The Ramal Extraction (20 page)

It was a real sixth sense. In a hand-to-hand situation, having that much of a center would be a real advantage.

“Open your eyes.”

Jo obeyed. “I could get a job walking a high wire in a traveling circus,” she said.

“Walking? You should be able to run on a wire at full speed and do a tumbling run, with the aug lit. Shut it off for a second.”

Jo did. “Whoa! I feel as if I’m going to fall over.”

“That will pass.”

In a couple of seconds, the sensation ebbed. “I still feel like a cow trying to balance on stilts. Like the first time I came out of the O/O and felt as if I were going blind and deaf.”

“That’s the price.”

Jo nodded. She knew. That was part of the reason that augmented folk tended to have shorter lives. The enhanced senses, the superhuman abilities, they were addictive, a seductive, nearly irresistible drug. Once they were lit, you didn’t want to extinguish them. If you didn’t have the discipline to flip the off switch, you’d burn yourself out, even if the balance in your system was as well regulated as Formentara could make it.

“This is terrific,” Jo said. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, well, keep it to yourself. When we get back to civilization, I’ll probably put it on the market, but I might want to tinker with it a little more before the commercial version.”

“Not a word,” Jo said.

“And you must use these powers wisely, my child.”

They both grinned.

“Rags, you have a caller waiting.”

“Uh-huh. And…?”

“He’s on the limited-access opchan, and he’s not somebody who is supposed to have the access code.”

Cutter looked at Gramps. “Really?”

“His ID is a cutout. He won’t say who he is, wants your ears only.”

“Well, let’s have a chat with him, shall we?

“Cutter here.”

“Greetings, Colonel.”

The voice, on speaker, sounded masculine, but that didn’t mean much, given the state-of-the-art voxware you could pick up in any large market. A twenty-year-old Rel fem could be made to sound like an eighty-year-old human male, with a different accent and a lisp, and there were versions slick enough to alter speech patterns to match, less than a millisecond’s delay, so that even colloquial phrases wouldn’t give the game away.

Cutter waited for five seconds, then said, “You called me.”

“Indeed I did. You seek Ramal’s daughter, Indira.”

“Yes. Do you have her?”

“No. And I do not yet know who does.”

“And why are we having this conversation?”

“Because I know who does
not
have her.”

“I’m still listening.”

“The Thakore of Balaji is no more than a convenient scapegoat.”

“And you know this how?”

“I have…a close association with Thakore Luzor.”

“And you are telling me that he had nothing to do with Indira’s kidnapping.”

“This is so.”

“I have to ask: Could it be you are offering this because
the Rajah of Pahal’s son is about to lead an invasion into Balaji? Do you think I can call him off, based on this?”

There was a pause, and maybe a quiet sigh. Then: “Rama Jadak is an idiot, full of wind and fury, which he expels constantly from both ends. He abuses the help, he is a kicker of innocent dogs. I doubt he would listen if both Vishnu and Shiva materialized, put their hands on your shoulders, and vouched for you. His motives are impure.”

“How so?”

“He has been looking for an excuse to attack Balaji. Wars are expensive, they cost taxes and lives, the populace is not quick to embrace them. But what man would begrudge a royal son trying to save his bride from dishonor or death? Such things stir a nation’s blood. We remember the
Ramayana
, which features the mythological Rama, and speaks to this very thing.

“The heir to the Rajah’s throne in Pahal could not manage it alone, but his father-in-law-to-be will have to honor his end of the mutual aid pact between the two countries. And how could he not? It is his daughter. The result will be bloody and costly, and in the end, will not achieve the stated goal of returning Indira.”

Cutter thought about that for a second. “Suppose for a second that I believe you. What would you have me do?”

“No more than you are already doing. Continue your search. Just bear in mind that attention to the Thakore will be a waste of your time and resources. If the Thakore finds her before you do—and be assured we are looking—he will send her to her father in the royal yacht.”

“Really?”

“I guarantee it.”

After the caller discommed, Cutter looked at Gramps. “What do you think?”

Gramps shrugged. “Intrigue on these backlane planets is thicker than bird turd on a park statue. Can’t tell who’s
lying without a program, and even then, you’d want your best guy running the stress analyzer to double-check. Could be just like the caller said. Could be he just wants to throw us off the track. I don’t see how anything changes.”

Cutter nodded. True enough. But it did bring up an interesting line of inquiry.

Because she had been taken unawares before, Kay was determined it would not happen again; more, this time when she went looking for the Rel who could tell her where to find yet another Rel, she was not alone. Jo Captain and Gunny, along with a squad of CFI’s best had her back, and woe to any who stood in their way.

It was the smart thing to do. Not that she liked doing it.

Investigation into the men who had captured her proved less than useful. They had names and background available, but the men were, as far as they could tell, low-level thugs. Since they were all dead, that would not provide much in the way of intel. Presumably, they had kin, and those relatives could be determined, then questioned, but that was, Kay felt, a low-percentage option.

The neighborhood in which the Rel supposedly resided was more upscale than Kay had expected. Rel tended to herd together, sometimes a dozen to a plex, and all they needed was a cool and humid place. They mostly slept when they weren’t working or socializing, and they didn’t need much
in the way of bedding since they tended to clump together, back to front, or side to side. They didn’t spend much money on living quarters, but this place was new and, from its look, not cheap.

Herd mentality, that social structure. Repugnant, too.

Kay approached the entrance to the plex. Jo, Gunny, and the troops stayed back, ready to move, but they’d only come in on her signal. Better she talk to the Rel alone. Arriving with a group of armed soldiers would not strengthen her in the eyes of prey.

“Who calls?”

Kay gave her proper name. “I seek Zeth of the Hallows.”

“He is not here.”

“Then I would speak with his sibling Booterik.”

“A moment.”

The door slid open, and a single Rel stood there. A male, and his decorations muted, mostly dull blues with hints of purple.

“You are Booterik.”

“I am. You may enter.”

Kay smiled. “May I? How kind of you.”

She walked into the place, following the Rel as he waddled ahead of her. It was clean, neat, not much in the way of furniture. Dim, damp, cool—a relief from the tropical heat outside.

Something was wrong with the smell, and it took her a second to realize what it was: There wasn’t any scent of fear from the Rel. None.

And he was alone.

How interesting.

“Why do you wish to speak to Zeth?”

“My business and his.”

“And mine. I am his elder sibling.”

She regarded the Rel. This Booterik was insolent, at the very least impertinent. Something was wrong with him, that he would dare speak to a Vastalimi thus.

Carefully, she inhaled, searching for something in his scent. Drugs, perhaps. Chemical bravery? She couldn’t detect any such.

Madness?

Kay resisted the urge to open his belly with her claws. She was here for information. If this being could provide it, he could go on with his life, such a sad thing that it was.

“Zeth gave me information regarding the whereabouts of the Rajah’s daughter, who has been kidnapped.”

“And…?”

“His information was inaccurate.”

“Allow me to apologize in his stead. I am sure this was not done deliberately to deceive.”

“Are you?”

Booterik moved to a cushioned chair and sat upon it. He gestured at a similar seat across from him. “Sit if you wish.”

Kay glanced around but sensed no threat. They were, as far as she could tell, alone, just the two of them. But she remained standing. Not wise to sit in the presence of prey behaving thusly.

“Zeth is not the smartest among us, but he is not given to deliberate falsehood. Especially to…” He trailed off, waving a hand in her direction.

She understood that well enough.
Especially not to a predator who would as soon kill you and eat you as look at you.

“I look forward to his explanation,” she said.

“Unfortunately, you will not be able to hear it from him directly. He has…left this world. He departed yesterday.”

“Where would his destination be?”

“Far, far away.” Booterik smiled. “Where you won’t ever be able to find him.”

If it isn’t drugs? Then he
must
be mentally deranged.

“I find your tone disturbing.”

“Do you?” Again the smile.

Kay relaxed her stance slightly, bent her knees a little,
sank a hair lower. Enough to be able to move a little faster. Because if it wasn’t drugs, and if he wasn’t mentally off the beam, then Booterik here had a weapon of some kind close to hand and the belief that he could get it and use it before she got to him. Which was hardly sane by their standards, but still.

Hidden in the chair?

Interesting. She had heard about Rel who had overcome the prey response and offered a challenge to a Vastalimi. She’d never run into one herself, and that was because they were few and far between, and those who had tried it only did so the once since they were surely no longer among the living, having gone down that path. If not killed instantly, then soon afterward.

She let it percolate, to see what would happen. “Do you know how Zeth came by this misinformation?”

“As it happens, I do. But I don’t think I shall tell you.”

Kay took a step toward him—

The Rel came out of the chair, impossibly fast, faster than she had ever seen one move, faster than it should be possible. As he did, a knife appeared in his hand, snatched from a hiding place in his chair. He came straight at her, the knife leading, and he shoved it toward her belly, intending to skewer her—

He was faster than any Rel she had ever seen, but that didn’t mean he was faster than she was. Nor was he trained. He was depending on his speed, his lines were all open, save for the knife, and his attack was out of balance—

—when the blade’s point was two centimeters from her belly and the Rel’s attack fully committed, Kay pivoted. The blade tickled her hair below the navel. The Rel might have tried to slash inwardly, but she dropped low and slammed her elbow into his arm as she pivoted, felt the bone break just above his wrist, then she threw her body into his, knocking him sideways and sprawling.

He hit the wall, bounced off, somehow kept to his feet.

Don’t kill him—!

The Rel recovered, the knife fallen from his limp hand, and he came at her again, arms extended, face contorted, his sad, dull, grinding teeth bared in a poor imitation of a snarl.

She kept her claws sheathed, snapped her right hand out in a straight punch, and hit him on the nose. The force of his charge and the hit straightened him out, stopped him, and knocked him unconscious. She danced to her left, and he fell and slid past her on his back.

She triggered her com. “We are going to need to transport an unconscious Rel out of here and back to the base for a medical examination,” she said.

“Why?” Jo asked.

“He attacked me, and I had to put him down.”

“A
Rel
attacked you? What, is he stoned or crazy?”

“I cannot say for certain. But perhaps we should determine his reason.”

Wink knew Rel physiology well enough to offer standard medical treatment, of course. Every alien species had its own quirks, and he was far from an extee specialist, but he could do lumps and bumps and sniffles and wheezes. He’d trained at enough hospitals to have run into most of the alien species who interacted with humans.