Crossways (38 page)

Ronan and Archie had said little about how the information affected them, but Bronsen had developed a thousand-meter stare for a couple of hours and then come back into himself with a soundless, “Wow!”

“It's a bit like when I'm Finding something,” he said. “Now I have a grid overlaid with a mental map. Let's hope I can pinpoint Ben's Nan accurately on both the grid and the map.”

Cara had only met Nan and Ricky once, so Ben had given Bronsen his memories of them to make them easier to locate.

Ronan had managed to secure tickets for the grapple
semifinal from a scalper, though it had cost a small fortune. The six tickets were all in different parts of the stadium. Hilde had hired a flyer big enough to take nine of them and was standing by. Tengue and Gwala were waiting patiently in the burn unit until it was time to move.

“Are we ready?” Cara asked.

“Ready,” Ronan, Archie and Bronsen answered together.

“Ready to get out of this place.” Archie looked at the damp-stained walls of their hotel room and patted the bag of bots slung over his shoulder. “Even the boys aren't used to this standard of accommodation.”

They'd all reattached the Trust insignias to their buddysuits, hardly out of place here in Arkhad City.

Cara contacted Nan one more time.
*We're on our way.*

C
ARA REACHED BEN BEFORE
SOLAR WIND
hit the Folds.

*Ben, Nan's still okay. I've managed to talk to her again.*

*How is she?*

*Looking forward to getting out. We're heading for the grapple arena now. We've got tickets for a game.*

Cara let the link drop. Had she sensed some deep-seated worry behind Ben's thoughts? She hoped not, but she had the feeling that something was going on that he wasn't letting her in on.

She linked her arm through Ronan's as they waited in line at the gate to the grapple arena where once, before setting off for Olyanda, they'd played a friendly match of three-on-three with no audience.

*Hard to imagine this was our playground, isn't it?*
Ronan kept the thought tight.
*How carefree we all were.*

*Speak for yourself. I was on the run from Ari van Blaiden. You were carefree.*

*I love it, shooting hoops and loops. A freefall game of free-for-all where every way is up and no mayhem is out of bounds short of actual physical damage. I used to play semiprofessionally, while I was still at school.*

*I know, Suzi told me. You played for Magna Colony and
you took the Trust's interdepartmental grapple championship three years in a row.*

*It could have been four, but we lifted off for Olyanda before the finals. I had to bail.*

*Perhaps you'd like to skip this mission and stay and watch the match.*

*No, it's never as much fun watching as playing.*

She gave him a light smack on the arm as the line began to move and they filtered into the arena and collected magnetic plates for their boots to anchor them to the inner surface of the spherical arena. No seats here, you just snagged your feet magnetically onto the plating and took up a position in whichever segment your ticket said. Gravity was already off and would remain off until the last member of the audience had left after the game. If it came on, the entire crowd of around five thousand would gently fall to the floor, a real public safety issue, not from the fall, because gravity would return slowly, but from the potential crush.

They split up and headed for their allocated sectors, clunking on the floor plates as they walked up the walls and onto the ceiling, which, of course, was still the floor from their perspective.

The hollow sphere was punctuated by a series of inward-protruding bars and platforms and the goals were loops of medonite, through which teams had to post hoops to score. Because this was a pro match there were five to each team.

In such close quarters with everyone in a state of heightened excitement, Cara had to damp down her Empathy so as not to be overwhelmed.

*Me, too,*
Ronan said.

Archie and Bronsen, who had been a few meters behind them in the lineup outside, had found their designated places, unaffected by the mental hubbub. The interval after the first set was when they were going to make their move. In the meantime, though he looked as if he was watching the match intently, Archie had released his bots, one at a time, from his bag. They were already scuttling for the arena's control panels and wiring grid. Cara hoped Archie knew what he was doing. They needed to inflict very specific damage if they weren't going to kill a few hundred innocent people.

In the arena two teams were arrayed against each other,
standing on ledges, holding on to handgrips. At the first beep a hoop sailed between them out into the center of the arena and all ten players pushed off to where they expected it to be. It was balletic sport, graceful, as bodies glided into the center of the sphere, bending and weaving in slow motion, trying to keep from being bounced into another trajectory while trying to knock their opponent off-course. In null-G the play wasn't fast, but it was relentless and the cheering and catcalls from the whole crowd ratcheted up the tension.

Cara kept a tight grip on her Empathy and was relieved when the beep announced the end of the first segment. Most of the spectators stayed where they were but Cara made her way back toward the entrance from segment six, just above the equator of the sphere.

*Archie?*
she asked.

*Ready,*
he answered.

*Ronan?*

*Almost down to ground level.*

*Bronsen.*

*Over here.*

*Tengue? Gwala?*

*Here.*

*Have any trouble at the med center?*

*Nothing to worry about. Amateurs. They don't even know we've left yet.*

*Hilde?*

*Close by.*
The pilot's reply was weaker.
*Ready when you all are. Just give me the word.*

Cara clamped her feet to the plating by the entrance and spotted Bronsen standing by a stairwell that was taped off with warning tape and sported a notice saying, DO NOT CROSS THIS LINE, in big bold letters. Cara looked up. Segment Eight was directly opposite the stairwell, two hundred meters across the empty interior of the spherical arena.

*Now, Archie.*

The people down at ground level didn't know anything had happened for a few moments, until the screaming started. Six hundred people in Segment Eight began to fall from the ceiling in slow motion as their magnetic boot grips failed and a whisper of gravity drew them slowly down. The
floor space would easily accommodate six hundred without a crush, but there was going to be a lot of flailing around and motion sickness. Not a good combination. The big worry for the management would be that if one segment had failed then the others might follow. They would need every security guard they could draft to get people out of the danger zone as quickly as possible.

The alarms began to sound. That would relay to the emergency services. The whole place would be full of first responders within minutes.

As the first few tumbling people reached the head of the stairwell, Cara, Ronan, Archie, and Bronsen abandoned their mag plates and jumped. Tengue and Gwala were ahead of them.

*Bronsen?*
Cara asked.

*Fifth level down, directly below us,
* Bronsen replied.

*Nan, we're coming to get you.*

*We're not alone,*
Nan said.
*There's a guard. He's armed and he has an earpiece and transmitter. I think you've got a welcoming committee.*

*Shit.*

They landed on the stairs, the antigrav effects less here now that they were below ground level, though they were still light. This wasn't the ideal place to be if there was a welcoming committee waiting.

Guards erupted from a room on the landing below them. Tengue and Gwala got off four shots in quick succession, all smart-darts loaded with quick-acting anesthetic. Four guards fell, blocking the shots of the two who were still on their feet. Gwala's fists took down the closest one and Tengue got in another shot, which took care of the last one.

“Is that it?” Bronsen asked aloud.

“Doubt it,” Tengue answered.

Cara glanced into the room: a series of screens showed various corridors from ground level to the basement, nine floors down. As she'd hoped, the chaos was blocking access to the stairwell. There was a room with a woman lying prone on a bed and a boy. Nan and Ricky. Sitting on a chair in the middle of the room was a hulking figure of a man with a bolt rifle across his knees, grim-faced, staring at the door.

*What's your situation, Nan? I can see from the screen it doesn't look good.*

*The man's called Minnow. He's been kind to Ricky, but he's never come with more than a sidearm before. He's not a natural born killer, but I'm an Empath. I can tell he's scared, and a man who's scared will do stupid things.*

*Is he still talking on the wire?*

*He's listening. There are people out there.*

*I can't see anything on the screen. All the corridors are empty.*

*It's a trap.*

*Yes, but where?*

She turned to Tengue.

“One man with a bolt rifle in the room with Nan and Ricky. Somewhere there's a trap set for us, but where is it?”

“Keep going?”

“We don't have a choice.”

“Proceed with caution then.” He jerked his head and Gwala advanced down the stairs. The rest of them followed.

Ricky sat on the edge of Nan's bed keeping up a conversation with Minnow that was more like a monologue, as the normally talkative guard barely answered. Most of it was for Nan's benefit, as she lay unmoving but wide awake.

“What's happening, Minnow? Why are you just sitting there? What kind of gun is that? Is it a bolt rifle? What's that thing in your ear? Is it a receiver? Have you got a transmitter? Why are you wearing a buddysuit today? Is there something special going on? Are we getting out of here? You wouldn't hurt us, would you?”

He felt Nan's foot twitch. Was that good or bad? He sure wished he had an implant right now.

“Shut up, kid, and read your book. Stay still and quiet and nobody needs to get hurt.”

“Who are you listening to on that earpiece? Isn't it the big game today? Aren't you missing it? Have you got a commentary in your earpiece? You have!”

“No commentary. More than my life's worth. Shut up, kid.”

“Aww come on, Minnow, be a pal.”

“I ain't your pal. Not today.”

“I need to pee, Minnow. I need to pee real bad.”

“Hold it, kid.”

“I can't. Just a quick pee, Minnow, please. Then I'll sit back down here and you'll not hear another word out of me. Promise.”

“Make it quick.”

Ricky held the blast pack of anesthetic in his sweaty palm. If there was a time to use it, that time had come. If he could. He jumped down from the bed and padded over to the san-unit on bare feet, pulled the pan out of the wall and hoped he could manage to pee, even if it was only a little bit. Minnow kept his eyes fixed on the door, his back straight, listening to something over the earpiece. Ricky waved his hand over the sensor that would retract and clean the bowl, then while the swirl of cleaning fluid and the hum of the pump covered up any sound his bare feet might make he crossed the couple of meters to the back of Minnow's chair, and with all the strength that he had, slapped the blast pack to the side of Minnow's neck just beneath his ear.

“Wha . . .” Minnow elbowed Ricky hard in the chest, flinging him backward. Ricky tried to draw a breath and failed. Minnow was on his feet now. The barrel of the bolt rifle came up in an arc, drawn to him like a magnet to iron. The blast pack was having no effect. It was probably calibrated for someone Nan's size and Minnow was a lot taller, a lot heavier. And he was angry. Ricky could see it in his eyes, hurt and betrayal. He'd tried to be a decent human being and Ricky had turned on him.

“Minnow!” Nan sat up and rapped out Minnow's name.

Ricky saw the surprise in his eyes and his head snapped around, the gun's nose following it a fraction later.

“No!” Ricky forced himself to his feet and jumped at Minnow's back. The pair of them hit the floor and the rifle clattered against the ceramic. Ricky rolled over, groaning, but Minnow didn't move. The blast pack had finally done its job.

“Well done, Ricky.” Nan looked up at the eye on the wall. “If they saw that they'll be down here in no time. If they weren't watching we may win a few minutes. Help me drag him out of the cam view.”

She stood up, or tried to, but her healing leg let her down and she fell across the bed. “Shoot! How long have I been lying in that bed?”

“Too long.” Ricky helped her on to her feet and then
steadied her when she sat down. When had Nan got so light? “I'm not sure. It's hard when every day's the same.”

“You've done marvelously.”

Ricky felt himself swell with pride.

“But it's not over yet. Cara's coming, but it's likely there's a trap waiting to be sprung.”

“Just Cara? Where's Uncle Ben?”

“Coming, and no, not just Cara, she's got a team with her.”

“Will this help?” Ricky teased the receiver out of Minnow's ear and handed it to Nan.

She looked at it distastefully, wiped it on the blanket, then pushed it into her own ear. “Hand me the gun. Now, can you move Minnow by yourself?”

Ricky pulled the gun out from beneath Minnow's chest and passed it to Nan, who checked the safety and placed it on the bed. He pulled at Minnow's arm, but barely moved the man. He was heavy. Pushing had no better success. Minnow had slumped half on his face with one arm beneath him. Ricky grabbed hold of his shoulder and tugged until Minnow flopped onto his back, slightly closer to the bed. Then using the same technique, he rolled him over again, this time onto his face. He was alongside the bed now. Ricky pushed. Minnow moved a couple of centimeters at best. Nan slithered to her knees and started to push as well. Five centimeters, ten, twenty. Gradually they got him tucked away.