Alien Chronicles 1 - The Golden One (17 page)

“Yes, sir?”

The lieutenant’s gaze remained on Elrabin’s face as though waiting to see his reaction. “Take off both hands.”

The sergeant saluted and made his response, but Elrabin could barely hear the words for the increased roaring in his ears. His heart pounded like thunder in his chest. He could not feel his hands, could not feel his feet. Panting in fear, he tried desperately to think of something he could do, something he could say, but his throat choked up and he could utter nothing.

They dragged him around, and he had one glimpse of the gathered prostitutes, huddled as far from him as they could get. None of the females would meet his eyes, not even the twin Kelths with their dyed pink fur. He would never be able to pay them their seventy credits, and they all knew it. The Reject had hooded her face in the presence of the Viis males. She stood apart from the others, in the corner, with her back to everyone.

Elrabin understood, even in the throttling grip of his fear. He was sentenced and doomed. No one could help him.

How would he live? How could he work with no hands? How could he feed himself? He would be forced to beg, a disgusting cripple holding an alms bowl in his mouth, drooling for mercy. He would never be able to afford synthetic replacements for his severed appendages, not that marked thieves were allowed to own prosthetics anyway.

Or maybe he wouldn’t live at all. Maybe he would bleed to death out there in the gutter outside Tiff’s establishment.

The whining started in the back of his throat. It shamed him, but he couldn’t control it, couldn’t stop it.

The patrollers heard him and laughed.

Tiff stepped forward. “Wait.”

“Stand back, you,” the sergeant said harshly. “Interference will cost you additional fines.”

“Have mercy,” Tiff said, ignoring the warning. Oma glared at him as though he had lost his mind. Even Elrabin—although grateful—was astonished that Tiff would risk himself like this. “This Kelth is underage, not even fully adult yet. Do not maim him for such a small crime, committed so long ago. What did he steal? A trinket or two? Some food perhaps? Is that all you can find on his record sheet? Is it worth this terrible penalty?”

The sergeant hissed behind his visor, but the lieutenant stepped forward to gaze at Tiff.

“What is your interest here?”

“Elrabin is the son of a friend,” Tiff said without flinching.

“Do you supply him with Dlexyline?”

Aghast that Tiff had brought himself under suspicion, Elrabin opened his mouth, but the chunky old Aaroun lifted his sleepy eyes to meet the lieutenant’s. “I know nothing of such a drug,” he said, honesty firm in his voice. “I keep a clean establishment. There has never been trouble with drugs here. This is known.”

The lieutenant gestured impatiently. “Then keep quiet. This is no affair of yours.”

“Have mercy,” Tiff said again, while Oma growled in her throat at him. He ignored her, his gaze steadfast on the lieutenant. “I will pay his fine, and Elrabin will not steal again. I give you my word.”

Several of the patrollers laughed inside their helmets. The lieutenant inflated his air sacs, saying, “The word of an Aaroun? Do you dare equate yourself with the Viis, that you think your word is valid?”

His scorn was brutal. Shame flashed across Tiff’s spotted face, and he glanced down submissively before stepping back.

Oma grabbed his arm and growled something in his ear. He didn’t look up.

“Enough of this place,” the lieutenant said, glancing around impatiently. “It stinks of cheap scent and meat. Our tip was a false one. We have netted nothing but this one pathetic thief. Take him out, and let us be done here.”

Panic filled Elrabin. He struggled with all his might, but the patrollers held him easily. They forced him outside into the twilight. Cold rain still fell in a steady downpour, washing across the street and gurgling in the drains. No traffic passed by. The other brothels had lit their yellow lamps over their doors, but otherwise looked closed. No one took chances with two patroller skimmers hovering on park in the street, lights flashing in broken refractions through the rain.

“Put a restraint bar on him,” the sergeant ordered. Little droplets of rain beaded and ran down his visor. Behind them, the lieutenant lingered under the awning, as though reluctant to get his uniform wet.

Or maybe, Elrabin thought with scorn, he was afraid Kelth blood might spurt all over him.

While a patroller brought a restraint bar and the wrist cutters from one of the skimmers, the others surrounded Elrabin, each taking firm hold. He panted hard, unable to believe it was happening. He had feared this so long, yet he’d never actually believed he would finally get caught. Not like this, not today.

They weren’t going to be kind enough to give him a sedative first. Laughing among themselves, they spoke in Viis as though believing he couldn’t understand their words.

He didn’t care what they said. The wrist cutters filled his attention. Even in the gloom of approaching night and the steady patter of rain he could see that the steel blades were stained with blood dried black, except at the edges, which had been freshly ground and sharpened. The metal there gleamed bright.

“Pull his hands forward,” the sergeant ordered. “Then lock his elbows with the bar. I don’t want it getting splashed. If blood corrodes its finish, Supplies will insist on docking our wages.”

Elrabin fought and struggled with all his might, but they were too strong for him. One of the patrollers held his stun-stick to Elrabin’s throat, and Elrabin froze in mid-struggle, breathing hard and keening in his throat.

He no longer cared if they saw his fear. He no longer cared if they laughed at him.

When the wrist cutters did their work, his life would be over.

The restraint bar was fitted across the inside of his elbows, but before it could be locked on, a shout came from down the street.

The sergeant turned, and even the lieutenant stepped out into the rain as an additional squad of patrollers came marching up. Their uniforms were mud-splattered, and they came dragging a prisoner in an arrest net, floating on its antigrav field.

By the time they arrived, Elrabin recognized the prisoner’s gray fur with the distinctive white markings along throat and muzzle.

His heart sank with fresh dismay. So Cuvein’s luck had also run out. Truly, this was an evil night.

The lieutenant bent down to peer at the prisoner, ignoring the salutes. “Is this the one?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good work.”

“We found him hiding in a ventilation tunnel. We also found this.” The patroller making the report produced two dust pouches, one the slim one Elrabin had seen his da using earlier, the other larger and fatter. “And this.” The patroller held out a data crystal, which the lieutenant took eagerly.

“A list of his network?”

“We think so.”

“Excellent.”

Astonished, Elrabin stared at Cuvein, unable to believe it. Since when had his da become a supplier? And who had laid the tip, bringing the patrollers here tonight for this raid? What was going on?

“Cuvein?” he called.

“Shut up,” his da said, growling. “It’s planted evidence, every bit of it. Run if you can.”

The lieutenant was laughing. He tossed the data crystal in the air and caught it before tucking it safely away. “That promotion is now mine,” he said in triumph. “See that the Aaroun female gets her reward.”

Rage burned in Elrabin. Oma had betrayed them. Why? Just because Cuvein hadn’t paid for a few bad throws of tri-dice? Just because his bar bill was bigger than his purse? Elrabin wanted to throttle her. He’d promised he would settle his da’s debt. He’d given his word.

But promises meant nothing. He knew he wouldn’t have paid it, not all of it, not unless forced to. It seemed Oma understood the rules of the street too.

The sergeant snapped to attention. “Do you want an execution on the spot, sir? Or an arraignment at head-quarters?”

“Don’t be a fool,” the lieutenant said sharply. “Mark the death penalty on the official report, but don’t ask me to waste good money when he can be sold to a labor camp. Fear not. You will all get a share,” he added, glancing around at the patrollers.

Elrabin snorted to himself. Viis corruption. You could count on it like the rain of winter.

Then he realized no one was paying him any attention. Even the patrollers holding him were watching the officer and the new prisoner. Elrabin had made plenty of mistakes tonight, but he didn’t intend to make any more.

Swinging around, he twisted sharply to break himself free of their grip. One of them reached for him, but Elrabin rammed the Viis in the midriff with the end of the restraint bar clamped on his arms. The patroller went staggering back, and Elrabin swung around just in time to duck the grab of the other one.

Crouching low, he scuttled away a few steps, dropping to his knees and skidding around. As he did so, he pressed the end of the restraint bar against the rain-slick pavement and used the leverage to pop it off his arms. He thanked the gods that it hadn’t been locked yet.

Viis fingers grabbed at him from behind, scratching through his wet fur without much purchase. Elrabin picked up the restraint bar and swung it around like a club.

It cracked across a patroller’s legs and brought him down with a bellow of pain.

Staggering to his feet, Elrabin nearly lost his balance, but managed to get upright. He started toward the patrollers with the club upraised, intending to rescue Cuvein, but the sergeant aimed his stun-stick at Elrabin and fired.

It clipped him on his right side, making him feel as though he had been cut in half. Dropping the restraint bar with a clatter, he fell heavily, landing on his stunned side and never feeling the impact.

His right side was dead. Nothing worked, no matter how much he struggled. Floundering desperately with his left arm, Elrabin got to his hands and knees, tried to crawl forward, and fell again.

He could hear bootsteps, and fear drove him up once more. This time he half crawled, half dragged himself into the gutter. Water swept along its channel, icy cold and making him gasp. With his good fingers, he felt along desperately, seeking a grating that he could pull up.

“Get him!” the sergeant ordered.

He fell again, facedown in the water, and the mild current swept him along the gutter, faster than he could drag himself. Bumping and sputtering, he lifted his muzzle from the water and glanced back at his pursuers. He didn’t have a chance.

“Let the creature go,” the lieutenant said. “I have what I need. Our night is proving profitable enough without hunting down one worthless thief in the dark.”

Relief sagged through Elrabin. Lowering his head almost into the filthy water, he used his left arm to guide and pull himself along, buoyed by the gutter current. Behind him, he could hear muted sounds in the distance as the skimmers were loaded up. They flew off in the opposite direction, searchlights stabbing the darkness briefly before they were gone.

Elrabin bumped against a heavy grating. The water rushed over and beneath him, sucking itself down into the sewer main below. He clung there, braced half out of the water, and tipped up his face to the still-falling rain.

Only then did he cry out, his grief and anger throbbing harshly from his throat.

A fit of coughing interrupted his howl of mourning and brought him back from the dangerous edge of his emotions. He knew he couldn’t afford to give way, not here, not now.

He was free, and he was alive. But he felt far from lucky. For now, he had to hide himself, avoiding anyplace those who knew him would think of looking. That meant he couldn’t go home, couldn’t go to any of the usual haunts. Oma’s betrayal meant his da’s cronies might also sell Elrabin out, now that they knew he had a record.

It was a cold thought of no comfort.

Shivering, Elrabin swallowed his grief and pulled open the heavy grating. He hesitated there, a hunched figure in the rainy darkness, fearing to lower himself into a still-greater darkness. Skeks lived in the tunnels beneath the streets, along with other creatures. But Skeks were merely scavengers, no matter how loathsome, and he knew he could fight them off if necessary. Tonight, the only predators he knew about were aboveground. And they all wore the name
friend
.

CHAPTER
•TEN

In the morning, Ampris awakened to find herself back in her own cot, snugly tucked beneath her blankets. Subi had put her there, she supposed. Subi always did, so that Lady Lenith would not catch them.

Israi sat up in her nest of cushions, yawned hugely, and stretched her rill to its maximum extension. “The sun is shining,” she said. Bright-eyed and cheerful, she was already brimming with plans. “Let’s have a picnic.”

Ampris panted with excitement. She loved it when Israi planned a special occasion. “When?”

“Today. We’ll make it a grand, outdoor luncheon. By midday the sun will be warm. And I know the perfect spot.”

“The clearing by the stream,” Ampris guessed.

Israi laughed with approval. “Of course! I shall wear fur robes, and you wool. There are those old costumes in the storage rooms that we can dress up in. We’ll pretend that we are grand court ladies in the old dynasty of Ruverl.”

“Who?”

“My great-grandfather. He who built this lodge,” Israi said impatiently. “Because we are having a historical picnic, we must not ride up to the clearing on skimmers. Instead we will walk.”

Ampris blinked. “It’s a long climb.”

“Don’t be lazy. We will walk,” Israi said. “We will take thick blankets to spread over the ground, and only one slave to serve us.”

“Let’s take Moscar,” Ampris said. “He’s strong enough to carry everything.”

Israi’s green eyes gleamed. When she emerged from her morning ablutions, her skin oiled and glowing, her fur-lined tunic cut loose in the back to conceal her tail as modesty required, she grabbed Ampris by the hand and went dashing down the corridor to the central section of the lodge.

There, they halted by the main staircase, breathless and giggling. Israi beckoned for a page to approach her.