Keenan checked his map. “The Metal Palace lies at the centre, like a Hub... there.” He pointed.
JuJu nodded. “Prince Akeez has sent you on a fool’s errand.”
“Really? Explain.”
JuJu’s face shut down. His jaw clamped tight. He would say no more.
“Let me cut him,” said Franco.
JuJu shrugged. “Part of our initiation to manhood is torture. You would not believe the pain I am able to withstand.”
“And you wouldn’t believe the pain I can inflict.”
“Calm yourself,” snapped Keenan. His eyes gleamed. “Down there...” He left the sentence unfinished, but it was clear to Pippa and Franco what he meant. Down there lay answers.
“Thoughts on infil?” said Pippa.
“We go in tonight, under cover of darkness.” He glanced sideways at JuJu. “You only have one hour, pretty much planet-wide, don’t you, JuJu? That means you’ve got really bad night vision; a by-product of evolution, you might say.”
JuJu said nothing.
“Trust me.” said Keenan, “the Ket-i are as blind as a bat in the dark. They call it the Death Hour; they believe the darkness is a disease you breathe into your lungs, and from there it pollutes you from the inside out. It’s a brave Ket-i who stays out after dark... and even then they claim they feel their bodies gradually decaying.”
“What about the ones back by the beach? They seemed up for a good fight?”
“Yeah, and we slaughtered them. They were stumbling around like children; probably renegades, illegals, hunted by the rest of their race. Their attack on us was desperation.”
Keenan sat, cross-legged, on the bone walkway. He laid his TuffMAP
TM
flat and flicked through several of the digital pages with a finger. It made a tiny clicking, whining sound.
“JuJu, we’re going to study this together. And you are going to tell me the truth, or I
will
feed you to the eels.”
JuJu nodded. “Your eventual death and the eating of your spine and brain will be my greatest pleasure.” He stared hard at Keenan. “Your death is marked for me, human.”
Keenan tapped the map. “OK. Show me the different routes to the Metal Palace; and show me the secret escape routes. Your people have a history of warfare and sieges; nothing like this is ever built without a secret back door, right?”
JuJu nodded.
Together, they waited for darkness.
“We ready?”
“Sorted, Keenan.”
The three members of Combat K had studied the maps closely, listening to JuJu explain the workings of the Metal Palace. Basically a warren for the ruling elite of the KellKet Ket-i clan—the
self-appointed royalty of this vicious warlike tribe—the Metal Palace was not something they had built, more something they had occupied
.
It was old, older than their history. The City of Bone had grown up around this apparent ancient alien artefact—alien even to the Ket—but at its core it was a relic that all dating methodology—Ket and Quad-Gal—had been unable to place. The path to the Metal Palace should harbour no great problems; after all, in their ruling arrogance the Ket did not suspect the hunting party led by JuJu to fail. Three humans? Easy meat for skilled Ket-i warriors, all the odds said so. However, forewarned was forearmed, and according to JuJu a veritable army of warriors stood between Keenan and his prize, the Fractured Emerald.
“How many guards?” asked Keenan softly.
JuJu shrugged. “A hundred, maybe two. It is our greatest artefact; you will not be allowed to take it.”
“To be honest,” said Keenan, “I’m not so much interested in theft, more in what the Fractured Emerald can tell me.”
“But you have a contract.”
“Yes, and you know of Prince Akeez; the whole situation stinks like a ten-day dog corpse. Prince Akeez can kiss my arse; his contract is forfeit. I am not doing this for Akeez, and if I am honest with you, I’ll put a bullet in his skull as soon as look at him.”
“He has betrayed you?”
“It would appear so,” said Keenan.
“Then I respect your honour. Tell me, what would you have the Fractured Emerald predict?”
“Not a prediction, more a revelation.” And Keenan explained to the hulking black warrior about his family, about their murders, about his own people’s inability to solve the crime, about his fall from grace and the clutching at straws that led him here, to this place, now, with an outlawed brain-fried combat squad wanted throughout the Quad-Gal on a GroupD prohibition which equated to instant extermination when they were—ultimately, finally—caught.
“So your friends joined you? In your hour of need? Even though they would forfeit their futures... forfeit their lives when caught?”
“Yes. We are a clan unto ourselves, and like you, we have our own honour codes. JuJu, I do not mean to trick you, but this Prince Akeez, tell me what you know of him. It’s too convenient that you know our plans; I have a sneaking suspicion that we are the decoys and he intends to instigate his own theft.”
JuJu considered this. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost a rhythmical lullaby.
“We were approached by Akeez showing all correct protocols upon entry to Ket. He spoke of a renegade outfit commissioned to steal the Fractured Emerald; that they—
you—
would come with heavy weaponry and murder many of our people. He said it was, intrinsically, an act of war. Later he gave us coordinates of your entry point, only they became useless when your Hornet spacecraft was blown from the heavens. Akeez was very precise with his information and calculations.”
Keenan nodded, eyes narrowed. Then he glanced at Franco and Pippa. “We’ve been set up, again
.
We’re being played as pawns, my friends. We’re being dicked with from high above.”
“What you going to do?” said Pippa. Her voice was velvet.
“We’re continuing with the plan.”
“Even though it’s a trap?”
“Is it a trap?” said Keenan, eyes bright on JuJu. The huge black man stared at him levelly, face unreadable, head held high in pride; with an utmost warlike bearing.
“I do not believe so,” said JuJu.
“So you will take us forward?”
“I will, but if you do mean theft, I
will
kill you. We will not lose our sacred prize.”
Keenan and JuJu moved away from Franco and Pippa, and spoke quietly for a couple of minutes; then Keenan smiled over at the two, nodding, rubbing his unshaved chin with a rasp of whiskers.
Keenan moved back, boots clumping on bone. He gestured to Franco. “Give JuJu a weapon.”
“What?”
“Give him a weapon, Franco.” Keenan spoke through gritted teeth.
Franco grinned and held up his hands. “Hey, do you know, for a crazy moment there I actually thought you suggested giving our captive prisoner, the one with raze-wire round his wrists and ankles, I thought you told me to give him a weapon. Ha ha.”
“And take off the wire,” snapped Keenan, turning and gazing out towards distant, staggered mountains, towering rugged peaks, flanks violated by forests of pink and grey trees; sheer violent walls reared, a parallel with the natural violence of the Ket-i people: uncompromising, unforgiving, brutal.
“Keenan...”
“We’ve got a deal,” said Keenan. “And we’re going in.”
Darkness fell.
JuJu led Combat K down narrow calciferous pathways, which finally dropped and dropped until they reached a bridge of incredibly thin white, glowing almost fluorescently in the darkness. One by one they crossed, until it was Franco’s turn and he eyed the few inches of bone rock warily, eyes narrowed, tongue licking desert lips.
“Not like,” he muttered.
“Don’t be such a big girl,” snapped Pippa.
Franco stepped onto the bridge, damp from splashes of lapping white water; then, with a sudden squawk he danced a marionette jig and tumbled back into the small circular lake where he splashed wildly for a few moments, before surfacing with a splutter, realising it was only waist deep.
“Shit,” he ejaculated.
Dark shapes moved beneath the surface; gliding dark bodies converged through the milk towards... Franco.
“Get me out!” he screeched.
Keenan grinned wryly. “You muppet.”
“So much for the covert entrance.” Pippa reached out, and Franco grabbed her hand, allowing her to haul his barrel-chested frame from the stagnant water. Franco wrinkled his nose, glancing back at the eels, which arced through the white, then disappeared once the promise of a sudden feed had vanished.
“Little buggers would have chomped my legs! I’m really not liking eels very much! Especially the promise of poisonous ones! And pooh! Now I stink a pretty stink! A stink of eel mush and rotting eel eye stink! I stink so bad. I stink I do.” It was an acute observation.
“Elegant,” smiled Pippa curtly.
“Come. We must hurry,” said JuJu.
And trailing stagnant milk droplets, Franco followed the others, mumbling and moaning, into the encroaching darkness.
They walked down narrow bone-sand streets. JuJu led the group with care, eyes alert, head flicking from left to right as he scanned for Combat K’s enemies. As they moved, Franco still pondered the warrior’s odd motivations; the whole thing stank worse than a stagnant stinking fish supper to Franco’s mind, and still he couldn’t quite work out Keenan’s angle. So, he thought, brow wrinkled, scratching at his shaved ginger head, and rubbing his bushy beard, if JuJu takes us to the Fractured Emerald, and the gem tells Keenan what he wants to know, then we leave it alone. JuJu will be happy, and Keenan will be happy. And, that way, we leave without a fight! But I thought they were a warlike people? Living for war and all that guff? Why would JuJu do that? Hmm?
He pondered as they moved down narrow streets.
Something was notright.
Franco’s attention diverted to the immediate; the immediate fact that he was soaked, and not just with any old water, but with something akin to milk shit from a cesspit creature. His clothing, sopping wet, rubbed at him in places he would rather not be rubbed, and a curious itching had transgressed up and down his spine in a most uncomfortable fashion. Reaching back, Franco scratched with the muzzle of his MPK; and realised in horror that the safety was off. A ND at himself would not be the best way to get this mission finalised.
Scratching again, Franco moved grumbling through the black bone-sand that stuck like mulch to his squelching sandals.
“Here.” JuJu halted, almost in reverence. A small, wide metal door stood in a massive blank metal wall before him. The edges were near perfect, nothing more than an unseen fracture. “This is an outlet for waste in times of plague; it was used to deposit bodies from the Metal Palace without having to open gates.”
“A plague exit?” said Franco with a shudder. “You mean, like, diseased corpses?”
JuJu nodded. “There is nothing for you to worry about. It has not been used for many years; the plague virii do not live beyond months, our scientists have researched this. You are quite safe from the terrible and toxic effects of this killer disease.”
“‘Killer disease’,” muttered Franco, voice a parody. “Just great.”
“How do we open it?” said Keenan.
JuJu knelt in the fine sand and placed his hands on the metal portal. Then he bowed his head and touched it to the doorway; silently, it slid upwards. “Cerebral implants,” said JuJu simply.
“Advanced,” muttered Franco.
“We are not a backward race,” said JuJu. “Just because we sport piercings, scars, tattoos, just because we wear war-paint and hunt to kill, it does not mean we are heathen pagan savages. We choose to express our technology in a different fashion.”
Keenan peered into the steep, narrow chute.
“You leading the way?”
“I must leave you here,” said JuJu.
“Oh no,” snapped Franco. “I’ve heard that one before! ‘You can trust me, I won’t say a word guv’nor’ then off you pop to the Chief Head Highman or whatever you call the dude and bring with you five thousand fucking guards carrying Laser Cannons and bearing a grudge. Oh no, no indeedy.”
“I will stick to our bargain,” said Keenan, eyes locked on JuJu. “Honour to your people.”
“Honour to your people,” replied JuJu, and melted into the night.
“Did I miss something?” snapped Franco, eyes wild. “What game you playing, Keenan? Letting our bloody ace wander off to make a cannibal stew?”
“Just get in the damned chute.”
“But...”
“Franco! We’re running out of darkness. In a few minutes the streets will be alive
.
Then we will be in the shit.”
Grumbling, Franco followed Keenan into the narrow confines and started a long, sweating, grunting ascent. Pippa stood for a moment in the humid stillness of the night; she looked around, unhurriedly, as if seeking a sign. Whatever deal Keenan had done with JuJu she didn’t like it; it gnawed in her guts; but then, Keenan was a tough and very determined son of a bastard. The deal—whatever it was—had to have been to his benefit. And yes, there would be risk involved, but hell, wasn’t there always? That was the business they were in.