Mainline (53 page)

Obray dismissed him without hearing more. "How about this instead? You tell us who your client is, and we don't unjack you. Then you don't risk losing neurons."

"That's not much of a deal."

"That's all I'm offering."

FlashMan mulled it over. Reluctantly, he began.

"I'm working for a woman named Reva," he said. "She wanted secure files from Harric's private net." He lay braced for the next round of questions about who she was, why she wanted to plunder a crime net—but the questions didn't come.

The Security officer's sim sat with a strange expression on its face, so motionless that for a moment Flash thought the man had left his virtual self. The wire-frame leaned forward suddenly, close enough that Flash gave a little jerk of startlement.

"Is there a Fixer working with her, too?"

FlashMan hesitated only a moment. Obviously Reva was a known quantity to these people. "Yes," he admitted.

"His name is—?"

"Vask."

The officer's sim froze again, returning to virtual life several heartbeats later. No telling what frenzied offline conference had occurred during his absence, but two blue wire-frames were suddenly by FlashMan's side, pulling him to his feet.

Obray faced his prisoner. "I've had a change of heart. Here's what we'll do." He motioned to the taller of the wire-frames. "Nomad here is now your bosom buddy. He goes where you go. You can wrap up that delivery to your client. You won't be mentioning us, of course. When you're done, you can give us a dump on Reva and her friends. Then take us on a guided tour of Harric's. Nomad'll stick by your side and trace pathways as you go. You can work with another netrunner, I take it?"

Flash looked Nomad over. "I find most are too slow to keep up with me."

"Make sure that this one does, or we'll—"

"Unjack me, yeah, right. Enough with the threats already."

The officer's voice hardened. "I don't make threats, decker. One suspicious move, and you're unplugged. Is that clear?"

"Yes," Flash replied in a surly manner.

Obray nodded to the Security netrunners, and the binding field and deck trace dissolved. FlashMan flexed the arms of his newly revived sim-self and twirled once in place. "Alright, bosom buddy," he sneered up at Nomad. "Try to keep up, will ya? We've got plans to deliver."

A white wire-frame hand rested on his jagged shoulder. "Leave us a copy before you go."

Flash grumbled but obeyed. Milliseconds later he was out of IntSec systems and back into the Net, with Nomad by his side.

"Any
ideas about
how to get
in
there?"

Reva looked at Vask oddly. "I'll use the Lines, Fixer. Like I always do."

"You risk losing track of Mainline that way."

"I'll take pains to stick close. This is the Adahn I want, not some copy a few realities away."

"Mm."

The pair sat in Kastlin's rented rooms. "I want to come with you," he finally said.

"Oh, gods, don't you start, too. I had enough of that from Devin." "I'm different."

"You're not trained—"

"I can sideslip."

Her eyes flicked to his, and a slow smile cracked her determined expression. "I nearly forgot about that."

"So let me come. Walk the Lines all you want; as long as you end up in Mainline with Harric, I'll be there. Your invisible guardian, until you need me."

"That sounds tempting."

Vask looked hopeful, the eager puppy-dog gaze she had not seen in weeks. From somewhere came a desire for support in this thing that lay ahead of her, and that part wanted to say yes; the rest, which worked alone, always alone, hung back.

She approached the subject from a different angle. "There might be an easier way in," she volunteered. "I'm not sure I want to take it."

"Tell me about it."

"I have a net account under a contact name. Someone left me a message today. Harric."

Vask's mouth opened.

"It came from his lieutenant, actually. We talked. He says Adahn regrets his angry words with me and wants us to create a new working partnership. I can write my own ticket; come in and talk about it. As gesture of goodwill, I'll have clearance all the way in—no guards, no checkpoints, no locked doors."

Kastlin made a rude noise.

"Yeah. Too eager. We could talk over a com link, if he's that interested. Though Janus says they're letting defenses down around me to extend a courtesy, to show they're sincere. They trust me. I wouldn't be scanned or searched."

"Do you believe that?"

"It stinks like a beached beldy. How'd they know I was near Bekavra, Fixer?"

Kastlin sighed.

"But it all comes down to this: do I want to say yes, anyway? I'm walking through the same building, whether I'm expected or not. This way, at least, the doors are open and guards out of the way, at least going in. And no matter what this trap is they think they've cooked up, they don't know I can move between the Lines."

"But," Vask reasoned, "if things get ugly in all the nearby Lines, you're caught up in it, no matter which Line you're in."

Reva dipped her chin.

"It sounds too risky, then. Say no and go in like you were planning to, unannounced."

"That means going in blind. Not knowing where Harric is." She shook her head. "If they think they're luring me, then I go right to him—or close enough, anyway. Less uncertainty about his location. I won't have it that good if I make a blind run, and with limited Nows to choose from, I'm more likely to wind up in a real dead end. Unlike you, I can't float away through a wall when that happens."

His face sobered and she punched him in the arm. "Come on. He refuses to leave his estate for a meeting. This is the next best thing to Adahn putting his neck on the block for us. You want to come along, ghost-man?"

Reva seemed confident of her abilities. He couldn't say no. "I'm in."

"Good. Then come on."

"Right now?"

"Let's go before they can make themselves too ready for us. I'll call Janus on the way."

"
Here
's
your
data,"
FlashMan chattered unannounced.
"Hot off the Net."

The voice roused a brooding Devin from his reverie in the privacy of the flight deck. The spacer looked to the com module, blinked in astonishment at the monitor trace that showed data streaming into the
Fortune's
comp core.

"Flash?" He fumbled for words. "What are you—where've you been? Are you alright?"

"Had some delays. Got the goods for you thought as promised. ''

"Look—Reva thought you were dead, not delayed. She's gone to—"

"Spare me the tale. I'm late for a date."

"Flash—"

"Later.''

The grating hiss of static filled the channel. "Lords of Ice!"

Shiran slammed hands down on the arms of the Captain's chair. "Can't anybody stick around here long enough to talk?''

He stabbed the disconnect angrily, then glanced at the illicit files. It was all there, what Reva should have waited for. Floor plans. Service entrances. Security scanners. Even the codes and passwords for the day's security patrols at Harric's estate.

Devin reviewed the files with growing dismay. Now what good will this do us? he thought. Reva's sudden strike is bound to fail, and worse, she'll tip Harric off to his danger.

He rubbed his eyes. Reva's plan was born of an urgency that the FlashMan's reappearance made pointless. Her ill-considered initiative would ruin the chances for a more organized assault to work, besides getting her killed in the process.

That was not the memorial to Lish's death the Shiran Trader had planned on. He put his anger aside and thought about it logically, calmly.

He'd been unable to stop Reva from leaving the freighter, set on this self-appointed mission of confrontation and death.
Her death, most likely.
Yet Devin owed her
roi'tas e senje'tas,
on Lish's behalf. He was honor-bound to help preserve her life. And now he held the key to a successful operation in his hands— though it would be useless if he waited too long to use it.

Maybe she would listen to reason yet.

He punched up her com link code, but the call tone continued for long minutes, unanswered, and Devin cursed as he terminated the connection.

He sat upright, tense with renewed determination. He was no commando, but he had those on board who were. Here were the plans they needed, and soon, Reva would be providing a distraction for them. If they were quick, if they were good, if the gods smiled upon them—-they could strike Harric in the most effective way, and save the assassin from her own rashness as well.

"Skiffjammers," he said over ship's intercom. "Assemble in the crew compartment. We have work to do."

Yavobo contemplated the
security monitors with
an unseeing
eye. Harric was in his thoughts, and the man's heavy-bro
w
ed
face
hung before him, an obstinate visage that stirred anger
in the
warrior's heart.

The man has no honor, the Aztrakhani realized belatedly. His word is not to be trusted.

It was even possible that he had been used, in the matter of Lish's execution, but Yavobo did not dwell on those thoughts, lest they put him into a killing rage. There was no time for such a diversion, not now, when his long-sought prey was about to give herself into his hands. Thanks to the efforts of Janus, and the gods who had prompted the assassin to call.

After he had dispatched Reva, he would turn his attentions to the man who had failed his sworn word. Meanwhile, it would be best to center himself, preparing for the combat that was soon to come.

The lanky warrior interlinked his fingers and began a small wailing chant, invoking ancestors, sending his unreasoning fury out to the desert expanses of his homeworld. He resolved to be left with a core of determination—the commitment to slay his enemy and thus redeem his tarnished honor.

He waited patiently in a small room, chanting to himself before monitors that displayed the antechamber and hall beyond one door. A featureless chamber, stripped of furnishings at Yavobo's request, for he wished no obstacles to come between him and this thin-skin. The chamber had become a dueling arena, like one of the barren red-rock amphitheaters of his homeworld.

His chanting stilled as he felt a tautness grow within him, the keying to tension that heralded changes in his metabolism, Aztrakhani adaptations to combat hormones that raised pain thresholds, increased lung capacity and stamina. It was always better to fight thus, with the body and mind properly prepared. Not as he had met her before, in strange environments, with too little combat readiness in his blood. This time she would know what it was to contend with a truly battle-ready warrior.

He smiled thinly, pulled knife and whetstone from their sheaths, and sharpened his blood-rusted blade with slow, caressing strokes.

"Too near?" Adahn sneered at his lieutenant. "If you're afraid, go hide in the Net. I've got a four-way locking blast door. Guards. A force screen. I've got business to do while we wait, and I can do that best right here." He laid a beefy hand on his desk, computerized command center and com unit in one.

"Besides," he added coldly, "this bitch screwed me around and helped lose us a fortune on Selmun III. Or several fortunes. I want her to know she has me to thank for her quick trip to hell. It'll be a pleasure saying hello, then watching Yavobo gut her."

Janus stepped away from the desk. His boss' pleasures were something he'd rather not have to see. "I'll be next door, then, if you need me."

He let himself into a smaller adjoining office and made certain the door was closed before shaking his head over Harric's folly. Adahn's interest in bloodletting would put him in harm's way yet—

"Sir?" A voice spun him about. "We found something for you."

A MazeRat darkened the far doorway; inside stood two more derevin muscle, holding Karuu between them.

"We thought Mr. Harric would like to know right away," continued the Rat. "We were shaking down tourists at Interglobal, searching for that woman you want—and we found him instead."

Janus nodded slowly, put a welcoming smile on his face. '"This is unexpected." He motioned to a chair, and made a show of pulling a needle gun out of one pocket. "Sit him down there. Thanks for the good work. I'll tell Mr. Harric as soon as he's available."

Karuu shrank smaller in his seat; the MazeRats grinned congratulations at one another.

"I expect you'll keep this quiet for now, understood?" Janus said.

"Yes, sir!" they reassured him, and left, exchanging pleased looks. When the door closed behind them, Janus could hear the Dorleoni's nervous panting in the quiet room.

"You're in it good, this time," he told his reluctant guest.

The Holdout's eyes teared. "I know," he whispered.