Hunt the Heavens: Book Two of the Shadow Warrior Trilogy (7 page)

Now the sun had returned, and the magnate’s well-paid friends swirled about him. The music that boomed around Wolfe as he made his way through the crowd, balancing a tray of champagne flutes, came from a quartet on a platform halfway up one wall. It was supposed to be Indian skitch, he guessed, its edges rounded by the distance from New Calcutta, the mediocrity of the musicians, and the tastes of the audience. Joshua thought wryly that the two or three dozen people present who might’ve been young enough to like the real stuff were more likely to bat their eyes and prefer the tastes — in everything — of their older and richer “friends.”

He moved around a woman who was leaning against a replica of Michelangelo’s
Victory
and staring contemptuously at a man sprawled on the floor at her feet. Someone had scrawled
kakara rules
on the conqueror’s knee.

Two women in old-fashioned tuxedoes were dancing skillfully with each other.

An old man sat backward in a Chippendale chair, maneuvering a model of a
de Ruyter
–class monitor around as if he were ten years old.

A man Wolfe noted for his classically handsome features was holding an intense conversation with the dancer in a Degás painting Joshua was fairly sure was real.

A troupe of ignored acrobats arced back and forth near the ceiling like playful swallows.

Joshua heard Kakara’s voice before he saw him. It was loud, commanding, its edges blurred a little by alcohol.

“Damned straight she packed it in on you,” he said. “You took her away from Potrero, di’n't you? Woman that’s got her eye on the main chance, hell, she’ll walk from you the minute she sees better. You were just the thing of the moment, just like Dardick or whatever his name is’ll be the next on the list when she starts lookin’ again.

“No wonder your da asked me to put you right. You got some kind of idea people do things for good reasons rather than because they just want to or because they’ve got any choice in the matter.”

Kakara wore black dress trousers with a black silk stripe up the side and a collarless silk shirt that had the Kakara house emblem, the jagged red lightning streak, in place of a neckcloth, no jacket. He was berating a slender man about half his age, who wore more conventional formal dress.

Standing around Kakara, nodding at appropriate intervals, were five other men and Oriz.

To one side was the small woman with dark hair whose picture Joshua had seen in Cormac’s office. Her eyes were a little glazed, and she held a glass without appearing to notice it was empty.

Wolfe lowered the tray and stood unobtrusively to the side while Kakara continued:

“I’m sorry. But if you run across someone who’s important to you — like Rita is to me — you make sure they don’t get an opportunity to go in harm’s way. It’s the best for all concerned.”

He turned to the dark-haired woman and waited. After an interval, she nodded. He turned back, seemingly satisfied.

“Boy, you should count this a good lesson. Let’s face it, that woman wasn’t anything special. So she was pretty, so she did whatever she did to you in bed that set your little wick wiggling.

“You’re rich, boy. You’re going to learn there’s a million more where she came from. Thing that’s important, like I said, is to keep it from happening again. Not just with women, but with everybody.

“You find somebody you need — I mean, really need — you fasten ‘em to you with whatever it takes. Money. Position. Power. Whatever. You make double-dogged sure they can’t get a better deal elsewhere.

“Or, and this can be the most important thing, don’t let ‘em think they can do better. Make ‘em afraid to start looking. Keep them tied to you, as long as you need them. That’s the way to keep people loyal. And I’m pretty damned good at it.”

He spun suddenly and looked at Wolfe. “Aren’t I?”

“I assume so, sir,” Joshua said quietly.

“Assume? Don’t you
know
?”

“I haven’t been in your employ long enough to form an opinion. Sir.”

Kakara snorted. “Opinions are like assholes. Everybody has one, and it’s for sale. Right?”

Joshua kept the smile in place, said nothing.

“You’re just like the others,” Kakara said. He reached out, took a flute from Wolfe’s tray, drained it. He was about to turn, stopped, frowned, and his eyes held Joshua’s.

They flickered away, and he shook his head, as if he’d just had a glass of icewater tossed in his face.

“No,” he said in a low voice. “No, you’re not.”

Joshua put a quizzical look on his face, nodded, and slipped off.

• • •

The dark-haired woman leaned back against the ten-foot-high chunk of driftwood that had been stained, lacquered, and declared art. She was looking out and down at the flaring lights along a shipway as construe-tion robots crawled and welded. She didn’t appear to be seeing them.

Joshua moved up beside her. Now his tray held an assortment of small liqueur glasses.

“Would you care for a drink, Captain Sidamo?”

The woman started, looked at him. Her face hardened. “My name is Mrs. Kakara,” she said. “Are you making some sort of joke?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Are you one of Oriz’s amateur spies? Or is my husband playing games again?”

“The bridge of the
PC-1186
,” Wolfe said. “Cormac said you would remember that. You won’t remember me, but I remember you. You were his logistics officer and I was one of his … clients every now and then. I don’t think we ever were introduced.”

Once more Rita Kakara showed surprise. She looked about hastily. “Careful. There are bugs everywhere.”

“Not here.”

“How do you know?”

“There was one behind that chunk of wood. I deactivated it an hour ago.” Wolfe didn’t wait for a response. “Now. Reach out, take one of the glasses. Taste it. You hate it. Give it back to me, and I am going to suggest another one, pointing at each.”

The woman hesitated, then obeyed.

“You’re genuine,” she murmured. “Did Cormac tell you what happened that afternoon on the patrol craft?”

“No. I didn’t figure it was any of my business.”

“He always was a gentleman.” A smile touched her lips, and she was suddenly as young as Wolfe remembered her. “Can you get me out?”

“I’m going to try.”

“When? How?”

“I don’t know yet,” Wolfe said. “But keep your track shoes handy … and this liqueur, Mrs. Kakara, is Deneb Reducto. It’s brandy that’s had most of the water taken out and replaced with an herbal compound.”

Oriz was at his elbow. “Jalon sent me over,” he said to Rita. “He said to remind you it’ll be a long day tomorrow.”

Rita moved her face into the semblance of a smile. “How thoughtful of Jalon,” she said. “I certainly wouldn’t want a hangover. Thank you, Jack.

“I don’t believe I’ll try any of your wares, sir. That first taste should have warned me.”

Wolfe offered the tray to Oriz, who eyed him, then shook his head.

Wolfe bowed and moved toward a group of three men.

• • •

Joshua slid the rack of glasses into the washer, closed the door and touched the sensor. Steam boiled out, and he began loading another rack.

“Leave that,” a voice ordered. “I need a drink.”

It was Jalon Kakara, appearing no drunker, no soberer than he had before.

“Yes, sir. What may I get you?”

There was a pale light from outside as the planetoid’s program suggested dawn was close.

“In the back cabinet, there’s a bottle. No label. I’ll take about four fingers of it.”

Wolfe found a dark-brown bottle, poured a clear, colorless fluid, and passed it across. The big man warmed the glass in the palms of his hands, then sniffed deeply.

“Might I inquire as to what that is, sir?”

“On the world I come from, the government sets high duty on any alcohol. So we build our own. I keep some on hand.”

“Is it good?”

“Hell no! It’s swill. I keep it around to remind me of … of certain things.”

Kakara drank, set the glass down with a clatter. “So you don’t think everyone’s got a price, as does everything they believe, eh?”

“I didn’t say that. Since I’m on your payroll I’d sound like several species of a fool if I did,” Wolfe replied.

“But you don’t think that what people believe is on the block?”

“Sometimes,” Wolfe answered. “Sometimes not. Sometimes it doesn’t cost anything, either. People have a pretty good way of convincing themselves what they ought to believe at any given time without much encouragement.”

“Shit! Philosophy.”

Wolfe shook his head. “Not at all, sir. Just talking about what I’ve seen.”

“The philosopher barman,” Kakara said. A corner of his mouth twisted.

He drained the glass, got up. “Maybe I better keep you close. Find out more about what you think. That’d give you a chance to see whether I’m good at writing the music and then making anyone around me dance to it — and like it.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Kakara looked appraisingly at Wolfe, then slid off the bar stool and walked away.

Wolfe watched until he’d left the big room, then went back to stacking glasses in the wash rack.

His expression was thoughtful.

• • •

Joshua lay on a knoll in the center of the planetoid’s park, on a towel. There were sandals, a pullover, knee-shorts beside him, and he had another towel over his hips. His eyes were closed.

He was not asleep. He floated out, away, toward the invisible roof of the planetoid, where the artificial sun and clouds floated.

His fingers were splayed, thumb and forefinger touching, resting gently on his stomach.

I float … I see … the void around me … all elements are one … I feel the world about me … I reach, do not reach, for a way, for a place, where I may call, where the woman and I may flee from … the void … the emptiness … I bring nothing … I take nothing …

He
felt
someone’s eyes on him, sat up slowly, yawning.

Rita Kakara left the path below the knoll and walked toward him. She wore a yellow sundress and was barefoot. Her feet made small springy indentations in the thick turf.

“Good afternoon, Mister Taylor.’ “ The quotes she put around Wolfe’s name were barely noticeable.

“Mrs. Kakara.”

“I suppose you’ve heard already.”

“No, ma’am. I’ve heard nothing. I haven’t checked in today. I’m on the late shift.”

“Not anymore you’re not. My husband’s changed your assignment.”

“Oh?”

“He wants you to take charge of the bar on the
Laurel.
The bar and the commissary. Your contract will be adjusted accordingly.”

Wolfe rubbed his chin, thinking. “Thank you,” he said. “I gather it’s a promotion.”

“It is. Even if it’ll put you a bit closer to the fire.”

“I don’t understand.”

“My husband doesn’t handle travel well. Sometimes he becomes … upset easily. Too easily.” Rita looked about. “Is it all right to talk?”

Wolfe was about to say yes, but the Lumina concealed in its pouch in his crotch warmed. He shook his head, slightly. The dark-haired woman didn’t catch the gesture, started to say more. Wolfe held out a hand, low, palm flat.

“Sorry,” she said. “What I meant to say was that Jalon is a little sensitive about this. Some people might find it amusing that a man who made his riches as he did would have problems in space, and think he’s afraid.

“That’s not it at all.” Rita was talking a little too fast, Wolfe thought. But she wasn’t doing a bad job of recovery.

“I think it’s just that he likes his comforts, his own place, and sometimes isn’t aware of it. The reason I wanted to mention it to you is to ask that you not judge him harshly if he snaps at you.

“Please don’t take it personally.”

“Mrs. Kakara, I do appreciate your taking the time, and I’ll certainly do my best. I must say that so far the job has been such a pleasure that something as minor as that won’t give me a problem at all.”

“I thought you’d understand.” She smiled and went back down the path.

Wolfe lay back down, then, after a moment, rolled onto his stomach. He remained motionless, and, after a space, his back moved slowly, regularly.

I look … my eyes are many … I see
…
I feel …

He
felt
a direction but made no move.

A few minutes later, he opened his eyes a slit.

To his right, on a hilltop nearer the mansion that overlooked the knoll, he saw a heavyset, medium-size man who moved like Jack Oriz walk away. Over his shoulder he carried a tripod, with what might have been a spyeye or directional mike mounted on it.

“Grayle, Grayle,
are you listening
?”

The response came through his bones, from the transponder against his breastbone:

“I am.”

“Instructions. I shall be leaving this burrow aboard a ship. Follow. Do not allow yourself to be perceived. Stand by for immediate closure and boarding. Give this information to Taen. Clear.”

“Understood.”

Joshua took off the transponder and replaced it in the cutout copy of
The Barman’s Guide to Fine Spirits.

• • •

Joshua made a last check on the storage room, closed the door, and went to an intercom. “Commissary to bridge. All items safely stowed.”

There was a double-click of acknowledgment.

Joshua went to one of the couches in the barroom, sat down, and leaned back.

Fifteen minutes later, a loudspeaker came on:

“All stations, all stations. Stand by for lift … five, four, three, two … we’re gone.”

He
felt
beyond, outside, and
watched
as the
Laurel
came clear of the dock and moved toward the sky, and the illusion of a world vanished.

A great port opened, and the ship went out into blackness, then through the second lock, and was in the utter night/day of space.

Again the loudspeaker spoke:

“Time to jump, four seconds … three … two … one … now!”

The
Laurel
was somewhere else.

• • •

Wolfe heard an argument, then a blow. He looked up from the lemon he was peeling into a long curlicue and saw Rita Kakara stumble into the room, then down the corridor that led to the owner’s suite. After a moment, Kakara followed, pausing only to glower at the two men at the bar.