Use of Weapons (45 page)

Skaffen-Amtiskaw
got back in touch a few minutes later to say that he and Beychae had cabins
reserved on a clipper called the
Osom
Emananish
, heading for Breskial System, just three light years from Impren;
the hope was that the module would get to them before that. It would probably
have to; their trail would almost certainly be picked up. 'It might be an idea
for Mr Beychae to alter his appearance,' the drone's smooth voice told them.

He
looked up at the wall-drapes. 'I suppose we could try and make some clothes out
of stuff here,' he said doubtfully.

'The
aircraft baggage hold might prove a more fruitful source of attire,' the
drone's voice purred, and told him how to open the floor hatch.

He
surfaced with two suitcases, wrenched them open. 'Clothes!' he said. He took
some out; they looked sufficiently unisex.

'And
you'll have to lose your suit and weaponry, too,' the drone said.

'
What
?'

'You'll
never get on board a ship with that stuff, Zakalwe, even with our help. You've
to pack it all in something - one of those cases would be ideal - and leave it
in the port; we'll try and pick it up once the heat's off.'

'But!'

Beychae
himself suggested they shaved his head, when they were discussing how to
disguise him. The last use the wonderfully sophisticated combat suit was put
to was as a razor. Then he took it off; they both changed into the rather loud
but thankfully loose-fitting clothes.

The
craft landed; the Space Terminal was a wilderness of concrete lined off like a game
board by the lifts that took craft down to and up from the handling facilities.

Tight
beam established again, the earring terminal could whisper to him, guide him
and Beychae.

But
he felt naked without the suit.

They
stepped from the aircraft into a hangar; pleasantly forgettable music tinkled.
Nobody met them. They could hear a distant alarm.

The
earring terminal indicated which door to take. They moved along a staff-only
corridor, through two security doors which swung open for them even before they
got to them, then - after a pause - came out into a huge crowded concourse full
of people, screens, kiosks and seats. Nobody noticed them, because a moving
walkway had just slammed to a stop, toppling dozens of people on top of each
other.

A
security camera in the left luggage area swung up to look at the ceiling for
the minute it took them to deposit the suitcase with the suit in it. The
instant they'd gone, the camera resumed its slow sweeping.

More
or less the same happened when they picked up their tickets at the appropriate
desk. Then, while they were walking along another corridor, they saw a party of
armed security guards enter from the other end.

He
just kept on walking. He sensed Beychae hesitate at his side. He turned, smiled
easily at the other man, and when he turned back, the guards were stopped, the
leading guard holding one hand to his ear and looking at the floor; he nodded,
turned and pointed to a side corridor; the guards set off down it.

'We're
not just being incredibly lucky, I take it?' Beychae muttered.

He
shook his head. 'Not unless you count it as incredibly lucky that we've got a
near military-standard electro-magnetic effector controlled by a hyper-fast
starship Mind working this entire port like an arcade game from a light-year or
so off, no.'

They
were passed through a VIP channel to the small shuttle that would take them to
the orbiting station. The final security check was the only one the ship
couldn't rig; a man with practised eyes and hands. He seemed happy they had
nothing dangerous on them. The earring jabbed his ear as they passed down
another corridor; more X-rays, and a strong magnetic field, both manually
controlled, double checking.

The
shuttle flight was relatively uneventful; in the station, they passed across
one transit lounge - in something of a commotion, due to a man with a direct
neural implant seemingly having a fit on the floor - straight into a final
security check.

In
the corridor between the lounge lock and the ship, he heard Sma's voice, tiny
in his ear. 'That's it, Zakalwe. Can't tight beam on the ship without being
spotted. We'll only contact in a real emergency. Use the Solotol phonelink if
you want to talk, but remember it'll be monitored. Goodbye; good luck.'

And
then he and Beychae were through another air lock, and on the clipper
Osom Emananish
, which would take them
into interstellar space.

He
spent the hour or so before departure walking round the clipper, just checking
it all out, so that he knew where everything was.

The
speaker system, and most of the visible screens, announced their departure. The
clipper drifted, then dawdled, then raced away from the station; it swung away
past the sun and the gas-giant Soreraurth. Soreraurth was where the module was
having to keep hidden, a hundred kilometres deep in the vast perpetual storm
that was the mighty planet's atmosphere. An atmosphere that would be
plundered, mined, stripped and altered by the Humanists, if they had their way.
He watched the gas-giant fall astern, wondered who was really right and wrong,
and felt an odd helplessness.

He
was passing through the bustle of a small bar, on his way to check on Beychae,
when he heard a voice behind him say, 'Ah; sincere hellos, and things! Mr
Starabinde, isn't it?'

He
turned slowly.

It
was the small doctor from the scar party. The little man stood at the crowded
bar, beckoning to him.

He
walked over, squeezing between the chattering passengers.

'Doctor;
good day.'

The
little man nodded, 'Stapangarderslinaiterray; but call me Stap.'

'With
pleasure, and even relief.' He smiled. 'And please call me Sherad.'

'Well!
Small cluster, isn't it? May I buy you a drink?' He flashed his toothy grin,
which - caught in a small spotlight above the bar - glared quite startlingly.

'What
an excellent idea.'

They
found a small table, wedged up against one bulkhead. The doctor wiped his nose,
adjusted his immaculate suit.

'So,
Sherad, what brings you along on this little jaunt?'

'Well,
actually... Stap,' he said quietly. 'I'm travelling sort of... incognito, so
I'd appreciate it if you didn't... broadcast my name, you know?'

'Absolutely!'
Doctor Stap said, nodding fiercely. He glanced round conspiratorially, leaned
closer. 'My discretion is exemplary. Have had to "travel
quietly"...' his eyebrows waggled '... myself, on occasion. You just let
me know if I can be of any help.'

'You're
very kind.' He raised his glass.

They
drank to a safe voyage.

'Are
you going to the "end of the line", to Breskial?' Stap asked.

He
nodded. 'Yes; myself and a business associate.'

Doctor
Stap nodded, grinning. 'Ah, a "business associate" Ah.'

'No,
doctor; not a "business associate", a business associate; a
gentleman, and quite elderly, and in a different cabin... would that all three
descriptions were their opposite, of course.'

'Ha!
Quite!' the doctor said.

'Another
drink?'

'You
don't think he knows anything?' Beychae asked.

'What's
to know?' He shrugged. He glanced at the screen, on the door of Beychae's
cramped cabin. 'Nothing on the news?'

'Nothing,'
Beychae said. 'They mentioned an all-ports security exercise, but nothing
directly about you or me.'

'Well,
we probably aren't in any more danger because the doc's aboard than we were
already.'

'How
much is that?'

'Too
much. They're bound to work out what happened eventually; we'll never get to
Breskial before they do.'

'Then?'

'Then,
unless I can think of something, the Culture either has to let us be taken
back, or take this ship over, which is going to be tricky to explain, and bound
to remove some of your credibility.'

'
If
I decide to do as you ask,
Cheradenine.'

He
looked at the other man, sitting alongside him on the narrow bed. 'Yeah; if.'

He
prowled the ship. The clipper seemed cramped and crowded; he'd got too used to
Culture vessels, he supposed. There were plans of the ship available on-screen,
and he studied them, but they were really just for people to find their way
about, and provided little useful information on how the ship might be taken
over or disabled. Judging from watching the crew when they appeared, entry to
crew-only areas was by voice and/or hand-print match.

There
was little flammable on board, nothing explosive, and most of the circuitry was
optical rather than electronic. Doubtless the
Xenophobe
could make the clipper
Osom Emananish
dance and sing with the effector equivalent of one
hand tied behind its back, from somewhere in the next stellar system, but
without the combat suit or a weapon, he was going to have a tough job trying to
do anything, if and when it came to it.

Meanwhile
the clipper crawled through space; Beychae stayed in his cabin, catching up on
the news via the screen, and sleeping.

'I
seem to have swapped one subtle form of imprisonment for another, Cheradenine,'
he observed, the day after they left, as the other man brought him supper.

'Tsoldrin,
don't go cabin crazy; if you want to go out, go out. It's a little safer this
way, but... well, only a little.'

'Well,'
Tsoldrin said, taking the tray and lifting the cover to inspect the contents.
'For now it's easy enough to treat the news and current affairs casts as my
research material, so I do not feel unduly confined.' He set the cover aside.
'But a couple of weeks might be asking rather too much, Cheradenine.'

'Don't
worry,' he said, dejectedly. 'I doubt it'll come to that.'

'Ah;
Sherad!' The small fussy shape of Doctor Stap sidled up to him a day later,
while people were watching a magnified view of an impressive gas-giant in a
nearby system slide past on the principle lounge main screen. The small doctor
took his elbow. 'I'm having a small private party, this evening, in the
Starlight Lounge; one of my, um,
special
parties, you know? I wondered if you and your hermit-like business partner
might like to participate?'

'They
let you
aboard
with that thing?' he
laughed.

'Shh,
good sir,' the doctor said, pulling the other man away from the press of
people. 'I have a long-standing arrangement with the shipping line; my machine
is recognised as being of primary medical importance.'

'Sounds
expensive. You must have to charge a lot, doctor.'

'There
is, of course, a small consideration involved, but well within the means of
most cultured people, and I can assure you of some very exclusive company, and
complete discretion, as ever.'

'Thank
you for the offer, Doctor, but I'm afraid not.'

'It
really is the opportunity of a lifetime; you are most lucky to have the chance
a second time.'

'I'm
sure. Perhaps if it occurs a third time. Excuse me.' He patted Stap on the
shoulder. 'Oh; shall I see you for drinks this evening?'

The
doctor shook his head. 'I'll be setting up; preparing, I'm afraid, Sherad.' He
looked somehow plaintive. 'It is a
great
opportunity,' he said, toothily.

'Oh,
I'm well aware of that, Doctor Stap.'

'You're
a wicked man.'

'Thank
you. It's taken years of diligent practice.'

'I
bet.'

'Oh
no; you're going to tell me you're not wicked at all; I can see it in your
eyes. Yes; yes, it's there; purity! I recognise the symptoms. But,' he put one
hand on her forearm, 'don't worry. It can be cured.'

She
pushed him away, but only with the softest of pressures. 'You're terrible.' The
hand that had pushed him away lingered just for a moment on his chest. 'You're
bad.'

'I
confess. You have seen into my soul...' He looked round for a second, as the
background noise of the ship altered. He smiled back at the lady. 'But, ah, it
gives me such succour to confess to one so close to a goddess-like beauty.'

She
laughed throatily, her slender neck exposed as she put her head back. 'Do you
normally
get anywhere with this line?'
she asked, shaking her head.

He
looked hurt, shook his head sadly. 'Oh, why are beautiful women so cynical
these days?'

Then
he saw her gaze shift to somewhere behind him.

He
turned. 'Yes, Officer?' he said to one of the two junior officers he found
standing behind him. Both had guns in open holsters.

'Mr...
Sherad?' the young man said.

He
watched the young officer's eyes and suddenly felt sick; the man knew. They'd
been traced. Somebody somewhere had put the numbers together and come up with
the right answer. 'Yes?' he said, grinning rather stupidly. 'You guys wanna
drink?' He laughed, looked round at the woman.