Skyblaze (2 page)

Vertu stopped on the side of the pavement
with a curb, car and timer running, finding the address matched
perfectly the one the dark Terran had given her. She looked into
the camera then, finding her passengers looking elsewhere.

''Here we find your address. Shall you
depart from me here, where there are neither people nor businesses,
lost in the the backwoods of Solcintra?''

She trusted that Trade might somewhat hide
her amusement, for surely she'd had worse fares. Still, as a
destination it . . . .

The larger Terran said in a Trade undertone
clearly meant for his companion rather than her, ''This could do
it.''

She glanced up, meeting the dark man's gaze
in the camera, amusement flickering about his lips and eyes.

''If you might hold for us a short while,
driver. We must take a few readings . . . .''

She bowed toward the camera, turned as if to
show them the functioning of the doors, which, the cab being still,
were able to be opened by either of them.

''You are my fare, and so I will await you,
as the cab is empowered to charge you for time as well as
travel.''

''Yes, that is so.'' He smiled into the
camera, and the pair moved quickly, opening the doors and exiting,
pulling their luggage with them.

She watched as they walked to the paved
edge, speaking too quietly now for her to overhear, gesturing in
directions that indicated the sweep of the streams below, and of
hills on the farther side.

A piece of luggage was snatched up, zipped
quickly from its sheathing -- and there stood on Terran-tall
tripod, an object from another piece of luggage mounted to it --
and another. The dark man stood back from it, staring into a
hand-held, free hand moving as if he counted seconds.

The larger man moved to the cliff edge,
staring into the distance, hands to face as if he shielded his eyes
from glare, or held some small object to peer through.

''There!''

The larger man pointed, and made some kind
of hand-signal, and both of them were at the tripod, hefting it
just over the rim to the hillside, sliding down the dirt there,
urgently doing things she couldn't quite see, until half of the
tripod was out of sight, and half held its head above the paved
plateau.

The larger man lurched up the side of the
hill to the pavement, taking business-like strides past her and the
taxi to the cross-street where he turned, surveying the view like a
tourist, and then with purpose. He stooped, staring toward the
tripod and his friend with a solemn expression.

''And so?'' he called out.

The smaller man replied across the distance,
clearly saying:

''We're synched. Port comm, ship comm,
Higdon Central. Enough to start on, I'd say.''

''Got your recall on?''

''Can activate at will.''

''You know the drill, then. You'll probably
see me before you hear from me.''

A wave and the Terran near the tripod moved
down the slope, disappearing from view. The large man strode back
to the cab, opened the door smoothly and slid in, carefully
engaging the lock.

''Thank you for waiting,'' he said as he
adjusted his lanky form to fit the seat. ''Please start driving,''
he said carelessly, hand perhaps pointing toward the greater
city.

Vertu bowed, put the car in motion. There
were not all that many routes from here, after all . . .

She glanced into the camera, let the car
straighten into the main road.

He watched, his face nearly Liaden in
neutrality.

''I'd like to return to the spaceport area,
but not to the point you picked us up. I'll show you where as we
get near, if I may. Also, I'd like to discuss hiring this vehicle
for the next Standard Day, and another fifteen vehicles like it, if
they may be had. I am able to pay cantra, in advance, at triple day
rate, if you prefer.''

Returning her attention to the road, she
bowed vaguely toward the camera.

''This discussion, we shall have it,'' she
allowed in careful Trade, ''when we have a stop on the road.''

*

Wylan let the car's
taxi-channel chatter to itself as she turned off the direct route.
The noodle shop made an excellent stop on the road, and the
location was agreeable to the Terran. He, nameless, had been quite
patient with her short quick inquiries over timing and locations
once she'd admitted she'd be dealing with -- she used the Trade
term
allies --
to
fill in the cars her own agency could not provide. That most of
those would not be directly under her command she'd not let on, but
there, the details need not concern him.

Into the camera, she began --

''Your need must be great, oh traveler, and
you have many friends. I must, you understand, be sure of my
necessities before committing so many of my resources . . .''

Also into the camera, the Terran: ''May I
speak in confidence with you, and ask, if you find my offer not to
your liking, that you permit me to make the offer to others
--''

She bowed lightly in her seat, also raising
her left hand with a slight shoo-away sign.

''If my
melant'i
finds your
offer unfortunate, I will tell you so, carry you to a destination,
and be done with it. I cannot be responsible for the
melant'i
of others, says
the Code, nor should I wish to!''

''I appreciate your understanding,'' he
said, ''and your honesty.'' He paused, reaching about his person as
if in search of something, finally arriving at a bent card -- yes,
very much a card such as she herself might convey upon meeting new
acquaintances of worth.

''It seems that I am come with a less than
presentable card, and ask you to forgive my haste. Let me share
this, if I may, as is --''

She opened the port and took the flimsy,
which was a very high quality paper indeed.

The card was two-sided -- one side printed
in Trade, the other in Terran. Simple typography conveyed extremely
chilling information.

Commander Octavius Higdon

Higdon's Howlers

Military missions. Security to mayhem.

Guaranteed service

There were contact numbers
listed, and the man in her cab's passenger compartment --
this
Commander Higdon
-- quietly awaiting her reaction.

Vertu met his eyes in the screen.

''And you wish to invade our park?''

He sighed openly, which surprised her, but
then Terrans were complicated, it was well known.

''I wish to expose my
acquaintances to a larger experience here on Liad, and the park is
an excellent location for it. In fact, my compatriots will carry
their lunches and be prepared to enjoy them there, at my direction.
Additionally, we are involved in a . . .situation of Balance -- and
my understanding is that by showing a presence
here
we may arrive at an equitable
solution in a timely fashion.''

It was likely that she blinked at him, so
unexpected was his declaration.

''Balance from off-worlders . . .is not
something one often sees, here on Liad,'' she managed, ''since so
many things that follow the Code are subtle and enforced by . . .''
she paused, seeking the right phrase in translation.

''Social pressure?''

He'd leaned forward, had the commander,
offering his suggestion with deference.

''An accurate a turn of phrase,'' she said.
''I thank you.''

He nodded then, and perhaps threw in a shrug
of indeterminate meaning, and made a hand gesture indicating
perhaps, motion.

''As we noted before, soonest is better. A
quick Balance sees you paid ahead and permits my friend at the
gully to sleep indoors tonight! Thus, permit Higdon's Howlers to
charter your vehicle at the three-times rate now, and we shall add
the others as you may arrange or broker, understanding that the
request is on short notice.''

Vertu paused, considering, staring into the
slightly thickening sky above, measuring her need.

Fereda, of course, was her need -- it would
be well to solve the girl's urge for the soonest marriage. A single
heir was all she required, of a good, if not High, clan.

The candidates were there,
for Fereda kept track of those most eligible, as she kept track of
the most likely contract price.
And it was
not as if Fereda had either a fear or a distaste for those she
preferred as a father to her child -- it was that her
cha'laket
was an artist
and near-Healer, fragile in
her
necessities, and would not willingly abide a
frequent parting. That Fereda thought this possible -- well, that
would be hers to mend.

The price of a husband had
twice been within reach, and lost each time to business . . . this
time, this time it would not be so. Three times day rate for each
of Wylan's three cabs, plus the broker fee from those others she
enlisted. She would not -- could not -- name the sum entirely, but
that it would be of use to Clan Wylan --
that
she could say with
assurance.

''I will broker this,'' she said, ''and
since Balance requires care and concern, for this my own retainer
will be five times the day-rate. My other cars, and those of my
associates, they will be paid for at your offered rate, per car, in
advance, as they arrive to work.''

There was a pause and a glance, and a hint
of a smile.

''This can be done, if we may adjust the
number of total vehicles to a dozen.''

She bowed agreement.

''Here is five cantra,'' he said, showing
them to the screen before placing them in the port's tray, ''to
seal the arrangements.''

*

It was the third return trip from the park
to the port, and by now the fact of their passing was drawing
attention, despite the window shields hiding their cargo of
potential mayhem. Vertu's cab was in the lead, with Fereda just
behind. Vertu was sweating, despite the climate-controlled driver's
space.

They'd ferried the soldiers and their
weapons, yes, to the hidden park -- and they had done so several
times, with the other dozen allied cabs assisting as they
might.

Something had happened there, fighting and
such, but the signs she'd seen of it were all on the rim of the
park: soldiers tired and rumpled, some without the weapons and
objects they'd carried in, soldiers dirty despite obvious attempts
to clean up. Soldiers injured, who were assisted into passenger
compartments by their undamaged comrades.

On this, her third return to Port, a wounded
man occupied the seat behind Vertu, laughing with his mates, arm
and shoulder bloodied. He included her in his conversation -- a
distraction, for he spoke Terran in a thick dialect that was almost
as thick in Trade.

''Doncha worry, ma'am,'' he said when his
mates had hustled him into the car. ''Don' feel a thing. Doncha
worry 'bout Tommee, no'm. I'll wrap this up some so's we don't
getcher pretty car dirty. 'mander made sure we know this ain't like
it's a zone transport or nothing.''

His comrades folded him gently into the back
seat, for he was a big Terran, and they chatted with him, trying to
fix his attention, and free her to drive.

''Tommee, tell me about breakfasts, keed,''
they said -- and when he laughed and said something half-finished,
they had at him again, ''What's the name of that girl waiting for
them Hundred Hours?''

''Here,'' one said, soft-voiced under the
rambling reminiscence of that lady's charms. ''Just a shot, keed,
so's ya walk on yer own, an' don't go falling over on us.''

Tommee laughed, hearing that, or some part
of it. ''Hellno! Donwan me fallin' that's sure! Take a platoon to
carry me, eh?''

The soft-voiced one agreed, and there was
the hiss of an injection, then a device came out of pack or pocket,
and went around his arm -- a monitor of some kind, Vertu thought,
and dragged her attention back to her contracted duty.

The taxi call channels
were jammed with people trying to escape
something,
of hurried visits to the
country. Regulars were calling her in vain, for the call channels
were reporting her cabs out of service, except perhaps Chim Dal,
who had never answered his call to assist in today's
event.

Traffic was strangely light now, as if the
Port and Low Port were emptied of all those who could go, as if the
''side door'' Commander Higdon had arranged truly opened upon some
hidden corridors.

He had appeared, the commander, as Tommee
was being loaded into her cab, and thrown what she thought might be
a salute in her direction. She lowered the window as he leaned
down.

''We've had a recall,'' he told her.
''Balance achieved.''

The boy Tommee, for Vertu realized that for
all his length, he was young, no older than her missing son . . .
Tommee was singing now, and didn't even stop when a pair of noises
erupted from the men on either side of him, each grabbing for a
comm of some kind, and then each searching about themselves for
--

''Tommee, where's the sidearm, my boy?''

''Right leg storage pocket, Danil, just like
regs. Just cause I got hit a little don't mean . . .''

Beneath Tommee's voice, continuing at
length, came a chime from Routing Info indicating information
incoming. Vertu looked to the screens, at routes blocked out,
streets unavailable.

Unavailable
?

''Ma'am,'' said the one called Danil,
catching her eye in the screen. ''Our guys are seeing something a
little bit like a riot, where we're going. You may want to just
drop us off a few blocks away and we'll --''

The voice was respectful, and also his
words. This did not hide the fact that he and his uninjured
companion on Tommee's left both had weapons in hand.