Chapter 17
"You knew," the Man said, "the ferocity with which the item was sought by several parties?"
"I did," NG conceded.
"And yet you let Hilyer go running off on his own? Did you know that Legal lodged a motion to have you suspended?"
"You'd never let that happen," NG said.
The Man smiled and pushed the goblet forward, motioning him to pick it up. They both drank, the hot wine burning its way down to NG's stomach.
"After the fiasco on Abacus," he said, "I decided that the best course of action was to give Hilyer space. If I'd hauled him back here straight away, we would have lost a chance to track Anderton. Hil was our best bet. Legal doesn't always understand the subtleties of how the field-ops work. And she was having trouble coming up with answers. She tried to interfere and I reminded her of that. Being shown up never goes down well."
"And to your credit, there were others in Legal who backed you. Is the matter resolved now?"
"Every family experiences disharmony at times. It's not often we quarrel outright. We can look back now and see more clearly how difficult the situation was." He took a sip of the wine. "We're fine."
"How fickle," the Man said, "are the affairs of men when a galaxy is at stake."
-
Hil was sure he was being followed. By the time the subway train came, he was shivering despite the humid heat, huddled into a corner, glad he'd kept on the coat and seriously needing somewhere to sit down. He stumbled onto the train and walked through three of its rickety carriages before taking a seat and settling in.
The drop down from the station had been an uneventful trip crowded in with dock workers headed to the planet for downtime and city folk returning after trips to wherever on whatever business or pleasure had taken them away. He'd kept his head down and blended in, the pistol heavy in an inside pocket. There was no customs or security, no questions asked. If you had business on Aston, no one was going to stand in the way. You simply paid the going rate for an entry visa, referred to as an 'administration fee' at Aston immigration, more commonly known as a bribe on most other worlds and thanked every sense of paranoia that kept an unregistered credit chip in your pocket.
Genoa was tucked safely into a repair yard up on the waystation in orbit. Aston was one of Skye's favourites and Genoa would be fine there. He'd initiated a phony ID that had no connection to the guild. It hadn't started up any alerts and wouldn't leave any trace for the guild or anyone else to follow.
He left the tube train a station ahead of his destination and ducked off the main concourse into a maintenance tunnel. The idea of climbing the fifteen levels to the surface was more intimidating than it had ever been before. He had to stop regularly and at one point lost track of the time, sitting perched on a beam and resting his head against the cold metal of the structure, feeling the vibrations of distant trains.
It was hot there under the city. Aston was one of Winter's oldest settlements and its age-old infrastructure was crumbling as fast as the technology it was renowned for was speeding into the future. Dust flaked down each time a train came close.
He had three vials in his pocket. Two days of sleep and another shot of the guild's antidote on the way here had done nothing to ease the aches in his chest and the pounding in his head. He'd found the vials in the emergency kit and ignored Genoa's insistent nagging that he'd had too much already. Martha hadn't skimped at giving him the stuff when he needed it. And right now, he wasn't entirely sure he could manage the rest of the way to the surface without something.
He took one out and fingered it uneasily. It had been days since the last one. And if he just used it to get to Pen's, he'd be able to get help and he wouldn't need the others. One shot surely couldn't do any harm.
But needing anything was a difficult emotion to handle. You didn't get to be number two in the guild by depending on anything or anyone. If LC could see him now, he'd get the piss ripped out of him. He swore softly and put the vial away, hauling himself to his feet and making it up another two levels with excruciating effort before he passed out and came to sprawled in a heap.
The sting on his neck was cold but the warmth that spread across his shoulders down to his fingertips was welcome. He took a deep breath, feeling the pain fade into the distance, and half ran the rest of the way up, senses on maximum, taking detours to avoid any sounds of voices or activity that echoed his way. It was only when he reached street level and stopped to lean against a wall to catch his breath that he realised his heart rate was fluttering. It was seriously good stuff in a fix but crap, he had to remember not to use it.
It was starting to get dark as he made his way into Pen's district, taking it easy because he was feeling the burning in his chest reignite with each breath of smog-filled air. The city lit up and traffic got heavier, music drifting through the winding streets. Aston worked hard and played hard, in a citywide culture of decadence, crazy innovation and recreation bordering on insanity that somehow fuelled the awesome leaps its inhabitants made in pushing the limits of physics and engineering. They'd had good times here and those memories kept Hil going forward, sure he could trust the place and the people he was headed to.
He tried to walk steadily along narrow streets that were beginning to become crowded with market stalls, and tried to take his time and not panic. But the drug had set his nerves on edge and his sight was going. His memory was goosed again. Images of Martha and Kase, LC and Anya, fleeting thoughts of danger and hazards, the crashing force of impact and explosions, Skye and safety all merged together and left him twitching like he'd lost it. Like he'd never, ever been before. LC was the best operative the guild had because he flew on pure instinct. In contrast, Hil knew he was good because he trained and worked his ass off, and stayed in control. His head hurt and it hurt worse because he didn't have control.
An uneasy sense that he was being followed tickled at the back of his neck constantly. Turning round, even slowly and casually, made his head spin. If someone was following him, Pen's guys would deal with them as soon as he got close enough. He just had to get there.
He reached the main street, glad that it was dark, trailing a finger of his left hand against the walls and windows of shops to keep a grip on his balance, grounding himself against the old brickwork. He kept his right arm cradled up against his chest and concentrated on walking.
There were enough people on the street that he had to hustle his way through a few times. Someone bumped into his arm with enough force to make him gasp and cringe away, and as he moved he felt a sharp jab in his ribs, the hum of a gun powering up, and the someone moved with him, pushing him forward and grabbing hold of his arm in a grip that sent hot needles of pain shooting into his elbow and fingers.
"Keep moving," a voice whispered harshly.
Pure instinct kicked in and Hil reacted, dropping his shoulder and throwing a wild backswing, using the full weight of the brace on his wrist, ignoring the heat of the pain that erupted in the joint as his clenched fist made contact with the guy's face, blood spurting from the nose. Hil twisted round and pushed, hooking a foot behind the man's ankle so that he fell awkwardly backward. The gun discharged, sending a bolt close enough to Hil's shoulder that it tingled with the charge. He ducked, caught his balance and followed up quickly with a kick, catching the guy in the centre of the chest and sending him sprawling into the road.
He was vaguely aware of people shouting and bodies closing in. And as he turned to run, an arm grabbed his neck from behind and squeezed, pulling him in tight, punches landing hard against his kidneys. His knees buckled and as he pulled the second attacker to the floor with him, he curled up and rolled his shoulder, throwing the weight of the body behind him up over his head to slam into the pavement in front of him. He staggered to his feet, coughing, and turned to push his way roughly through the people standing watching.
He ran blindly into the nearest alleyway, hearing footsteps behind him. If they hit him with an FTH round, he was done. He veered into an
open doorway and clattered through the back rooms of an electronics chopshop, components scattering as he crashed into tables and shelves. He ran through and into the front of the shop, ignoring yells to stop. The adrenaline rush fuelled by the last remnants of Martha's drugs caused a pounding in his head that drummed out the pounding of footsteps closing in. Whoever they were, he wasn't interested in stopping to talk. No one was going to get their hands on him that easily.
He swerved past the counter and was running for the door when he was tackled by a massive body slamming into him from behind. The momentum sent them both crashing through the glass door, shards exploding out into the street.
Hil curled up and tried to protect his arm as he hit the road, the shock of the impact almost jarring him senseless. Splinters of glass rained down. Cars swerved to avoid them and drivers yelled obscenities, the harsh glare of the headlights sending spikes lancing into the back of Hil's eyes. He rolled with it and almost managed to stagger to his feet when a hand grabbed his ankle and twisted hard. He was thrown around onto his back. The heavy weight of the gun inside his coat banged against his ribs. He kicked out at the hand holding his leg but it held firm and pulled.
No way were these assholes going to get him. He fumbled inside his coat, and as a figure loomed over him, kneeling and pinning him to the road, Hil managed to pull out the massive pistol and stuck it in the face of his assailant.
A hush fell around them.
He held the gun steady and said softly, "Back off. You've got the wrong guy," trying to focus the blurry image of the man in front of him. The gun was heavy but he aimed it without shaking, taking its weight with his left hand and shutting out the agony yelling at him from his other wrist. He was very aware that there was a second guy somewhere and he couldn't move, abs tensed in the half sit up position he was holding.
"The bounty said dead or alive, Hilyer," the guy hissed, "the only reason you're still alive is that I can't be arsed to carry your deadweight back to my ship."
"You've got the wrong guy," he said again quietly, slowing his breathing to ease the pressure in his chest. "Back off."
There were people watching and this guy's partner could be anywhere.
"We know exactly who you are," the man said, pulling his silver ID badge from a chain around his neck. He held it out for Hil to see then flashed it to the crowd. "I'm licensed and you're coming with us, pal."
Hil smiled and waved the gun slightly. "Get off me." He dropped the smile. "Now."
The bounty hunter looked around, for his partner probably, or expecting help from the crowd. But the atmosphere around them had changed. Hil used the opportunity to shift his weight and sit up, relaxed but keeping the gun pointed. The guy backed off, rocking back on his heels, fury sparking in his eyes. No one would help a bounty hunter on Aston. He'd made a mistake by identifying himself and he knew it. He stood up and took a step back.
Hil kept the gun's aim steady and got to his feet. He stared the bounty hunter in the eyes for a brief second, then backed away and pushed his way through the crowd.
No one tried to stop him and he didn't look back.
Approaching the market across the square from Pen's place, Hil shrank back against a wall and tried not to look a freaking mental case. The shakes had set in once the adrenaline rush and Martha's drugs had worn off. Way too many people were beginning to know his name.
Being late evening the market was at its busiest and the narrow lanes between stalls were bustling with people. The smell of spices, fried food and hot sweet doughnuts drifted across and almost made him gag. The noise and heat was cloying. They'd always raid the market at midnight when he stayed with Pen, cooler, less people and more opportunity to savour the array of products on display and browse the latest technologies before they reached the rest of the galaxy. Half the gear the guild acquired from various sources ended up here at one time or another. LC always found it hilarious to watch the prices the merchants charged for stuff they'd gotten their hands on months earlier. Winter was desperate for Earthside biowares. And a lot of the gear here was a freaky mix of stolen Earth technology and Wintran hardwired mech-tech. The market was the humming heart of a city that couldn't get enough of anything.
The building of the Merchant's Guild towered above the square, lights in every window. Hil couldn't afford to be recognised. He squinted through heavy eyelids. If someone else attacked him now, he was done. He had no fight left. He couldn't see straight for one thing and he wasn't sure his limbs would obey anything other than the basic stand upright and try not to fall over instructions his addled brain was sending out.
Pen's building was opposite. If he kept to the edges, he'd have to negotiate the tables and chairs set out in front of restaurants but heading straight through the market was not on. There were too many people in there that knew him. He thought of the look on Tavner's face at Polly's place and shivered. He felt that sinking feeling weigh down his stomach and forced himself to move, taking the edge route, muttering apologies to the people he bumped into and using the backs of chairs to lean on as he passed.
His vision was narrowed to a dark tunnel straight ahead. He got half way and slunk back into an alleyway between buildings, trying to focus on what he thought was Pen's place. It would just take a minute to catch his breath. Pen's place was warmth and safety. And that thought was the only thing stopping him from falling in a heap.
The scent of spices and burning oils mingled in the warm evening air that drifted in with the chatter of voices bartering.
He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. And the cold steel that was the unmistakable barrel of a weapon touched the back of his neck.