Stone Blade (24 page)

“Sounds good. Is there a catch?”

“We can't carry anything a normal Unity citizen couldn't. That means losing most of our stuff. We can cache some of it, if we want to take the time. It also means I'll have to do some burning to get us into the spaceport side.”

That surprised Micah. “Why so?”

“Authorization,” said Ferrel, “Entering the port from Anathema takes a lot of it. I'd rather do that outside Anathema, too. It'll be easier to crack in from the outside. But if they catch me at it they will arrest us as soon as we hit the checkpoint”

Micah frowned. “Charlie, we both know you're good enough.”

“So do we do it?”

“Why the hades are you asking me? Your ball, your call.”

“Because, Sergeant Stone, I am not the officer in command.”

Micah started to answer acidly but saw Ferrel spoke seriously. Intelligence had no formal rank other than experience and even that was open to question. To Micah's mind he and Ferrel ranked equal; but not, apparently, to Ferrel.

“Do it. Let's load up. I'll go downstairs and settle. Unless you want me here.”

“Nah. Just be ready to move.” Ferrel opened his terminal. “And buy me a good meal when we get there.”

Micah settled their bill easily and sat where he could see the main desk, the stairway down and the main entrance. He examined hovertran schedules over a cup of hot tea, carefully observing the folk moving about. Ferrel joined him a few minutes later and the clerk bade them a good journey.

“Thank you, brother, for your hearth and hospitality,” replied Micah, “May you be blessed in the Light and in the Unity.”

As they left the building Ferrel checked the area cautiously.

“Problem,” asked Micah.

“I don't think so but I'm not sure. Their security was about ten times hotter than the last time I burned in.”

“Did you use the tunnel?”

“I had to. I couldn't get in without it.”

“What about our rets?”

“The ones we have on now should get us in. I burned them before we left the legation. I can't guarantee the others, though.”

Micah considered options. Up to the point where they actually entered Anathema they could handle a squad of Brethren easily. Inside would be another story. At Micah's insistence they destroyed all but one extra set of retinals, microns-thin contact lenses composed of some substance related to instaskin.

“Let's get there and see,” said Micah, “I have an idea.”

Micah and Ferrel stopped just short of Anathema. Most of their illicit equipment was designed with quick disposal in mind and they disposed of it quickly. At Micah's suggestion they destroyed their obviously-League things before they left their hostel and now they finished the rest. Micah also sent out a blip to their mercuries. Any person digging there would find only ashes.

The Brethren at the entrance to Anathema took Micah's and Ferrel's idents. Then they escorted them to a small room. Micah tensed a little. He felt mostly sure they could fight their way into Anathema but only mostly.

A small, dull man entered the room with a terminal.

“State your business in Anathema, please.”

“We have a relative there, brother,” said Ferrel.

“I see. We do not encourage the righteous to tarry there, brother. Anathema is a cesspit past any penance you might take. If, indeed, you take penance.”

“He is ill, brother,” said Ferrel, “Only that forces us.”

“What is is permit number, brother?”

Caught by surprise, Ferrel glanced at Micah.

“He did not write of it,” said Micah.

“Yes. Well. Perhaps he does not have a permit. That is against the law, brothers, and the permits are not expensive.”

“What is the price, brother?” Micah clamped his emotions firmly.

“Two hundred credits.”

“Would it be possible for us to purchase a permit, brother?” asked Micah.

“That can be arranged. Perhaps you should both purchase one. To ensure that he receives his.”

Micah saw Ferrel's jaw clench.

“Of course, brother. We thank you in humility for your assistance along our path.” Micah counted out the bills.

The man offered no receipt, instead escorting them through an inconspicuous doorway into Anathema. The portal closed behind them and Micah heaved a sigh of relief.

“Hell's frost,” mumbled Ferrel as he walked, “of all the brazen stones and platinum pizzles I've seen that maxes!”

“Are your shorts clean, brother?”

“Bottomfeeder!” Ferrel took a breath. “I guess we should have expected that. We're not officially League tourists now. What about this magnificent plan of yours?”

“I'm hungry,” said Micah, “And fairly certain we did something wrong. We have four Brethren following us.”

They took several turns to give Ferrel a good look back.

“Feces! Rut! Coincidence?”

“I doubt it,” said Micah, “They didn't grab us because they wanted to see where we went. Still, let's see if we can lose one or two.”

“Flames!” This time Micah swore under his breath.

He formed and discarded several plans. The Brethren following them now numbered six and neither Micah nor Ferrel knew the area well enough to lose them.

“Split?” asked Ferrel.

“No. Do you really want to fight three of them? We're good but they're armed and those are not stunners.”

“Torque! Rutting shabby odds, my brother.”

“So we even them up. Like I said, I'm hungry.”

Seen by daylight the restaurant was every bit as run-down as it had been after dark. Micah waved to the same waitress who served them before. She smiled genuinely and displayed her charms as she walked over.

“Hey, doll. I didn't think you'd be back.” She stood close enough to Micah to make Ferrel chuckle.

“You still have my favorite tea,” asked Micah as he handed her a more-than-appropriate bill, “I was hoping to meet some friends here.”

“Sure thing, sweets.” Her smile turned knowing. “Anything else?”

“Nibblers and salsa. Hot as you've got.”

“It's yours, babe.”

Before long four Brethren entered the room and took a booth by the door. One offered Micah a feral smile.

“Interesting,” said Ferrel, “I think less of your plan now than before. I also said buy me a good meal!”

The waitress returned with tea for Micah and Ferrel, nibblers and a cold bottle of ale.

“We'll give them a few minutes,” said Micah, “Then take things into our hands.”

Not many minutes had passed when the gang leader and two other bangers walked in. The leader spied Micah and moved to join them. The others took a table nearby.

“Hello, spiker. We didn't expect you back so soon.” The leader cracked open the ale and helped himself to a handful of nibblers.

“We have a problem,” said Micah.

“Four of 'em, I count. Prettyboys! Ought to know better, prettyboys. Not friends of yours?”

“Nak,” said Ferrel, “and there are two outside and probably more on the way.”

Ferrel spoke truly; one of the Brethren had a comm open.

“Then we'd best be swift, eh?” The man looked at Micah. “Not to question your credit, spiker...”

Micah smiled. He reached inside his shirt just long enough to show a flash of bills.

“Polarity, my brother. Ten minutes. Don't leave by the front door.”

With that said the man rose and left.

“I take it we trust them?” Ferrel looked uncertain.

“The power of greed,” said Micah, chewing a nibbler, “cannot be underestimated.”

“Thank you Dr. Colwraith.” Ferrel glanced at his chrono and reached for a nibbler. “Flames! It's worse than the tea.”

***

By the look on the Brethren's faces they didn't expect so simple a move from their quarry.  Micah and Ferrel scuttled quickly down the alleyway to the familiar junction. Two Brethren waited there with no sign of the bangers.

“Halt, apostate,” said one of the men as he drew his pistol, “Yield and you'll not be harmed.”

Micah and Ferrel split and dove for cover. The blaster coughed and something spatted the wall behind them.

Footsteps. The alleyway disgorged four Brethren, all with pistols drawn. One started toward Micah. Micah rolled quickly, using that action to conceal his next. Micah sprang to his feet and threw at the man's face. He'd managed to grab mud, several pebbles and something squishy he didn't want to examine closely. Micah missed but the trick made his opponent duck. Before the man could recover Micah had his arm and his pistol. Levering his erstwhile shield around Micah fired at two of the others. One ducked.

Suddenly the space filled with bodies. Each of the Brethren had two bangers attacking him and only one managed a shot. It went wild and then six Brethren lay on the filthy pavement.

“Righteousness,” said the leader, grinning at Micah and Ferrel.

“Righteous well,” replied Micah, “Is there, perhaps, some place private we might conduct some business?”

“Indeed there is, my spikers! Come along, come along.” The man reached down to one of the still figures, felt through the pockets and brought out a small case which he tossed to Micah. “Souvie, my brother?”

Micah grinned. It was the Brother's badge complete with ident and twenty-credit bill tucked behind. Micah tossed it back.

“Keep it, my friend. You earned it.”

The bangers moved swiftly through alleyways and narrow, twisting streets. Before long they all sat in a nice basement with a clean restroom. Micah and Ferrel washed gladly. When they settled they had bottles of not-weak ale courtesy of the leader, Braz. 

“Excellent day,” said Braz, “Scrubby for prettyboys. You're the good life, my brothers.”

Micah raised his bottle in toast.

“The pious question,” said Micah, “is whether you have room for more.”

This amused the others greatly. One particularly large man, Ox, guffawed until quieted by another.

“Where there's apples there's appetites, my brothers,” said Braz, “Say on.”

“We need to get to the starport. Now.”

Braz's expression turned serious.

“That's a mite to ask, my brothers. I'm not saying it's impossible...”

Micah nodded. Ferrel produced a much smaller collection of paper. Five slips.

“These are League trade vouchers,” said Ferrel, “Good for a thousand each. Is it possible now?”

The others in the room fell totally silent.

“No question, gov. Just a bit of time it'll take.”

Chapter 12. An Aggressive Move

For such a hectic afternoon entering the starport was anticlimactic. Micah and Ferrel, now garbed as bangers and wearing slouchy hats, accompanied Braz and Ox to a business built against the wall separating Anathema from the starport. The proprietor led them to a back room. The man moved a large crate, revealing a hatch into the ground. Down, across fifteen meters and up and Micah stood inside the starport just behind a storage shed.

Ferrel handed Braz the vouchers but kept a firm grip on them.

“One last,” said Ferrel, “From here we vanish. That's in your best, my brother.”

“Never seen ya,” burbled Ox, “Don' know yas from Addem.”

“Righteous here, gov,” said Braz, “Pleasure biz. Come back, eh?”

Micah nodded and he and Ferrel started toward the legation. Braz and Ox left in another direction, intent on purchasing something only the League could supply.

After a few minutes Micah and Ferrel sat inside Ramsey's courier; the legation itself bustled with people.

“Thank heaven!” Ramsey lost a great deal of tension from his face when he received the signal from his 'deserted' ship. “Sit tight. Jonas and Meshella will be there before long.”

Micah and Ferrel had just finished removing their rets and prints when the lock cycled. Ionoski, Kidwell and Ramsey entered, their expressions troubled.

“Bad situation,” said Ramsey before Micah could ask, “Rob McAnders, Sara Deil, Missy Haffenstatler and Lafe Treadley have been arrested.”

Micah felt a cold hollowness form inside him.

“They've been charged with espionage, sedition and treason.”

“How serious are they,” asked Ferrel.

“I'm not certain,” said Ramsey, “So far they've been vague on charges but it hasn't been that long. My gut read is this is a stick and they're waiting for a reaction before they offer the carrot.”

Micah gritted his teeth. He liked McAnders, Deil and Missy, annoying though she could be.

“What is our reaction, sir,” asked Micah.

“I've sent word to the League. They have a task group within a few days' jump. I requested an evac transport but I don't know how long that'll take.”

Micah did some mental arithmetic. Assuming a standard T-group meant one or two destroyers, two to four frigates and a smattering of support ships. With standard garrisons they could land between four hundred and a thousand Marines. Not enough to take a planet but surely enough to mount a rescue.

“Steady, Mike,” said Ionoski, obviously following Micah's thought, “That's the final option. Ian knows his business.”

Micah nodded. Likely the T-group would only have Fleet Marines more accustomed to blackwater combat than meteoric landing.

“My first order of business,” said Ramsey, “is getting you two isolated without rousing suspicion.”

“Arrest them,” said Ionoski, “For whatever reason. Make Meshella an accessory, in fact.”

“And I could evac you four to the T-group.”

“Three,” said Ionoski, “I'll need to stay.”

“What then?” Micah wanted to ask but Ferrel beat him to it.

“You get your wish, Mike. The three of you will meteor back down as soon as the fleet can get a rat around you.”

***

“I don't like this,” said Ferrel.

A day had elapsed since his and Micah's arrival. Ramsey wouldn't arrest them until the last minute and Ferrel spent most of the time working his terminal.

Micah and Kidwell crowded in close. Most of the League tourists milled about the legation but few wanted library access now.

“They have really, really been trying to burn the net here. Some of these jabs aren't too far shy of juvenile.” Ferrel indicated a graph. “Then when they made the arrests yesterday the attempts stopped.”

“Flames,” swore Kidwell, “You think they piggybacked the LINC?”