The structure at the far end of the block stood head and shoulders above the two- and three-level buildings crammed in around it and was festooned with semicircular platforms which, had they been equipped with railings, might have been called balconies. But, having been to High Hold Meor, Cato recognized the extensions for what they
really
were, landing platforms. And he saw something else as well. Something that
shouldn’t
have been there but was. “Soldiers!” he said urgently. “Quick! Off the street!”
Cato’s companions followed him into a side passageway, but Lucia was far from convinced. Her face was half-hidden by a hooded raincoat as she peered around the corner. “I don’t see any soldiers,” she said skeptically.
“But you
do
see five Umans,” Cato countered, as he came to stand next to her. “Two lounging in front of the safe house, two seated in the food stall across the street, and one standing on the roof of the building just west of the tower. All of whom look as if they’re on sentry duty. Why
is
that do you suppose?”
Lucia was embarrassed to see that Cato was correct. The presence of so many Umans around a building in Xeno Quarter
was
suspicious. “So, what does it mean?” Lucia inquired as she pulled back into the passageway.
“It means the bastards are
here
!” Cato said emphatically. “And either the government is protecting them, or has taken them into custody; although that seems unlikely since why keep them here? No,” Cato continued grimly, “I’m guessing that Nalomy knows all about the Lir, and Verafti, too, which would explain how he’s been able to hide so successfully!”
Suddenly Lucia knew she was onto something important, something Usurlus should know about, but kept her thoughts to herself. “Okay,” Phelonious said pragmatically, “what should we do?”
“Get inside,” Cato answered simply. “And ask those flying bastards some very pointed questions.”
Lood was still asleep, but Nassali was awake, and had been for hours. The window on the west side of the tower was barred, but it still offered a view of the Sawtooth Mountains, and as the warrior stared at the jagged peaks, that was where he longed to be. In High Hold Meor, with his mate, and their extended family. Especially now that Hybor Iddyn was dead. Because he, more than Lood or the idiot Issit, was the chieftain’s logical successor. But rather than make his case to the elders as was his right, Nassali and his companion had been held hostage ever since the night when the creature in the cage had been delivered to the Imperial Palace.
Not for ransom, as was the Lir way, but as what Centurion Pasayo referred to as a “security deposit.” It would be a guarantee that Iddyn and his clan would remain silent about the attack on Station 3 and the creature they had abducted from the Plain of Pain until Founder’s Day had come and gone.
And that,
Nassali told himself,
will happen soon
. Which was the one thing he had to look forward to.
The guards posted in front of the Lir safe house were tired, and had every right to be, since they had been on duty for nearly eight hours by then. And would remain so for another half hour until their reliefs were scheduled to arrive. So the soldiers weren’t as sharp as they might have been when a raggedly dressed android strolled down the street, paused directly in front of them, and began to rummage around in the bag that hung over his right shoulder. “Hey, you!” one of the two men growled. “Keep moving!”
At that point, Phelonious produced two pieces of half-rotten fruit and threw one of them. His aim was good, and the first guard took a direct hit, which splattered the second man with gooey pulp as well. That produced a roar of mutual outrage along with a concerted charge. Rather than throw the second piece of fruit, Phelonious was forced to turn and run instead. His robe swirled around skinny legs, and his servos whined urgently, as the soldiers pounded along behind him. Fortunately for Phelonious, the body armor and concealed weapons they wore under their civilian clothes had the effect of slowing them down. The race was on.
The noncom who was stationed on a nearby roof sought to prevent his men from giving chase by yelling at them via a handheld com set, but they weren’t listening, and took off anyway. That left the front door unguarded. The NCO swore, and was about to turn toward the stairway behind him, when Lucia shot him from behind.
It had been relatively easy to sneak up on him because the possibility that someone might stalk him had never even occurred to the soldier, who screamed shrilly as the bolt of energy hit him, and his muscles locked up. And there he was, lying on the roof with raindrops hitting his face, when Lucia arrived to look down at him. Lucia wondered if the noncom had been one of the men who had murdered her husband. There was no way to know, but it felt good to kick him just in case, before she left the roof.
The soldiers seated in the food stall came to their feet as Phelonious threw the fruit at their buddies, then charged out onto the street, where they would have been positioned to block him, had it not been for Belok, who scuttled out of his hiding place to throw rotten fruit at
them
. That drew the guards away as the Kelf disappeared into a narrow passageway, and they ran after him. The soldiers hadn’t traveled more than ten feet when they heard a loud
clang
, and turned to see a Uman place a brand-new padlock on the gate behind them! The militiamen were still considering the implications of that development when another piece of fruit came sailing out of the darkness. It hit one of them in the head. That produced a cry of outrage as both soldiers turned to chase Belok.
Having cleared the way, Cato crossed the street, climbed a flight of three stairs, and tried the door. It opened smoothly, allowing him to enter. Conscious of the fact that he wouldn’t have the place to himself for very long Cato locked the door, drew his pistol, and conducted a quick search of the first floor. There was a filthy bathroom, a kitchen that wasn’t much better, and what was supposed to be a sitting room but had been co-opted for use as a guardroom. It was dirty, too.
Pistol at the ready, Cato went over to the spiral staircase located at the center of the tower and began to climb the metal treads. The second floor had been subdivided into pie-shaped cubicles, but all of them proved to be empty, as were those located on the level above. But as Cato neared the fourth floor, he could tell that it was occupied because of the emotions that swirled there. And sure enough, as he came up through the hole in the floor, the policeman found himself at the center of a circular room. Two Lir were present, and both turned to look at the Uman, who they assumed to be a guard. Except that
this
Uman was pointing a gun at them, and that was reason for concern.
Cato felt the fear in the room spike as both of the Lir backed away and began to separate as if hoping to divide his fire. “Oh, no you don’t,” Cato said, as he waved the handgun at them. “Move back together. . . . Or I’ll shoot one of you and resolve the problem that way!”
The threat had the desired effect, and as the wary Lir stood side by side, Cato looked from one bandit to the other. “Okay, which one of you is Lood? And which one is Nassali?”
“I Nassali,” the Lir on the right side said. He was the taller of the two, part of his crest was missing where someone or something had taken a chunk out of it, and his saucerlike yellow eyes never seemed to blink.
“And that makes you Lood,” Cato said, as his gaze shifted to the second warrior, a rail-thin specimen, who clearly didn’t have an extra ounce of flesh on his body. His wings were half-deployed in spite of the bars on the windows. He offered no response, but was clearly ready for action, a notion supported by the emotions that swirled around him.
“My name is Cato,” the police officer informed them, as he raised a hand palm forward. The badge that was part of his right hand glowed, and while both of the Lir stared at it, neither appeared to recognize the symbol.
“I’m a Xeno Corps officer,” Cato told them. “And I have reason to believe that both of you were involved in the attack on Station 3, the murder of half a dozen law officers, and the unlawful release of an Imperial prisoner. You are now under arrest. I am about to read you your rights and take you into custody. Once an Imperial Prosecutor has had a chance to review the relevant evidence, you will be formally charged. Do you have any questions?”
Nassali thought about the process the Uman had laid out, the likelihood of months if not years spent in prison, and made his decision. The only decision that made sense for him.
Cato “felt” the sudden surge of emotion, and shouted, “No!” But it was too late. As with all of his kind, Nassali’s bony fingers were equipped with talons, which—thanks to weeks of surreptitious sharpening—were like razors. So when the bandit brought his right hand up, and slashed his throat, four scarlet wounds appeared. As the air rushed out of Nassali’s partially severed windpipe, it pushed a thick blood mist out into the air. The pinkish cloud continued to hang suspended in space even as his body toppled over backward.
Then, while Cato was still in the process of trying to absorb what he’d seen, Lood dove headfirst down the circular stairway! The policeman fired and missed. The bullet hit something, bounced off, and whined as it passed within a foot of Cato’s head. Desperate to catch up with Lood, the police officer plunged down the circular stairway, only to see that the birdlike sentient had not only been able to right himself but was already halfway to the ground floor! By the time Cato arrived on the main level, Lood was in the process of unlocking the front door and pushing it open. Lucia was there, waiting to enter, but fell over backward as the Lir gave her a shove.
Cato swore a blue streak as he jumped over the businesswoman’s body and ran out into the middle of the narrow street. Lood was airborne by that time, his wings beating mightily, as he fought to clear the maze of crisscrossing clotheslines that blocked the way. Cato raised his gun, took careful aim, and fired.
It was a long pistol shot, but Cato saw the fugitive jerk as the bullet struck. Then, no longer able to gain altitude, Lood was forced to glide. And such was his height by that time that the Lir was able to clear the surrounding structures and disappear from sight, thereby evading justice and taking everything Cato needed to know with him. The rain stopped right about then, the sun broke through the clouds, and the pavement began to steam. Cato had failed.
As CeCe Alamy stood in the hall, waiting for the line that led into Imood Hingo’s office to advance, she was frightened. And for good reason. Because her friend Persus had been missing for an entire day by then, and none of the people in charge seemed to be very concerned about it. That was strange because a missing slave would generally be cause for a huge uproar.
There were rumors, of course, one of which was that Persus was ill and had been taken to the hospital in Solace. But Alamy didn’t believe that, because she and Persus met every afternoon, and her friend had been in good health the day prior to her disappearance. So where was she? That was the question Alamy was determined to ask Hingo even though it meant confronting a man who was still angry about the confrontation with Cato and might assault her.
But if Hingo was angry, Alamy believed that he was at least slightly scared of Cato as well, which might be enough to protect her for the moment at least. There was no guarantee of that, however, and as the line jerked forward, Alamy knew she was taking a chance. Because once inside Hingo’s office, the Majordomo could close the door and assault her if he chose to. Still, it was a risk the young woman was willing to take in order to find out what had become of her friend.
The next fifteen minutes passed slowly as various members of the household staff filed into the basement office. There were two groups. Those who had been ordered to report because they were in trouble, and could expect to receive one of Hingo’s famous tongue lashings, and those who were seeking some sort of favor. Both of which took time. And as it passed, the chasm at the bottom of Alamy’s stomach grew ever deeper. So that by the time Alamy arrived at Hingo’s door she was ready to flee, and would have, if the man in front of her hadn’t been released at that moment. Her name was called as he hurried away. “CeCe Alamy!” Alamy knew who the voice belonged to, and being right outside Hingo’s door, had no choice but to enter.
Once inside, Alamy took her place on the black “X” set into the floor opposite Hingo’s raised desk. He was busy entering data into a keyboard, or that was the way it appeared, although it was common knowledge that Hingo often forced subordinates to wait. It was a tactic calculated to make them even more frightened and nervous, although Alamy wasn’t sure that such a thing was possible.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Hingo rose from his chair and circled the huge desk. Then, having stepped down onto the marble floor, he took up a position directly in front of the slave. His dark obsidian eyes searched Alamy’s face as if looking for minute flaws or a way to get into her head. “So,” he said gravely. “Why did you come? To apologize?”
Not only was Hingo standing only inches away, and staring into her eyes, Alamy could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. The effect was
very
intimidating, and Alamy felt her chin start to tremble. “No, master,” she managed to blurt out. “I came about Persus. She’s missing.”
Hingo put his right index finger on Alamy’s bare arm and drew a line along it. The slave shuddered and battled the impulse to take a step back as the Majordomo spoke. “Of course she’s missing,” Hingo said dismissively. “She ran. The militia is looking for her now, and when they find the bitch, she’s going to pay!”
That was what everyone had said about Lea, the girl Alamy had seen Hingo chase down a hallway, and she had never been seen again. Although Persus had found what might have been Lea’s blood in one of the storage rooms. But Alamy couldn’t mention that, not without giving herself away, so the young woman chose a different approach. “Are you sure?” Alamy inquired meekly, careful to keep her eyes down. “Persus told me that it’s stupid to run—that runners always get caught.”