Firemask: Book Two of the Last Legion Series (14 page)

“I don’t see any reason I won’t be.”

Jasith moved against his hands like a cat. “That feels good,” she said, her voice lowering a bit. “Take a look at the night. Two moons out, how clear it is.”

“It certainly is.”

“Maybe, after the rubber
giptel’s
gone, we can make our excuses … maybe jaunt out toward the mouth of the bay, see if we can see Kailas rising? Or anything else that comes up?”

“That’s a nice thought,” Kouro said. “But I’ve got to stop at
Matin
and brief the night staff on what happened. Maybe after I finish, if there’s time.”

“If there’s time,” Jasith agreed, voice flat, and went back to her makeup.

• • •

Multicolored lights flickered up and down the hull of the command ship, kaleidoscoping light over Leggett and out across the dancing waters of the bay.

Around the ship was a swarm of lims and sporters as the elite of D-Cumbre arrived, to decide if they were meeting new masters, allies, or partners.

The command ship’s port was open, and Musth lined either side of the ramp to the ground. Their weapons belts were burnished, and they wore multicolored scarves that matched the lights from the ship.

At the ramp’s base, extending out onto the tarmac, a hundred I&R men and women were drawn up at rigid attention. They wore dress uniform — midnight blue trousers bloused into black mid-thigh boots, waist-length belted tunic, service kepi. There was yellow piping on the legs, cap, and epaulettes, and each trooper wore a Sam Browne belt, with dagger sheathed on one side, pistol holstered on the other.

They carried other weapons not generally used at ceremonial occasions — blast grenades, hideout guns, throwing knives — hidden around their uniforms.

Garvin stood at the beginning of one rank, First
Tweg
Monique Lir on the other.

Caud
Prakash Rao approached, accompanied by his Second Regiment Commanding Officer,
Mil
Ceil Fitzgerald, and was saluted. He returned the salute and went up the ramp into the ship, seemingly a little ill at ease, repeatedly adjusting his uniform’s lapels.

Civilian and governmental dignitaries in turn flocked toward the honor guard, passing between the lines to the ramp.

Garvin saw Loy Kouro, in old-fashioned evening black, and Jasith Mellusin, wearing what looked to be black at first, but somehow the fabric caught the lights from the ship, mirrored and then flung them back.

Kouro looked Garvin up and down, half smiled superciliously, went on.

Jasith, lagging a bit behind her husband, seemed to stumble. She steadied herself on Garvin’s arm for an instant and adjusted her shoe.

“Thanks for the goodies,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll call you,” she whispered back. “We should meet somewhere.”

“With or without
him
?” he said, a little bitterly.

Jasith Mellusin straightened, looked at him, didn’t answer, but went on. Garvin’s eyes followed her, then came back to the front.

Monique Lir was looking at him speculatively, but then her face smoothed, blanked like the perfect soldier she was.

• • •

Njangu Yoshitaro was a shadow in shadows. He wore close-fitting black from head to toe, soft running boots, and had a small cutting laser, two gas grenades, a multibladed knife, and a heatsniffer in a pouch at his waist. He ignored the great ship in the center of the field, concentrated on one of the mother ships beside it.

Like the other Musth starships, its lock yawned open, occasional Musth coming and going, and inviting light beamed into the darkness.

Two guards stood at the foot of its ramp, but neither was paying much attention to his watch, instead watching the glittering aliens entering the other ship. Periodically they left the ramp, made a cursory sweep around the ship, returned to their main post and the spectacle there.

Njangu moved through the darkness, watching just beyond the guards, never letting his mind or eyes fix on the sentries. Superstitious perhaps, but how often had a watched cop turned for no visible reason …

He counted how long it took for them to march around the ship.
Thirty or so seconds. Time enough.

Njangu got as close as he dared, and crouched, just a crumple in the darkness. The glare from the ships blinded everyone beyond the pool of light around them.

He waited, saw the guards move, came to his feet, then something warned him, and he collapsed.

One guard said something to his fellow, and they came back to the ramp. Njangu braced to run, then saw a guard pointing to a group of humans approaching the mother ship. He wondered what was particularly fascinating, then blanked his mind, became part of the tarmac.

The humans entered the command ship, and again the guards paced away into the night.

Njangu was up, moving fast, silent, a dark mote scuddering up the ramp, into the Musth mother ship.

He stopped just inside the lock as the antigrav took him, confusing his senses. The ramps now wound away on the level, not upward. He chose one, followed it.

• • •

In the heart of the command ship, dark gray metalloid bulkheads were broken with pictures, three-dee projections hanging unsupported. Some of the guests breezed past these exhibits without paying much attention, more studied them closely, wondering just what the Musth worlds were like.

There were unknown mountains; towering buildings in the middle of wildernesses; huge ships even greater than the one they were aboard; somewhat grisly pictos of Musth at play with their bloodied trophies of game animals; strange and beautiful star clusters no human eye had ever seen; stern-looking Musth intent on some unknown duty or cause; and, incongruously, three or four holos of Musth cubs, three or four in a group, rolling about like so many kittens.

Caud
Rao paused by each, looked, adjusted his lapel.
Mil
Fitzgerald cocked her eye.

“If I was your tailor, I think I’d commit suicide,” she said.

“Stop trying to be clever,” Rao growled. “So I’m a crappy spy. Hedley said to get pics of everything.” He touched his lapel again, triggering the tiny camera, and they went on.

• • •

Ramps spidered onward, and Njangu followed them. There were no safety rails, he guessed not necessary for a race with a comfortably stabilizing tail.

He felt the heatsniffer vibrate against his hipbone, remembered an alcove and went back into it, pressed against the bulkhead.

He saw the flicker of a Musth coming along the ramp, heard a hatch slide open, closed.
They’re quieter moving than I am,
he thought, disgruntled.

Like Rao, Njangu had a minicamera, set to relay any pictures shot on a hopefully unmonitored frequency to a pickup in a civilian speedster parked not far away.
The Suicidal Spy
, Njangu wryly titled the saga to come.

The ship was huge, but lightly manned. A few hatches yawned, with silent machinery inside, or compartments that looked like troop bays, but with padded floors instead of bunks.

Njangu wondered about the emptiness, guessed the Musth had other duties when the ship made planetfall. Probably some were dancing attendance on the state dinner.

Several times he heard hissed sibilances from compartments, but managed to slip past without being seen.

There was a low humming in the corridor ahead, and he ducked into another empty bay.

The humming grew louder, and Njangu, gun ready, chanced looking.

Two Musth passed the open hatch, each pushing a pole with a softly buzzing bar at its base.

Even aliens have to sweep the deck,
Njangu thought, and swore the two deck sweepers looked sullen, like they were on punishment detail.

He waited until the humming faded, continued towards the ship’s nose.

• • •

The food at the Musth banquet was unusual, but tasty, Jasith thought. She thought she recognized some of the flavors, couldn’t quite identify the foods, hidden as they were under strange spices.

Halfway through the meal, she remembered what they reminded her of, and giggled.

She leaned close to her husband.

“This is like when I was a Girl Guide,” she whispered, “and we’d go out into the wilderness … we thought it was a wilderness, anyway … and cook like we were primitives.”

“So?”

“Since none of us knew how to cook, we mostly did everything about half-raw. I think the Musth used our manuals for this meal.”

Loy muttered something, chewed on methodically, as if what he had in his mouth was growing as he did.

• • •

Njangu came to a closed hatch. He pushed at it, touched everything that looked touchable, and it remained closed.
Now how do you pick an alien lock when you don’t know if it’s got tumblers, slides, beams, or little bitty mice running around inside? Especially if you can’t see anything that looks even vaguely like a lock at all?

He saw a tiny vertical slit at rib level, puzzled over it for an instant. Then he took out his knife, opened the thinnest blade, slid it through the slit. Obediently, the hatch slid open.
Of course. Just right for a Musth claw.

He entered a room that was quite large, with a slowly rotating ball of a light gray metal in its center. Again he puzzled. It was just about big enough for a Musth, but he couldn’t see an entrance. A pilot cage for zero gee? He didn’t know. A ramp led onward, holding close to the curving wall.

Wishing he’d brought a blaster just for comfort, he inched his way, close to the wall, thinking invisible thoughts.

• • •

“… two great peoples,” Wlencing’s son, Alikhan, translated Paumoto words as he spoke, “meeting across a great … mmmh … distance, each with common things, each with differences …”

Caud
Rao relaxed, stomach comfortably full, if of unfamiliar substances. He began to shut his mind off, thinking that, in the end, all beings were the same, their leaders giving the same meaningless speeches … and then he caught himself.

Very few politicians of the human variety carried weapons belts with pistols throwing rounds that ate holes in you … and seemed quite experienced in their use. Nor did they generally arrive in battleships if they intended peace.

Suddenly, he was very awake.

• • •

The corridor widened, with alcoves on either side. Ahead was an archway, and Njangu saw screens, control panels, and a low couch. Then he heard Musth speech, and went flat. Another voice came, then silence except for the contented clucking of machinery.

Hoping that Musth didn’t look up or down any more than cops do, Njangu crawled to the end of the corridor, peered into the ship’s bridge.

There were screens, more couches, panels that occasionally blinked inscrutably, and two Musth.

Only a dreamer would have hoped nobody stands bridge watch.

One Musth was running his paws across a featureless panel, watching symbols scroll on a screen above him.

Ship’s log?

The other was intent on a holo display of large machines.

Drive room watch?

To one side was a couch, and a screen showing an abstract of a planet. One of the half-cylinder charts was in a slot below the display.

Now, if these clowns would only go out for a beer …

Neither Musth showed signs of thirst.

Njangu thought of shooting them, rifling the room, and running like hell, discarded that as bloodthirsty stupidity that wouldn’t work anyway without a gun, and decided to check the alcoves.

The third he tried was gold.

Unlike humans, with their stupid insistence on tidiness, the Musth used doorless cabinets. Items inside stuck to the shelves, needing no retainers to keep their places.

This alcove held hundreds of the charts. Njangu was wondering which to steal when he saw a wall panel next to him. A dozen or so charts clung at random to it.

Theory — these are the most frequently used buggers?

Cursing himself for probable anthropomorphism, Njangu scooped those charts into his small pack.

If these don’t help, they can goddamned well come back and play Raffles by themselves. Now let’s see if I can sleaze out of this dump before somebody puts a wasp-grenade up me arse.

He went swiftly back the way he came, hoping there’d be nothing in the way of surprises.

Twice he had to retreat, duck back into a compartment as Musth passed. He crept past another compartment, hearing wailing that he hoped was music.

Njangu reached the lock compartment, and it still yawned open into the night.
Praise several gods
, he thought,
they’re running late tonight.
He checked his watch finger, and realized with a shock he’d been aboard the Musth mother ship less than half an E-hour, not half the night as he’d thought.

He crept forward, saw no sign of the guards. He wanted to pelt down the ramp into the night, but forced calm. Njangu slipped back, waiting until the guards came back into view at the ramp’s end, waited longer, nerves screaming, until they made another round, then, forcing coolness, almost sauntered down the ramp and back into the lovely velvet night.

• • •

A planetary week later, inside the central dome on Silitric, Aesc and Wlencing watched Paumoto’s ship lift clear of the surface, climb slowly at first, then increasingly more quickly into the high cover. Just before the clouds swallowed the ship, it went to secondary drive and vanished.

The dull plop of air rushing into the suddenly vacant space could be heard through the insulation.

“I think Paumoto’s appearance advanced our plans more than somewhat,” Aesc said.

“I suspect so,” Wlencing said cautiously. “Although I’m not sure I like someone as important as he becoming interested in our endeavor. I would hate, after all this time, to be cut out of the spoils.”

“Do not worry,” Aesc said. “If Paumoto isn’t satisfied with the small percentage he may be entitled to, once Cumbre is ours, we can deal with the matter as we must.” He dipped his head. “In the meantime, our plans are fully prepared. We must apply further pressure to the situation, to ensure we have the proper incident we need before moving to the final stage.”