Marque and Reprisal (15 page)

From outside another set of footsteps, this time coming closer. She looked around again. No place to hide, really, but up the stairs. She motioned to Toby, finger to lips. If the owner had the private office on an alarm system, they were out of luck, but otherwise…

They were almost to the door when the pounding began on the back door. Stella tried the door of the private office—open, and no alarm sounded when she opened it and she and Toby went in. She closed it behind them as her enhanced hearing picked up the sound of the shop door opening and footsteps coming through.

“What is it?” asked the shopkeeper.

“Open up,” a voice outside said.

“The shop entrance is 3214 Scurry Lane. This entrance is secured,” the shopkeeper said.

“Open up, damn it! We think fugitives got in!”

“Not through this door. Who are you, anyway? You don’t sound like—” A scuffling noise. “You aren’t the police!” Another noise Stella couldn’t identify, a sort of metallic grumble, then a loud clang. A mutter, clear enough with the augmented hearing: “What kind of idiot do they think I am, anyway?” Then, more clearly, “Sam, it’s Rafe. Something’s happening over here; you’d better check the substation on Fourth Blue East. Some yobbos are trying to get in the back door of my shop claiming to be after fugitives but they aren’t any of yours.” Click and another click, then, “Hardy—this is Rafe. Block trouble behind me now, probably coming around front. Police not responding. Could be the bunch we’re looking for.”

Stella blinked.
Yobbos?
The last time she’d heard that word in a very similar voice had been two years back somewhere very far from here. Rafe?
That
Rafe?

“Ahh… no answer, eh? Well, I’ve got to close up shop before they come in the front. Ta.” Brisk footsteps, fading into the distance; no sound of the door closing between shop and office.

Stella looked around the office. Neater than that below, a desk with ordinary data hookups and displays, a bunk covered with a striped blanket, a small synthesizer and meal prep center, a curtain across—she glanced in—a tiny but very clean toilet–shower combo. Cabinets above and below the desk, along the walls. A secondary screen, on which movement caught her eye—the display of a security system, now showing the back of someone she assumed was the proprietor, as he pulled down louvered screens across the shop displays. The door, she noticed, was already closed and barred. The man looked to be of medium height, slender, with thinning gray hair pulled back to a braid tied with a ribbon. He had the second display covered now, and turned.

Stella caught her breath. That Rafe, indeed. He glanced up into the security system’s scan, and smiled. Winked. Well, that cinched it. He knew. Naturally he would. Naturally he would have video pickups in his inner office, as well as downstairs, and naturally he would have checked them. He walked back to the store’s service desk without looking up again. That, too, was Rafe; he had made his point. Now he would wait around for whatever help he’d called in. Stella glanced at Toby, wishing she could spirit him away somehow. He was too young for this, and she couldn’t explain; Rafe would have audio pickups everywhere.

If he knew they were there, if he knew who they were—who she was—then she might as well use his systems. Stella found the security system controls for the interior scan and re-aimed the pickup so that she could watch Rafe. He was just standing there, entering something in the computer—a list of books, she saw when she zoomed in, from the stack of books on the counter. Old books, antiques, real paper. She couldn’t quite focus on the titles, but she could, from up here, link into the computer he was using.

She did that, first returning the surveillance vid to a scan that included the shop’s front door. Under the day’s date, a list of titles sufficiently odd that Stella paused, scrolling down, and tried to think what scam he was up to now. Some historical society’s volumes thirty-two through forty-seven? Estate rolls of places she’d never heard of? Three cookbooks? A book of instructions for butlers? Surely no one actually bought these things to read…

Toby tapped her arm and pointed at the toilet cubicle. Stella shook her head. It would make a sound anyone could hear—though she suspected that Rafe had the upstairs soundproofed and scanproofed as well as he could, gurgling and whooshing in pipes was one sound that no soundproofing really damped.

Something moved on the surveillance vid, catching her peripheral vision. She glanced up. Rafe was moving toward the door, holding a weapon she didn’t recognize. She turned up the sound. A loud clang, followed by a whistle… Rafe swept an arm down, to a pocket, then to his face. Stella checked the chemscan sidebar: nothing yet, he was just being cautious. Light blossomed in the middle of the door; the attackers were trying to burn through. Then a confusion of noises from outside: voices, thumps, crackles, small explosive cracks, and the cloth-ripping sound of rapid-fire small arms loaded with station-safe frangibles. Silence.

Rafe, standing alert beside the door, said, “Block party?”

“Got ’em, Rafe,” came a voice from outside. “Ten of ’em. Pollies aren’t here yet—wait… there they come.”

“Any chem stain, Hardy?”

“No. You can open up, if your door’s not too damaged. Security screen has a hole as big as I am melted through.”

“Right.” Rafe tucked his weapon behind a display and hit the door controls. The outer louvered screen slid aside slowly, then stopped halfway, and he opened the inner door. Stella touched the controls, aiming the vidscan at the outer door. Now she could see the melted section—another sidebar gave its probable temperature on the basis of thermal radiation—and beyond it a scatter of bodies and some men holding weapons, already walking away. Others appeared in uniform: the arriving police, she presumed.

“Looks like you had a problem,” the first of these said.

“We all do,” Rafe said. “Did you find out why station Fourth Blue East didn’t respond?”

“Chemstunned,” the man said. “We think the attackers were after the Vatta kid. Must’ve got him, too, because he’s not there. Why were they after you, Rafe?”

“They said, escaping fugitives. Tried to get in my back door, claimed they were pollies. Luckily I keep it locked. So I’m guessing that somehow the kid got away. After all, you’d had us all warned off to shelter him—somebody must’ve taken him in.”

“Not you?”

“Not that I know of,” Rafe said. “Like I said, my back door’s locked except when I’m putting out stuff to recycle or going over to Huntari for lunch—and then I lock it behind me. Nobody’s reported them?”

“Not yet.” The policeman shrugged. “Could be anywhere if the attackers didn’t get him. We’d better find him, in case there’s more bad guys. By the way… you do know that vigilante action is illegal?”

“I was inside the whole time, Fred.”

“Right. Your close friends and neighbors just showed up fully armed and chem-protected by chance…”

“The whole station’s jumpy, Fred. If they choose to help me out when the police have been immobilized… I’d say that’s a good thing.”

“I’m not complaining,” the policeman said. “Just pointing out the law, which is my duty. If the violation of ordinance has ceased, then… that’s all I have to do.”

“Thank you,” Rafe said, in a tone that Stella recognized. Rafe had always had a gift for irony.

“Want us to check out the store?”

“If you wish, but as I said I was locked in back when they came, and you can see they didn’t get through the front. Almost, though.”

“If you’re sure—we do have other things to do. I’ll have a new roster in that substation within the hour—our people there are all headed for hospital—and we’ll add patrols. Forensics have to check out these bods and see if they can identify them. If you see any sign of the Vatta kid, let me know. Oh, and there’s a Vatta family representative around somewhere—was supposed to be headed for the police station, but we don’t know if she got there.”

“She?”

“Yeah, a woman. I’ll flash you the picture. Not a Vatta herself, apparently, but a family retainer. S. M. Constantin. Probably a lawyer. Came in on an ISC courier.”

“I should report her, too?”

“If you see her. Let’s hope these scum didn’t get her.”

“Let’s hope,” Rafe said. “Look—I’ve got to call Maintenance to get a repair crew over here. Talk later?”

“Right.” The policeman turned away.

Rafe shut the inner door, picked up the weapon behind the display, and came back to the shop counter, with another grin for the camera. At the counter he made what seemed to be a perfectly straightforward call to Station Maintenance, requesting repair or replacement of the security grille and inner door of the shop on an urgent priority basis. “And I may be up in my back office—just give me a call before you arrive.” Then with a final glance at the camera, he headed toward the back of the store.

Stella turned down the sound augmentation on her implant and turned to Toby. “We’re about to have company, it looks like. Remember—we’re trespassing, and we have no rights.”

“Yes…” Toby looked pale again. Stella slid her own weapon back into its holster. She heard the footsteps come into the stockroom, pause, and then come up the stairs. The door opened.

Rafe stood there, lips pursed, and shook his head. “Stella, Stella, Stella… do you have to be so dramatic?”

“Me?” It was all she could say; as always, he took her breath away, and memories crowded her mind.

“My dear, if you just wanted to see me again, all you had to do was give me a call… though I suppose with the ansibles down that might have been difficult.” He glanced aside at Toby. “Vatta kid, I suppose? Escaped from custody? You’d better go use the toilet, boy; you look ready to puke on my floor, and I wouldn’t like that.”

Toby gave Stella a desperate look; she nodded and he fled to the toilet cubicle.

“Nice work, Stella,” Rafe said, ignoring the sounds from that direction. “Spurn my invitation, ignore me for years, then break into my shop and bring down gods only know what on my head… I suppose you’d rather I didn’t tell the pollies where you were?”

“When and if the personnel from that station wake up, they’ll explain,” Stella said. “I went there to authorize handling the remains of the others, and they told me about Toby, wanted me to take him. Then it got very quiet, and when I looked out… they were down. I took him out the back—”

“Which you just happened to know about, and how to open the door,” Rafe said, nodding.

“I still have the picklocks,” Stella said.

“And the dataprobe, I’ll bet,” Rafe said, this time with approval. “I always said you were more like me than you wanted to admit.”

“And
your
door was ajar,” Stella said.

“Luckily for you,” Rafe said. “Since your picklocks would have set off a stunblast. I heard the front bell just as I came back in and didn’t make sure it closed all the way. Foolish of me. Could’ve been fatal if the others had made it here first. I suppose you think I should thank you for that?”

“No,” Stella said. “But I’ll take thanks if you’re offering them.”

Rafe laughed. The same laugh. Warm tingles ran over her. Damn the man. Legend said it was your first love that always held some power over you, but in her case the first love was an unpleasant memory—how could she have fallen for that toad?—and Rafe a constant temptation.

Toby came out of the toilet cubicle looking pale, but less strained. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Fear does that,” Rafe said. His grin at the boy was entirely comradely, with none of the rakehell glint he gave Stella. “You look half starved, boy; didn’t they feed you over at the station?”

“Couldn’t eat,” Toby muttered. “Now—”

“Now you could eat a whole rationpak in one bite, eh? Stella, it’s up to you—I can feed you here, or we can play lost-and-found and let the police know where you are, then take the lad to Huntari for a good meal.”

“I want to get him to safety—which I suspect means on a ship with no Vatta connections, out into space—as soon as possible. What do you think—are there still assassins out there?”

“Mmm. Could be. Finding a ship’s not going to be easy, either. Most of ’em won’t take anyone with Vatta connections, or anyone from Slotter Key, just in case. You’ll need other ID, if that’s your plan. Where’d you want to go? Back to Slotter Key?”

“No. Lastway, I’m thinking. Nobody’d expect us to go there, and it’s right out on the fringes.”

He tilted his head. “Lastway. But Vatta trades there, don’t they?”

Stella cursed silently. Of course he would know that. Rafe had an information network galaxywide.

“Sometimes,” she said. “No regular schedule that I know of, though I’m not in on all the family business.”

“Your checkered past,” Rafe said, feigning sympathy. Stella wanted to hit him.

“My checkered past,” she said instead. “So… I suppose you could arrange alternative IDs?”

“Easier if the pollies don’t know you’re around,” he said. “They have such… traditional attitudes toward identity.”

“That’s a yes,” Stella said to Toby, who was wide-eyed. At least he wasn’t interrupting.

“We’d better feed the boy something here, then,” Rafe said.

While Toby spooned down a bowl of flavored mush larded with restorative additives, Rafe sat at his desk manipulating his security scanners. Stella lounged on the cot, uncomfortably aware of its other use.

“Station’s in an uproar,” Rafe said over his shoulder. “Casual muggings dockside, nothing unusual. Vendettas, brawls, even wholesale gang fights in dockside bars—we’re used to that, same as any station is. But blowing a docked ship—that shook everyone. Killed not just the crew, but about half the people in that sector, including the emergency response team there. Half the ships here pulled out, right then, and no one blamed ’em, though it meant we’re short of some supplies. Nothing critical, but a nuisance. Pollies’re overstretched; you know how station militia are…”

“Yes,” Stella said. She did not want his lecture on police and militia organization; she’d had it before.

“So stationers organized block defenses. Everyone knew the perps were still here, most likely, on the hunt for the boy, or for any more Vatta ships that showed up. Or ships that might be friendly to Vatta. Technically, it’s illegal, but practically speaking the pollies were glad of our help and so was station management. Longtime stationers were even able to access police armories. I’m not in that group.”

He couldn’t be, since five years before he had been somewhere else. With her, one way and another. Stella said nothing, and he went on.

“You came in on an ISC courier, I hear. You know anything about the ansible problem?”

“Only that they’re down almost everywhere, and ISC is trying to get them back up. Apparently some are fried, and others just trashed.”

“Mmm. Frying suggests sabotage to me, someone internal. What do they think?”

“I was encouraged not to ask,” Stella said. “Condition of transport. But they’d take Toby and me, if we got to them and wanted to go where they’re going next.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t know. Another thing I was encouraged not to ask. Eventually, I have a message for their headquarters, but I have no idea how many transfers that would be.”

“I see.” Rafe turned his chair around. “I don’t see you having any advantage to me, at the moment. What do you have to trade?”

“Sufficient hard goods,” Stella said. Of course he wouldn’t help them for nothing; this was Rafe, after all.

“I’m moderately concerned for the welfare of this station,” Rafe said. “It has been a profitable connection. However, additional security measures and lower levels of trade may cut into my profits. Seeing as how Vatta seems to be involved in causing me inconvenience, perhaps I should find another source of income.”

“Such as?”

“Perhaps we should consider a partnership,” Rafe said, studying his fingernails. “Your family is in disarray; you must need allies. I have… certain… expertise, and certain connections. You have, as you said, hard goods, and your family’s legendary expertise in trade and profit… and a trade network second to none, I understand.”

“But if we are in disarray, how can that help you?” Stella asked. “I fear you suggest a partnership in which we cannot provide a fair balance of advantage—”

“Disarray, perhaps, but I’ve no doubt—however they’ve kept you sequestered—that you have access where a… where someone like me might not. And vice versa. As I said before, Stella, we would make good partners.”

“Possibly, for a limited time. But you know, Rafe, I have other loyalties.”

“I know. So you said.” He glanced at Toby, who was now staring into an empty bowl, studiously ignoring them both. “And I can see that the survival and welfare of this boy must be a priority. What is he to you, anyway?”

“A cousin,” Stella said.

“Ah.” Rafe stretched out his legs. “Well, let’s start with keeping him safe. Does he have living family anywhere, or is this a lifelong commitment?”

“I have ears,” Toby said, not looking up. Stella grinned at this proof of Vatta spirit.

“Sorry, boy,” Rafe said. “But you were so quiet—”

“I don’t know!” Toby burst out. His eyes glittered dangerously. “I know my uncle’s dead, and everyone on the ship, but I don’t know about others—my parents—” He looked at Stella. “Do you?”

“No,” Stella said. “I know Vatta ships and holdings have been attacked in many places, but with the ansible shut down, I don’t know about your parents specifically. Still, you’re alive.”

“And we want to keep you that way,” Rafe said. The smile he turned on the boy was full of his rakish charm. “If that sat well enough with you, dial another bowl of it. We need you strong and fit for whatever comes next.”

“How do you know Stella?” Toby asked instead.

Rafe’s grin widened. “Let me count the ways… no, that’s not nice. At least you have enough blood to blush. Stella and I met some years back, and nothing more, is the truth of it. I asked her to partner me, and she refused. She wanted to get back to her family.”

“Are you the one—er, sorry…” Toby’s blush deepened with the swift embarrassment of the adolescent who has just put his foot in it.

“No,” Stella said firmly. “No, he’s not. He was after… after that.” Her heart thundered and she took a deep breath. Damn Rafe! This wasn’t anything she wanted to discuss with a youngster, even if they’d had time to explain it all. “He’s right, though. You should eat a little more, if you can.”

“And you, Stella,” Rafe said. Stella shook her head. “Suit yourself, but you need a clear head, and hunger isn’t.”

“I’m fine,” Stella said. “Good breakfast and all that.”

“So… partners?”

“You’d just close up your shop and leave?”

“Not much market for antiquities and books without a certain number of travelers coming through,” Rafe said. “Hard to get new stock, too, and the stationers have bought all they’re going to until trade picks up.”

“Rafe—what were you
really
selling?”

His face hardened. “My business, isn’t it?”

“Not if we’re going to partner. I have enough wolves on my tail already; I want to know what other hazards you’re bringing into this.”

He spread his hands. “None I know of. Some of the packages may have contained… additions… to the objects on the manifest, but you saw how friendly the pollies were.” He glanced again at Toby. “Perhaps this discussion could take place another time?”

“Perhaps,” Stella said. She felt exhausted; after-action letdown. “I will have something to eat, I think.”

“Good,” Rafe said. “I don’t want you to regret a decision made by low blood sugar.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” Stella murmured, and smiled when he glared at her.

“What do you need from your base?” he asked. “And are you still based on the courier or do you have a rental?”

“Everything I actually need is with me,” Stella said. “I have a duffel aboard ship, though. And I’d have to let them know, if I take another route out.”

“They have room for three?”

“Probably not.” Her cabin had been cramped for one; she suspected the life support on couriers was less flexible than on tradeships.

“We’ll need to find out. Do you trust them?”

“Of course,” Stella said. He said nothing, just looked at her. She remembered what he’d said about the implications of the ansible problems. “Oh. You mean do I trust this particular courier crew?” He nodded. She thought about it. Scrupulously polite, uninquisitive just as they had been uninformative. “If they’d wanted to kill me, it would’ve been easy.”

“Yes…” That in a long drawl. “But you’re not traveling as Vatta, are you? Vatta representative, the police said.”

“They surely know,” Stella said.

“Um. Probably. And probably safe enough. But you’ll need a secure way to communicate. Something better than station lines, which are… possible to compromise.”

“Meaning you have,” Stella said. She was not surprised.

“I could,” Rafe corrected gently. “And so could anyone else with my expertise. For the boy’s sake I suggest extreme caution. And—forgive my suspicions—I would like some assurance that you actually do have those items of value you spoke of.”

Stella slipped her weapon out; Rafe did not move, but she felt his attention sharpen. She handed it to Toby, who hastily put down his second bowl of food. “Toby, this is a model you may not be familiar with. Safety’s that red knob. Pull it out now. It’s off safety now. Keep it pointed at Rafe, whom I trust absolutely to be Rafe…”

Rafe smiled, this time with what looked like genuine appreciation.

“And do not hesitate to shoot if he makes a move, or if I suddenly fall over.”

“Yes…,” Toby said. His hand, she noticed, did not shake.

“Now,” Stella said. She reached into her bodice and fished into the top pocket of the safe, pulling out the little suede container. She shook the stones out on her hand; they flashed brilliance around the room. Rafe caught his breath. “Yes,” Stella said. “Genuine. Natural.” She rolled them back into the suede pouch, and tucked it away again.

“I gather there are more?” Rafe said. His pulse had quickened, visible in his neck.

“Oh, yes,” Stella said. “But not all in the same place.”

“Of course,” he said. “I am satisfied, then, that you have sufficient stock of value to enter into an equal partnership. I suppose I should show you mine—” He turned the chair.

“Toby,” Stella said. Rafe froze. “I suppose you should sit perfectly still,” she said, “until our agreement is finalized.”

“You don’t want to see my accounts?” Rafe said, too lightly.

“I don’t want to see the business end of any of the weapons you have in your desk or on your person,” Stella said.

“My, you
have
learned,” Rafe said. He spread his hands. “All right. Terms?”

“Recording,” Stella said. She indicated her implant with one finger. “I know your scans are on, at least in here, so you’ll have your own record as well.” She took a deep breath and went on. “Partnership, limited, sixty days to start with, renewable by agreement of both parties. Can be unaffiliated by either party, with due notice of not less than twenty-four hours onstation, or twenty-four hours after arrival if on shipboard. Absolute for personal protection from physical, chemical, or biological attack by the partner or partner’s agent for the duration of the partnership and for a minimum of three standard days following its ending. Usual for sharing of information: all information relevant to the partnership shared, other information optional. Do you agree to these terms, Rafael Stoner Madestan?”

His expression was rueful. “I should never have taught you so well, Stella. Yes, I, Rafael Stoner Madestan, agree to these terms as offered by Stella Maria Celeste Vatta—sorry, I don’t know your married name. I swear to abide faithfully by my partner in… in this enterprise, and to consider paramount the welfare of all partners. Does the boy enter into this?”

Stella carefully did not look at Toby. “He is of age, just. Toby, do you agree to these terms as full partner, or do you wish the protection of a minor?”

“You’re asking me?” His voice squeaked, then firmed. “As a member of Vatta family… Yes, I agree to these terms as a partner, accepting both Stella Maria Celeste Vatta Constantin and Rafael Stoner Madestan as partners for this enterprise.”

“Good,” Stella said. “And I, Stella Maria Celeste Vatta Constantin, accept you, Toby Lee Vatta, and Rafael Stoner Madestan as my partners in this enterprise, according to the terms as recorded in my implant and in Ser Madestan’s office security recorders.”

“Fine,” Rafe said. “Now can the boy—sorry, Toby—quit threatening me with a live weapon?”

“Of course,” Stella said. “Toby, point that weapon at the floor and push in the red knob.”

“You’re sure we can trust him?” Toby said.

“At this point, we have to find out,” Stella said. “But yes, Rafe has his own code of honor and I believe we can trust him.”

Toby nodded and complied; Rafe sat very still until the weapon was back in Stella’s hands and hidden away once more in her holster. Then he heaved a sigh.

“Stella, dearest, you nearly made me create a mess. I do believe Toby would have shot me.”

“Indeed he would,” Stella said. “But he didn’t, so you have no complaints now, right?”

“Right,” Rafe said. “To work, then. When I realized trade was going right out the air locks, after the explosion, I began converting some of my assets to the same kind of portable hard goods you have. Of course, it was difficult because others on the station were trying to do the same thing, and antiquities are not necessities.”

“And you always have your run money,” Stella said. Rafe shook his head.

“I am well reproved for earlier misdeeds,” he said. “Yes, of a sufficiency. What I propose to do now is put my stock in storage, explain to the authorities that without trade there’s not sufficient profit, and depart. If you are known to have employed me, perhaps as a bodyguard, that would explain—”

“That an antiquities dealer has bodyguard capabilities?”

“No, simply my departure. Perhaps you engaged me as the best you could find, all the regular bodyguards being unwilling?”

“Would they be unwilling?” Stella asked.

“They could be… dissuaded,” Rafe said.

She could not stop the chuckle that emerged. “I see. So you have far more deals going on this station than selling books and things and… whatever comes in the parcels.”

He spread his hands. “You know me too well, Stella.”

Alas, she did. But after the first appalling realization that she had put herself and her emotions in danger, she had also realized that Rafe was the one person who might, just might, help her get to Lastway and find Ky. Especially since she had Toby along.

“So my thought is first to tell ISC that we need more berths, if they’ve got ’em…”

“A secure line. You need a secure line. Do you have the courier’s contact number?”

“Yes. What do you have, optical spider hooks all over the place?”

“Not exactly all over.” Rafe pulled out a number of thin, stiff fibers from beneath a book and ran them into a standard-configuration plug, which he then plugged into the side of his desk unit. “Berth number… got that. All right. Since I’m sure you don’t trust me, you enter the contact code with your own lily-white hands.”