirin edged away from Nual slowly, like she was slightly stunned. Finally Nual stepped back. ‘I’ve got the worst off; are you sure you don’t want a contribution towards
your cleaning bill? That’s such a lovely top, la, I’d hate to have ruined it.’ She’d even managed to get the local speech patterns down pat, noted Taro admiringly.
‘No . . .’ Klirin shook her head, then seemed to remember herself. ‘I’m fine. Really. La, I— I should go now.’
Nual stepped aside, and at the same time projected to Taro:
Jarek’s old partner used to have a saying: ‘If a deal sounds too good to be true, that’s because it is.’ He’d agreed to let his companions meet
the contact because they couldn’t afford to turn down that much credit without good reason, and though Nual and Taro lacked his years of experience, her unique talents should give them the
chance to find out if there was a good reason. She’d have been a better negotiator than Taro, but her looks made her too memorable, and she preferred to stay in the background.
The cargo they had arrived here with – dyestuffs and low-volume specialist fabrics for the apparently taste-free Hetarey fashion industry, plus a selection of licensed games, shows and
films that local distributors weren’t willing to pay premium prices to get beeveed in – hadn’t fetched as much as he’d hoped, and nothing available here would turn much
profit in the main interstellar markets, so it had been looking like he’d barely cover his costs on this run. The lucrative contract to transport a rich local had been a stroke of much-needed
luck; the man was happy to pay starliner prices for no-frills – and no-questions-asked – transport out-of-system. Jarek didn’t habitually take passengers, and he really
didn’t have the space since his solo outfit had tripled in size a couple of months back, but he was unwilling to turn down such a fat fee, not with his creditors snapping at his heels.
Getting paid as much again to ship the mystery box would have been a lucky break too far.
He was overseeing the delivery of the local crafts and overpriced wines he was shipping out when Nual called, and as soon as she signed off he commed ‘Sirrah Lamark’ to tell him that
their departure was being brought forward. Once the cargo was stowed, he went up to the Heart of Glass’s bridge, where he divided his attention between pre-flight checks and watching
the external cameras.
A man looking uncannily like ‘Apian Lamark’ was apparently on the run after a bloody coup that brought down a brutal junta on Hetarey’s southern continent. According to the
local newsnets, the few generals at the top who had escaped the popular uprising had bought their freedom with the blood of their comrades. Still, he didn’t have to like the man; he just had
to get him offworld. But now Jarek knew the lengths those seeking justice for Apian Lamark’s alleged crimes would go to, he had no intention of hanging around on Hetarey any longer than
necessary.
His com chimed: it was Taro. ‘Where are you?’
‘Just coming out of customs.’
‘Any sign of our guest?’
‘Not yet. How d’you want to play this?’
Jarek saw movement on his cameras. The starport was a shallow bowl cut into the rock, shadow-filled in the early evening sun; two people had just emerged from the passenger departure lounge. He
exhaled as they stepped into the light: yes, it was Nual and Taro. ‘Get yourselves on board, but leave the ’lock open and be prepared for trouble.’
‘How prepared?’ asked Taro.
‘Just tranq pistols. Let’s not go overboard.’
‘Got you.’
Nual’s peek inside Medame Klirin’s mind had uncovered her true affiliation: she was an agent for one of the groups who wanted Lamark dead. They called themselves ‘the Hand of
Truth’ and they’d got hold of a comabox – which they must have disguised somehow, given anyone who travelled the stars knew what one looked like. Their plan was to put their top
assassin into stasis inside it, primed to wake up while the ship was on its way out to the beacon, when he would overpower the crew and kill Lamark. If the ship in question hadn’t been his,
Jarek might have admired their ingenuity.
He looked up at movement on his cameras. Someone else was coming out of the passenger lounge: a small man with a big moustache and a ludicrous hat that looked like it was made of fabric rosettes
stuck on an upturned bowl. Jarek recognised Apian Lamark from his holo. He moved with the swift care of someone who’d had experience of dodging sniper-fire.
Jarek heard Nual’s shout in stereo, coming up from below and over the camera pick-ups. Lamark must have heard the warning too, for he ducked instantly. The shot was silent. It spun him
around, and he fell. Then he was up again – he must be wearing body armour under that awful suit.
The second shot came almost at once. Lamark’s head jerked backwards; Jarek glimpsed a spurt of red and the man dropped. Presumably the ridiculous head-gear hadn’t been armoured; at
any rate, it hadn’t saved him.
Lamark’s body jerked again, and again. Whoever was shooting wanted to be quite sure the target was dead.
Jarek tore himself away from the grisly sight. Well, that was that then.
According to his readouts the airlock had just closed. ‘You two all right?’ he commed down.
‘We’re fine,’ said Taro, sounding surprisingly calm.
There was more movement outside, people running into the bowl from a side door. Jarek’s hands were already moving over the control panel. The new arrivals, dressed in uniforms of some
sort, started shooting at the unseen assassin. There were half a dozen of them, and they were good; the fire-fight was over in seconds.
The ship’s com chimed. Jarek ignored it.
Two of the guards walked over to where the assassin’s body was lying. From the spreading pool of blood it was clear to Jarek that he or she wasn’t going to be shooting back. The
second pair moved forward to Lamark’s body. The remaining pair was heading for Jarek’s ship. One of them was waving and tapping his helmet-com, trying to attract Jarek’s
attention.
He could activate the grav-drive safely even with people around, provided they weren’t too close. So far he hadn’t broken any laws, but the locals obviously wanted to question them,
and that would take time he couldn’t spare. He had the next run already lined up back at Perilat, and with this job blown – and any potential profit down the pan – he
couldn’t afford to screw that up. He’d already obtained permission to depart as soon as they had their passenger on board.
The final telltale on the panel went green.
Ah, fuck it. He pressed the slider, and the ship rose smoothly. The bridge was flooded with sunlight as they rose over the rim of the bowl and the spaceport dropped out of sight.
Jarek finally paid attention to the still-chiming com. As expected, it was the spaceport authority. His hand hovered over the board; he’d have to answer them eventually . . .
He turned at a noise from behind. Taro had come up onto the bridge. He looked past Jarek at the purple sky, already darkening as they shot up into orbit. ‘Oh,’ he said.
‘Oh, as in?’ said Jarek, more harshly than he’d intended.
Taro spread his hands and gave a disarming smile. ‘Just, “Oh, so we’ve left, then,”’ he said, then added, ‘We’ll be downstairs.’ He kicked off,
using his flight implants to float back down through the hatch.
Jarek took a deep breath and hit receive on the com.
‘Heart of Glass, you must return to the spaceport at once!’
‘Sorry, Port Control, we were cleared for departure before that little fracas broke out, and we weren’t going to hang around to get shot at.’
‘You are material witnesses to a murder. You are required to give statements.’
‘I caught some of the action on my cameras, but I’m sure you have your own, far better, surveillance footage.’
‘We do: why were two of your associates watching the incident from your ship’s airlock?’
Oh hell. ‘Were they? In that case, I need to speak to my crew.’ He forestalled any further argument by ending the call, then called down to the rec-room, ‘Can you get
back up here, please? Both of you.’
The Heart of Glass’s poky bridge felt crowded with all three of them crammed in. When they were settled, Jarek said, ‘The locals want to speak to us – you two, mainly
– about that little fuck-up down there.’ He turned to Nual. ‘I heard you shout just before Lamark got shot the first time; was that because you sensed the assassin?’ Nual
shook her head. ‘No, I caught sight of the gun – just a glimpse.’
‘Well, at least we can admit that.’ As opposed to saying she was one of an apparently long-dead race with mental powers. Not that he ever would say that, given humanity’s
entirely understandable antipathy towards the Sidhe. ‘If all they want is a statement, then maybe they’ll let you transmit it while we’re on our way out to the beacon. Then again,
perhaps the place is rotten to the core and you’re being set up to take the blame.’
‘’cos of us being Angels?’ asked Taro.
‘Possibly.’ He sighed. Travelling with a pair of augmented assassins could be complicated, but Taro and Nual were Jarek’s friends, and allies in his crusade against
humanity’s hidden foe. ‘We can’t know for sure, though.’
Nual spoke up. ‘It’s probably not relevant now, but I suspect that the Hand of Truth’s original assassin – the one they wanted us to transport for them –
wouldn’t have tried to kill us, or take the ship. The impression I got was that he or she might have committed suicide once Lamark was dead, that they were willing to die to bring him to
justice.’
‘Ah. Shame you didn’t mention that earlier; I might have still taken the job – at least we’d have been paid!’
‘I communicated what I felt to be important at the time.’ Nual said, a little frostily.
‘No, it’s not your fault – if I’d thought it through I could probably have worked that out for myself. The Hand of Truth wouldn’t want to break Treaty law by
killing freetraders or stealing a shiftship. This is a local matter.’ It also occurred to him that even if Nual hadn’t found out about the Hand of Truth’s plan in advance, she
might have sensed the sleeping assassin in their cargo delivery, in which case they could have decided to turn down the cargo then. And if the assassin in the spaceport had been the Hand of
Truth’s back-up plan then he might still have got paid for safely transporting Lamark, instead of not getting paid for either job. Ah well, too late now. ‘Right,’ he concluded,
‘I’m going to call the locals back and say you’ll both give statements by com. We’re far enough out that we’re under Traffic Control’s jurisdiction now,
so— Oh.’ He’d been keeping an eye on the sensors; they’d been clear, but now he was showing a contact.
‘What is it?’ asked Taro.
‘Not sure. Possibly an interceptor – in which case we’re screwed. I need to make that call.’
The coms light was still on, and the incoming call was indeed from Traffic Control. Jarek spoke over them. ‘Hetarey TC, this is the Heart of Glass. We’re happy to provide the
authorities down there with full statements, but we’d rather not have to return dirtside; as I’m sure you understand, we are running on a tight schedule.’ He didn’t mention
the possible pursuit; let them bring that up. Or not, ideally.
‘Heart of Glass, are you not intending to return?’
‘Well, no. As I say, we can—’
‘You are unaware of your own change of status, then?
Uh-oh. ‘What change of status would that be, TC?’
‘After your precipitous departure, we beeveed the Freetraders’ Alliance. Would you like to know what they told us?’
Jarek bit back his instinctive response to this latest stupid question, and said, ‘Yes. Please.’
‘The Alliance’s legal department informed us that a repossession order for your ship has just been issued.’
‘What? Who from?’ Not that this development was such a surprise, under the circumstances.
‘The Veryan Syndicate.’
Yeah, it would be that lot; they’ve got the money and the clout. ‘That’s bad news for me, obviously, but I can’t see how it changes the local situation,’ he
said as evenly as he could.
‘Shall I explain? The claimant organisation has invoked Treaty law against you. Given your recent actions, we will be honouring their request to detain you and take possession of your ship
pending arrival of their representative.’
Over my vacuum-frozen corpse you will. ‘You don’t have to go to any trouble, right?’ No doubt the Veryans were paying the locals well for the ‘favour’ of
detaining Jarek. Sadly, it was all perfectly legal.
‘Captain Reen, must we point out the interceptor which we recently despatched?’ Jarek didn’t dignify that with an answer, and the traffic controller continued, ‘Were you
thinking of doing anything drastic? We hope not: we believe the Veryan rep has alerted both of the systems on transit-paths from Hetarey. They have someone awaiting you at both destinations,
whichever one you shift to.’
‘The Veryans are certainly being thorough.’ He couldn’t blame them; shiftships were rare, and any one-ship trading outfit foolish enough to go as deep into the red as
he’d fallen could expect a larger rival to make a play for their ’bird.
‘Shall I tell them that you’ll be returning to Hetarey? And as a gesture of goodwill would you like us to put you and your crew up while we wait for the syndicate representative?
That should give you all ample opportunity to submit full statements regarding the incident at the spaceport.’
And quite possibly get shafted for it. ‘I’ll get back to you,’ Jarek said cheerily, and cut the connection. He turned to see Taro and Nual looking meaningfully at each other.
‘Er, you got all that, I assume?’
‘If we cooperate, what then?’ asked Nual.
‘Well, if we can come up with enough credit – somehow – we could contest the Veryan Syndicate’s claim, but that’ll involve several months in court on the hub
of their choosing, during which time we’ll be stuck without a ship.’
‘And we got better things to do,’ said Taro.
‘We certainly have. The mission’s well and truly fucked without the Heart of Glass.’
‘Then there’s only one option,’ stated Nual.
‘Ah. You mean . . . that.’ Jarek looked down for a moment, to indicate the drive column directly below the bridge.
Taro nodded; they’d obviously already discussed this, in their own unique way.
‘You’re sure?’ asked Jarek. ‘Last time was pretty hairy.’
Nual said, ‘I don’t think we have any choice.’
They came on Midsummer’s night.
Kerin found herself suddenly awake, opening her eyes to an irregular white radiance that washed out the lamplight. And there was a strange noise, peep-peep-peep . . .
She realised what was happening, and looked groggily at the screen on the far side of the room which was the source of the glow, pulsing in time to the insistent alarm. That screen had been dark
and silent for three weeks now, ever since her otherworldly husband had gone back to the sky. For a moment she dared to hope that he had returned, but in her heart, she knew otherwise.
She got up and shuffled over to the console. The display meant little to her, though it showed too many words for this to be a simple request for contact, and that made her worry even more. She
blinked away the after-images of bright text and walked quickly back across the room to the other bed, narrowly avoiding kicking the chamber-pot sticking out from under it.
‘Damaru,’ she said urgently, ‘wake up please!’
When her son made no response she shook him gently.
He batted at her hand, then opened one eye.
‘Damaru, you have to get up. Something is happening to the console.’
He gave an irritated grunt, but began to wriggle free of the covers.
Kerin knew he would do as she asked; however awkward her skytouched child might be when faced with day-to-day tasks, he would never turn down the chance to play with this wonderful new
technology.
She went over to the clothes-stand and pulled on the ornate black and silver robe hanging there. She began to work her feet into the specially made shoes with their built-up soles before
deciding she did not have the time for that; at this time of the night the guard would be at least as sleepy as she was; he was unlikely to notice such fine details as her height. She fastened the
robe, then carefully lifted down the crown-like headdress, wincing as she took the weight of its precious metal and cunningly hidden technology on her injured arm. She settled the headdress on her
head and, suitable attired, left the room, pulling the veil across her face as she hurried down the short passage to the cavernous audience chamber. The light-globes studding the lower walls of the
great domed hall were at half-brightness; she had similar artefacts in her own room, though she rarely used them – Damaru slept better in natural light, and was less likely to disassemble
oil-lamps when he was bored.
In the dim light Kerin could just m
bar, with a scowling barkeep and shadowy booths where trigger-happy space-dogs were striking smoky deals. And here was he, in a family diner full of grizzling brats, wipe-clean surfaces and
eye-searing ceiling lights. So much for the glamorous freetrader lifestyle.
His attempt to act casual was rewarded by a trickle of yellowish goo from the dispenser. He snatched his hand back, resisting the instinct to lick the sauce off his fingers. He’d made that
mistake once already. Instead he wiped it on the edge of the table, warily eyeing the garish menu emblazoned across the tabletop. Now he’d finished his bowl of crunchy-deep-fried-whatever he
expected he’d be asked to order more food or shove off. He probably shouldn’t have eaten so fast, but even the local junk was a pleasant change from his usual diet. No matter how good a
ship’s reclamation unit was, shit was still shit.
When the menu display didn’t light up and try to sell him more food he risked a glance at the nearest diner, who was tucking into a plate of orange rice-type-stuff using one of the
oversized spoons that passed for cutlery around here. Nual had arrived a few minutes after Taro, because they didn’t want anyone getting the idea she was with him – which, of course,
she was, in every way. She must have sensed him watching her because a warm spark blossomed briefly inside his head. He looked away reluctantly. Mustn’t let himself get distracted.
Taro checked the door for what had to be the twentieth time. Still no sign of the contact.
The only reason they’d agreed to this meeting was credit – or rather, lack of it. Perhaps they should’ve refused the request from a local freight service asking if they could
transport a box of ‘biological samples’ – but whilst they’d got themselves a paying passenger for the trip back to the shipping lanes, they had a half-empty cargo-hold, and
half-empty cargo-holds made customs officers suspicious. Plus, the freight company had offered nearly as much as ‘Apian Lamark’ (almost certainly not his real name) was paying for his
ride. Freetrading might be just what they did as cover for their real mission – the important, secret one – but if they didn’t score some heavy credit soon, they
wouldn’t have a ship with which to carry out that mission. Jarek had still been sorting their ongoing cargo when Taro had commed him, but he’d agreed it was worth following up the
request.
Rather than watch the animated woodland critters on happy drugs dancing around the walls, Taro looked out of the diner’s picture window; the view was filled with flying people, locals and
tourists alike in neon-bright wing-suits, swooping and gliding through whirling vortexes of multi-coloured petals against the pale mauve sky. The imaginatively named Star City sprawled up and along
a ridge of pink-grey rock of the sort that was apparently common in this particular region of this particular continent on this particular world. (The world was called Hetarey, he remembered that
much; he’d looked it up on the way here, but the details hadn’t stuck. They didn’t need to. It wasn’t like they planned to be here more than a few hours.) The starport
itself was on the flat top of the ridge; the other flat land, at the bottom, was for the rich coves who liked houses with flat floors and big rooms. In between, built into a slope that varied from
inconvenient to impossible, were the houses of the average folks, plus all the diversions and entertainments that went with being the only place on this backwater planet where the universe came to
call. The slope was extra-steep just here, and heavy-duty grav-units and massive fans had been installed at the bottom to give those without Nual and Taro’s unnatural advantages a chance to
fly.
When he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, Taro turned his head quickly enough to blow any pretence of being a casual customer. That had to be his contact. The locals had a thing
about hair – everyone wore theirs long, and shaving was against their religion or something – and while that wasn’t such a prime look on the men, especially combined with their
preference for short trousers and stupid hats, on a good-looking woman waist-length red curls were pure blade. And this was a good-looking woman.
Even if he wasn’t currently gawking at her, she’d have no trouble spotting him. Hetarey didn’t see many offworlders – in a busy week, they might get two whole shiftships
landing. Taro was unfeasibly tall and thin, and dressed the way he knew he looked good – big boots, tight leggings, vest top and black jacket – he had already attracted the attention of
the other diners (‘Eat your greens darling or you’ll grow up like that’ – not in this gravity you won’t, kid). Nual had also drawn looks, though for a different
reason: she was beautiful, probably the most beautiful woman they’d ever set eyes on – though Taro was biased. People looked at her like they wanted or admired her, and the same people
looked at him like he was an alien who shouldn’t be allowed. Which was funny, really, given he was the human one, and she was the alien.
The woman smiled and headed straight over. She had a sense of style most of the locals lacked, and she moved well. Her body wasn’t bad, either, from what he could see of it under that
flouncy top.
He felt a tickle of amusement in the back of his mind. He resisted the temptation to look in Nual’s direction. Instead he smiled at the newcomer, and gestured to the chair opposite. She
ignored the offer and instead took the seat at the end of the table, which put her immediately to Taro’s right. More annoyingly, it meant she had her back to Nual.
‘Thank you for coming, Medame Klirin,’ he said. ‘Did you, uh, want anything to drink? Or eat?’
‘No. Thank you.’ She tapped a dark spot on the table – so that was how you turned the damn thing off – then leant forward and gave him a sideways look. ‘La, not
meaning any offence, but why do we need to meet in person? Can you take the shipment? Or not?
‘We – I – just like to meet potential customers.’ The gappy-sounding question thing was just how they spoke around here, so he added, ‘Right?’
‘Sirrah sanMalia, are you actually the captain of the Heart of Glass?’
Taro didn’t need Nual to tell him what she was thinking: she was wondering why someone who’d yet to survive his second decade was making deals on interstellar cargo. ‘No,
I’m the junior partner. The captain is tied up elsewhere.’ He spread his hands. ‘If you’d got in contact sooner, I’m sure he could have met you, but at this short
notice, I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with me. All right?’
In the brief pause while she digested his apology he sent a silent query in Nual’s direction. Her reply came through at once:
‘Sorry,’ Medame Klirin was saying, ‘No offence taken, right?’
‘Er, right. Really, we just wanna know more about this cargo you want us to ship. And why the sudden rush?’
She brushed back a stray strand of hair, and Taro tried not to be distracted. ‘It’s a matter of commercial confidentiality, see?’ she said quietly. ‘A delicate and
perishable product which we need to get to a company in Perilat. All sealed and safe; and we’ll provide the permits and specs to keep customs sweet, la. We’ve been watching the listings
for a ship heading out to Perilat, haven’t we? So when you registered that as your next destination we got in contact.’
Before Taro could query Nual her comment arrived in his head:
Which was, Taro had to admit, somewhat freaky. Oops, Nual would pick that thought up too, of course.
‘Are you all right?’
He realised Medame Klirin was staring at him. ‘Yeah, I’m— Let’s just say you were right to avoid the food here. Um, when you say “we”, who d’you
represent?’
‘A corporate interest.’
‘That’s a bit vague,’ said Taro. ‘Can I have some details?’
‘I can provide them, la.’ She held up a hand to show her com; like his it was a slap-com on the back of her hand, not an implant. Jarek had advised them against getting implanted
coms – not that he could afford one right now – because they could cause issues with their not-entirely-accurate-and-subject-to-future-change IDs; that she also hadn’t an implant
was another point against Medame Klirin. Then again, what did he know? He was pretty new to this whole freetrading lark. Madam Klirin continued, ‘Did you want details of the company at
Perilat who’ll eventually receive the goods? Given the confidential nature of our research, we’d rather you just dealt with their agents, you know?’
Taro projected,
He realised Madame Klirin was frowning at him. ‘Listen,’ said Taro, with what he hoped was a sympathetic smile, ‘I don’t think we can take your cargo. Sorry.’
‘What?’ She looked understandably confused.
‘It’s just . . . maybe if the captain was here, he might think differently, but like I said, I’m the junior partner, and I really don’t wanna make a bad call.’
‘But he trusted you to meet me, surely he trusts your judgment . . . he does know you’re here? Or are you acting alone?’
Taro had been in enough shit in his life to read the worst into that question. ‘Yes, Captain Reen knows I’m here; in fact, he’s expecting me back at the ship soon. And
he trusts my judgment, but I’ve decided to play it safe. Sorry to screw you around and all, but we’ve got a rep to maintain.’
‘What are you implying here, la?’ Medame Klirin said coldly.
Taro cursed his loose tongue. It wasn’t like she’d actually said or done anything smoky. Then again, pissing her off – just a bit – might make her let down her guard.
‘I ain’t implying anything, and I ain’t saying you and your people aren’t prime and lovely. I’ve just decided not to take this job.’ He made sure he had eye
contact when he added, ‘We can’t risk potentially dangerous or dubious cargo.’
‘Fine,’ she said, and stood up. Her unspoken response was strong enough that he heard it in Medame Klirin’s voice even though her words arrived via Nual:
As she turned to go he began to stand, nerves thrumming. Nual’s mental voice froze him in place:
He read what ‘this’ was and forced himself to sit back down. Even so, he felt the Angel reflexes kick in: body calm but ready for action, mind alert to danger without being impaired
by fear.
Medame Klirin was making her way to the door. Nual, apparently oblivious, grabbed her tray, stood up and turned—
—and ran straight into the other woman. The tray went flying.
Taro heard Nual’s embarrassed apology: ‘So sorry!’
Medame Klirin tried to step back, and hit a table with her hip. Nual was fussing, trying to brush rice off the woman’s top. Taro watched the woman’s hands; one grasped the edge of
the table she’d fallen against, the other was flailing; she wasn’t going for a weapon. Around him, people were looking up, but no one was making a move.
Medame Klirin edged away from Nual slowly, like she was slightly stunned. Finally Nual stepped back. ‘I’ve got the worst off; are you sure you don’t want a contribution towards
your cleaning bill? That’s such a lovely top, la, I’d hate to have ruined it.’ She’d even managed to get the local speech patterns down pat, noted Taro admiringly.
‘No . . .’ Klirin shook her head, then seemed to remember herself. ‘I’m fine. Really. La, I— I should go now.’
Nual stepped aside, and at the same time projected to Taro:
Jarek’s old partner used to have a saying: ‘If a deal sounds too good to be true, that’s because it is.’ He’d agreed to let his companions meet
the contact because they couldn’t afford to turn down that much credit without good reason, and though Nual and Taro lacked his years of experience, her unique talents should give them the
chance to find out if there was a good reason. She’d have been a better negotiator than Taro, but her looks made her too memorable, and she preferred to stay in the background.
The cargo they had arrived here with – dyestuffs and low-volume specialist fabrics for the apparently taste-free Hetarey fashion industry, plus a selection of licensed games, shows and
films that local distributors weren’t willing to pay premium prices to get beeveed in – hadn’t fetched as much as he’d hoped, and nothing available here would turn much
profit in the main interstellar markets, so it had been looking like he’d barely cover his costs on this run. The lucrative contract to transport a rich local had been a stroke of much-needed
luck; the man was happy to pay starliner prices for no-frills – and no-questions-asked – transport out-of-system. Jarek didn’t habitually take passengers, and he really
didn’t have the space since his solo outfit had tripled in size a couple of months back, but he was unwilling to turn down such a fat fee, not with his creditors snapping at his heels.
Getting paid as much again to ship the mystery box would have been a lucky break too far.
He was overseeing the delivery of the local crafts and overpriced wines he was shipping out when Nual called, and as soon as she signed off he commed ‘Sirrah Lamark’ to tell him that
their departure was being brought forward. Once the cargo was stowed, he went up to the Heart of Glass’s bridge, where he divided his attention between pre-flight checks and watching
the external cameras.
A man looking uncannily like ‘Apian Lamark’ was apparently on the run after a bloody coup that brought down a brutal junta on Hetarey’s southern continent. According to the
local newsnets, the few generals at the top who had escaped the popular uprising had bought their freedom with the blood of their comrades. Still, he didn’t have to like the man; he just had
to get him offworld. But now Jarek knew the lengths those seeking justice for Apian Lamark’s alleged crimes would go to, he had no intention of hanging around on Hetarey any longer than
necessary.
His com chimed: it was Taro. ‘Where are you?’
‘Just coming out of customs.’
‘Any sign of our guest?’
‘Not yet. How d’you want to play this?’
Jarek saw movement on his cameras. The starport was a shallow bowl cut into the rock, shadow-filled in the early evening sun; two people had just emerged from the passenger departure lounge. He
exhaled as they stepped into the light: yes, it was Nual and Taro. ‘Get yourselves on board, but leave the ’lock open and be prepared for trouble.’
‘How prepared?’ asked Taro.
‘Just tranq pistols. Let’s not go overboard.’
‘Got you.’
Nual’s peek inside Medame Klirin’s mind had uncovered her true affiliation: she was an agent for one of the groups who wanted Lamark dead. They called themselves ‘the Hand of
Truth’ and they’d got hold of a comabox – which they must have disguised somehow, given anyone who travelled the stars knew what one looked like. Their plan was to put their top
assassin into stasis inside it, primed to wake up while the ship was on its way out to the beacon, when he would overpower the crew and kill Lamark. If the ship in question hadn’t been his,
Jarek might have admired their ingenuity.
He looked up at movement on his cameras. Someone else was coming out of the passenger lounge: a small man with a big moustache and a ludicrous hat that looked like it was made of fabric rosettes
stuck on an upturned bowl. Jarek recognised Apian Lamark from his holo. He moved with the swift care of someone who’d had experience of dodging sniper-fire.
Jarek heard Nual’s shout in stereo, coming up from below and over the camera pick-ups. Lamark must have heard the warning too, for he ducked instantly. The shot was silent. It spun him
around, and he fell. Then he was up again – he must be wearing body armour under that awful suit.
The second shot came almost at once. Lamark’s head jerked backwards; Jarek glimpsed a spurt of red and the man dropped. Presumably the ridiculous head-gear hadn’t been armoured; at
any rate, it hadn’t saved him.
Lamark’s body jerked again, and again. Whoever was shooting wanted to be quite sure the target was dead.
Jarek tore himself away from the grisly sight. Well, that was that then.
According to his readouts the airlock had just closed. ‘You two all right?’ he commed down.
‘We’re fine,’ said Taro, sounding surprisingly calm.
There was more movement outside, people running into the bowl from a side door. Jarek’s hands were already moving over the control panel. The new arrivals, dressed in uniforms of some
sort, started shooting at the unseen assassin. There were half a dozen of them, and they were good; the fire-fight was over in seconds.
The ship’s com chimed. Jarek ignored it.
Two of the guards walked over to where the assassin’s body was lying. From the spreading pool of blood it was clear to Jarek that he or she wasn’t going to be shooting back. The
second pair moved forward to Lamark’s body. The remaining pair was heading for Jarek’s ship. One of them was waving and tapping his helmet-com, trying to attract Jarek’s
attention.
He could activate the grav-drive safely even with people around, provided they weren’t too close. So far he hadn’t broken any laws, but the locals obviously wanted to question them,
and that would take time he couldn’t spare. He had the next run already lined up back at Perilat, and with this job blown – and any potential profit down the pan – he
couldn’t afford to screw that up. He’d already obtained permission to depart as soon as they had their passenger on board.
The final telltale on the panel went green.
Ah, fuck it. He pressed the slider, and the ship rose smoothly. The bridge was flooded with sunlight as they rose over the rim of the bowl and the spaceport dropped out of sight.
Jarek finally paid attention to the still-chiming com. As expected, it was the spaceport authority. His hand hovered over the board; he’d have to answer them eventually . . .
He turned at a noise from behind. Taro had come up onto the bridge. He looked past Jarek at the purple sky, already darkening as they shot up into orbit. ‘Oh,’ he said.
‘Oh, as in?’ said Jarek, more harshly than he’d intended.
Taro spread his hands and gave a disarming smile. ‘Just, “Oh, so we’ve left, then,”’ he said, then added, ‘We’ll be downstairs.’ He kicked off,
using his flight implants to float back down through the hatch.
Jarek took a deep breath and hit receive on the com.
‘Heart of Glass, you must return to the spaceport at once!’
‘Sorry, Port Control, we were cleared for departure before that little fracas broke out, and we weren’t going to hang around to get shot at.’
‘You are material witnesses to a murder. You are required to give statements.’
‘I caught some of the action on my cameras, but I’m sure you have your own, far better, surveillance footage.’
‘We do: why were two of your associates watching the incident from your ship’s airlock?’
Oh hell. ‘Were they? In that case, I need to speak to my crew.’ He forestalled any further argument by ending the call, then called down to the rec-room, ‘Can you get
back up here, please? Both of you.’
The Heart of Glass’s poky bridge felt crowded with all three of them crammed in. When they were settled, Jarek said, ‘The locals want to speak to us – you two, mainly
– about that little fuck-up down there.’ He turned to Nual. ‘I heard you shout just before Lamark got shot the first time; was that because you sensed the assassin?’ Nual
shook her head. ‘No, I caught sight of the gun – just a glimpse.’
‘Well, at least we can admit that.’ As opposed to saying she was one of an apparently long-dead race with mental powers. Not that he ever would say that, given humanity’s
entirely understandable antipathy towards the Sidhe. ‘If all they want is a statement, then maybe they’ll let you transmit it while we’re on our way out to the beacon. Then again,
perhaps the place is rotten to the core and you’re being set up to take the blame.’
‘’cos of us being Angels?’ asked Taro.
‘Possibly.’ He sighed. Travelling with a pair of augmented assassins could be complicated, but Taro and Nual were Jarek’s friends, and allies in his crusade against
humanity’s hidden foe. ‘We can’t know for sure, though.’
Nual spoke up. ‘It’s probably not relevant now, but I suspect that the Hand of Truth’s original assassin – the one they wanted us to transport for them –
wouldn’t have tried to kill us, or take the ship. The impression I got was that he or she might have committed suicide once Lamark was dead, that they were willing to die to bring him to
justice.’
‘Ah. Shame you didn’t mention that earlier; I might have still taken the job – at least we’d have been paid!’
‘I communicated what I felt to be important at the time.’ Nual said, a little frostily.
‘No, it’s not your fault – if I’d thought it through I could probably have worked that out for myself. The Hand of Truth wouldn’t want to break Treaty law by
killing freetraders or stealing a shiftship. This is a local matter.’ It also occurred to him that even if Nual hadn’t found out about the Hand of Truth’s plan in advance, she
might have sensed the sleeping assassin in their cargo delivery, in which case they could have decided to turn down the cargo then. And if the assassin in the spaceport had been the Hand of
Truth’s back-up plan then he might still have got paid for safely transporting Lamark, instead of not getting paid for either job. Ah well, too late now. ‘Right,’ he concluded,
‘I’m going to call the locals back and say you’ll both give statements by com. We’re far enough out that we’re under Traffic Control’s jurisdiction now,
so— Oh.’ He’d been keeping an eye on the sensors; they’d been clear, but now he was showing a contact.
‘What is it?’ asked Taro.
‘Not sure. Possibly an interceptor – in which case we’re screwed. I need to make that call.’
The coms light was still on, and the incoming call was indeed from Traffic Control. Jarek spoke over them. ‘Hetarey TC, this is the Heart of Glass. We’re happy to provide the
authorities down there with full statements, but we’d rather not have to return dirtside; as I’m sure you understand, we are running on a tight schedule.’ He didn’t mention
the possible pursuit; let them bring that up. Or not, ideally.
‘Heart of Glass, are you not intending to return?’
‘Well, no. As I say, we can—’
‘You are unaware of your own change of status, then?
Uh-oh. ‘What change of status would that be, TC?’
‘After your precipitous departure, we beeveed the Freetraders’ Alliance. Would you like to know what they told us?’
Jarek bit back his instinctive response to this latest stupid question, and said, ‘Yes. Please.’
‘The Alliance’s legal department informed us that a repossession order for your ship has just been issued.’
‘What? Who from?’ Not that this development was such a surprise, under the circumstances.
‘The Veryan Syndicate.’
Yeah, it would be that lot; they’ve got the money and the clout. ‘That’s bad news for me, obviously, but I can’t see how it changes the local situation,’ he
said as evenly as he could.
‘Shall I explain? The claimant organisation has invoked Treaty law against you. Given your recent actions, we will be honouring their request to detain you and take possession of your ship
pending arrival of their representative.’
Over my vacuum-frozen corpse you will. ‘You don’t have to go to any trouble, right?’ No doubt the Veryans were paying the locals well for the ‘favour’ of
detaining Jarek. Sadly, it was all perfectly legal.
‘Captain Reen, must we point out the interceptor which we recently despatched?’ Jarek didn’t dignify that with an answer, and the traffic controller continued, ‘Were you
thinking of doing anything drastic? We hope not: we believe the Veryan rep has alerted both of the systems on transit-paths from Hetarey. They have someone awaiting you at both destinations,
whichever one you shift to.’
‘The Veryans are certainly being thorough.’ He couldn’t blame them; shiftships were rare, and any one-ship trading outfit foolish enough to go as deep into the red as
he’d fallen could expect a larger rival to make a play for their ’bird.
‘Shall I tell them that you’ll be returning to Hetarey? And as a gesture of goodwill would you like us to put you and your crew up while we wait for the syndicate representative?
That should give you all ample opportunity to submit full statements regarding the incident at the spaceport.’
And quite possibly get shafted for it. ‘I’ll get back to you,’ Jarek said cheerily, and cut the connection. He turned to see Taro and Nual looking meaningfully at each other.
‘Er, you got all that, I assume?’
‘If we cooperate, what then?’ asked Nual.
‘Well, if we can come up with enough credit – somehow – we could contest the Veryan Syndicate’s claim, but that’ll involve several months in court on the hub
of their choosing, during which time we’ll be stuck without a ship.’
‘And we got better things to do,’ said Taro.
‘We certainly have. The mission’s well and truly fucked without the Heart of Glass.’
‘Then there’s only one option,’ stated Nual.
‘Ah. You mean . . . that.’ Jarek looked down for a moment, to indicate the drive column directly below the bridge.
Taro nodded; they’d obviously already discussed this, in their own unique way.
‘You’re sure?’ asked Jarek. ‘Last time was pretty hairy.’
Nual said, ‘I don’t think we have any choice.’
They came on Midsummer’s night.
Kerin found herself suddenly awake, opening her eyes to an irregular white radiance that washed out the lamplight. And there was a strange noise, peep-peep-peep . . .
She realised what was happening, and looked groggily at the screen on the far side of the room which was the source of the glow, pulsing in time to the insistent alarm. That screen had been dark
and silent for three weeks now, ever since her otherworldly husband had gone back to the sky. For a moment she dared to hope that he had returned, but in her heart, she knew otherwise.
She got up and shuffled over to the console. The display meant little to her, though it showed too many words for this to be a simple request for contact, and that made her worry even more. She
blinked away the after-images of bright text and walked quickly back across the room to the other bed, narrowly avoiding kicking the chamber-pot sticking out from under it.
‘Damaru,’ she said urgently, ‘wake up please!’
When her son made no response she shook him gently.
He batted at her hand, then opened one eye.
‘Damaru, you have to get up. Something is happening to the console.’
He gave an irritated grunt, but began to wriggle free of the covers.
Kerin knew he would do as she asked; however awkward her skytouched child might be when faced with day-to-day tasks, he would never turn down the chance to play with this wonderful new
technology.
She went over to the clothes-stand and pulled on the ornate black and silver robe hanging there. She began to work her feet into the specially made shoes with their built-up soles before
deciding she did not have the time for that; at this time of the night the guard would be at least as sleepy as she was; he was unlikely to notice such fine details as her height. She fastened the
robe, then carefully lifted down the crown-like headdress, wincing as she took the weight of its precious metal and cunningly hidden technology on her injured arm. She settled the headdress on her
head and, suitable attired, left the room, pulling the veil across her face as she hurried down the short passage to the cavernous audience chamber. The light-globes studding the lower walls of the
great domed hall were at half-brightness; she had similar artefacts in her own room, though she rarely used them – Damaru slept better in natural light, and was less likely to disassemble
oil-lamps when he was bored.
In the dim light Kerin could just m
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