Digging in his heels, Racta waves his rifle above his head and gallops his pony towards us, yelling at the top of his voice. God knows what he’s yelling, because he is too excited to make sense. When the little brat gets within twenty paces, I realize the obvious. He hasn’t worked out we’ve taken cover.
‘Up,’ I say.
We rise as one. And Racta’s pony shies.
As we watch, the boy flies over its neck and twists in the air, trying for a clean landing. He almost makes it, but he’s moving too fast. A stumble takes him sideways and dumps him on his arse.
Colonel Vijay chuckles.
Since he’s nearest, maybe it’s funnier close up.
A second later, one of the O’Cruz joins in. Racta is not happy. I’ve seen faces like his before and always hated the men owning them. Slowly Racta straightens up, walks over to collect his rifle and jacks a bullet into the breech.
‘No,’ I say.
He gives no sign of having heard me, but as I step towards him, he tosses the weapon aside. Shil looks at Rachel, who twists her mouth. Shil’s shocked at the sudden change in his temper.
Such innocence.
‘You.’
The man who laughed runs across, and Racta backhands him hard. This guy is my age with scars that impress even me. He just stands there. None of the trackers will meet his eye when he returns to them.
‘And you,’ says Racta.
‘What’s he saying?’ Colonel Vijay asks me.
‘He thinks you owe him an apology for laughing . . .’
Outrage fills the colonel’s face. It vanishes almost as quickly. He’s too inexperienced to know his own mind. I have seen it before, but never in a Death’s Head officer.
‘All right,’ he says.
‘No way,’ I tell Racta. ‘My caudillo never apologizes.’
We have a short discussion about when Racta gets to kill me. He wants to fight now and grows sullen when I tell him to come back when he’s grown up. At his age, I had killed more men than I could count. Mind you, that wasn’t very high. And there are other differences: Racta’s soft and I was never that. And he’s handsome, and I was never that either.
‘All done?’ asks Colonel Vijay.
‘Yes, sir. All done . . .’
The colonel smiles at Racta, who stares at him and then grins back. That is when I know he’s dangerous.
The sea that runs around the inside of Hekati’s shell is wide, sluggish and carpeted with patches of foul-smelling scum. An island in the distance looks strange, until I realize it’s because that’s where a huge mirrored spoke descends from the glass ceiling miles above. Mirroring on the spoke blends it into the side wall beyond. Climb that spoke and you will reach the hub. Of course, by then you will be in space, and the ring will be a glass-roofed monstrosity beneath and above you.
We came down one spoke, and when we find our U/Free, we will go back the same way. After that, we just need to board our plane to get home again. Colonel Vijay knows the number needed to make that happen.
It’s a good enough reason to keep him alive.
We’re hot, dust has turned our camouflage to dirt, and sweat paints patches under our arms and between our shoulder blades. Meanwhile, boats slide like insects across the sea’s surface. There are wharfs, down there. Wharfs and warehouses and probably brothels, because shorelines and brothels go together.
Well, in my experience.
Travelling by water would be easy. All we need do is descend a valley, cut through the shacks that grow along the coast and find ourselves a boat. One after the other the Aux suggest it to Neen.
And Neen finally mentions it to me.
I’m glad, because our colonel has spent most of the day looking longingly at towns he would dismiss as slums in any other situation. Telling Neen he’s an idiot is easier than telling the colonel.
‘Neen,’ I say, knowing Colonel Vijay’s listening. ‘Tell me why it’s a shit idea.’
My sergeant thinks about it.
In the time this takes, we climb a hill, pass through the ruins of an old farm and crest a high ridge that drops to a narrow valley beyond. The wind smells of hot stones and wild grass, like good vodka. ‘Time’s up,’ I say. ‘Tell me.’
‘We’re looking for the Azari.’
He hopes I’ll nod, so I don’t.
Neen shouldn’t need me to teach him this.
‘That’s one,’ I say. ‘We’re stuck with that Racta, that’s two. And three, we’re not meant to be here at all.’
Neen still doesn’t get it.
‘Oh for fuck’s sake,’ I say. ‘We can kill the O’Cruz if needs be. But every new person who knows we’re here doubles the danger.’
‘Sven.’ That’s the colonel, obviously. He’s working his way round to behaving as if nothing happened up in the mirror hub. ‘We can’t,’ he says. ‘I mean . . .’
‘Believe me, sir,’ I say, ‘we may have to.’
A dozen people drag a cart along the dry bed of what was once a stream. The cart has spoked wheels and fretted sides. It has been painted grey so it doesn’t reflect the sun. The men pulling it wear camouflage so cheap I only hope it came free. Mostly it matches whatever its owner was standing on a few seconds earlier.
The women, all three of them, wear rags. These are so filthy they provide better camouflage than the suits worn by the men.
Every twenty paces, the group stop and twist a stick into the ground. After a few seconds, one of the men shakes his head. So they drag the cart another twenty paces and start again.
‘Prospectors.’ Rachel is certain of this.
‘They’d have better equipment,’ says Colonel Vijay.
‘With respect, sir.’ Turns out Haze is the only one to remember his briefing. A good half of the prospectors here are illegal. It’s an expensive jump; a licence from the Enlightened doubles the price and takes a third of anything found.
‘Colonel,’ I say. ‘We should let them pass.’
‘Not yet,’ he says. ‘They might have met the Azari.’
Laughing, Racta says, ‘Of course they’ve met the Azari.’ His gesture sweeps the valley. ‘These are your ghosts.’
‘What did he say?’
‘These are our ghosts.’
‘No they’re not,’ says Colonel Vijay. Makes me wonder how he knows.
‘So,’ says Racta. ‘We kill all but one. Agreed?’
Dropping out the clip on his rifle, he counts bullets. He has two in the clip, with one in the breech. So, our little caudillo-to-be has three. This explains his willingness to toss down his rifle earlier. And why he turns his back on his men before extracting the clip.
Every shot he fires weakens his power.
I want to let them pass, and Racta wants to capture one and kill the rest. So Colonel Vijay suggests a compromise. We will capture them all. Since this is about as stupid a suggestion as I can imagine, Racta agrees immediately.
‘See,’ says the colonel.
Yes, I know. Compromise and respect.
‘Carry on,’ he tells me.
‘Right,’ I say. ‘Racta heads them off. We come up from behind.’
Racta’s about to insist he comes up from behind, when he realizes heading off the prospectors is exactly what he wants to do. So he nods, as if doing me a favour, and slams the clip back into his rifle.
A minute later, I hear a gunshot up ahead.
‘What’s that?’ demands the colonel.
He must know.
Unholstering my own gun, I start running. All thoughts of coming up behind the prospectors are gone. We keep low, weaving from instinct. Shale skids beneath our boots, but we keep moving. On a mountainside that is all you can do.
Cresting a small ridge, we look down in dismay.
Well, the colonel’s dismayed.
I’m just fucking angry. Most of the prospectors are dead. One is still standing and a couple are on their knees. As we watch, Racta uses his rifle as a club and one of those kneeling hits the dirt.
A tracker has a woman on the ground with her skirt round her hips. Another searches the pockets of a dying man. A thin scream from the woman ends when her attacker loses patience. He wipes his knife on her skirt.
‘Permission to finish this, sir?’
‘Sven . . .’
‘Take that as a yes,’ suggests the SIG. ‘Now, let’s take the fucking lot to their knees.’ It rotates clips, selecting overburst. I’d love to, but my gun knows it’s impossible. We are behind enemy lines.
Well, we’re in Uplift Space.
Holding the SIG steady, I walk downhill.
Not one of the O’Cruz doubts I’ll kill them if needed. As we pass Racta’s man going through the pockets of the woman he killed, Neen clubs him. As the man falls to his knees, Rachel walks up behind him and kicks him hard between the legs. There’s no need for Shil to stamp on his fingers as she goes past.
‘We agreed capture.’
Racta scowls. ‘They fought back.’
‘Of course they fucking did,’ I say. ‘You attacked them.’
‘This is our valley,’ he tells me. ‘You’re here because we allow it.’ He spits at a body at his feet. ‘They deserved to die.’
‘What did he say?’ the colonel demands.
‘They deserved to die . . .’
Colonel Vijay looks around. And has trouble dragging his gaze from the splay-legged woman with the severed throat.
‘Animals,’ he says. ‘They’re animals.’
What the fuck does he expect? Battles that start at noon and carefully considered last words from the dying?
‘Tell him we don’t approve of this.’
‘Sir . . .’
‘Just tell him.’
So I do. And guess what? Racta doesn’t give a shit.
‘We’re done here,’ the colonel tells me. ‘Tell him this is where we part company. We’ll find the ghosts for ourselves.’
Racta isn’t happy about this. He wants his five gold coins. So I point out it was for finding the ghosts, not for killing old men and raping women. And since he hasn’t found the ghosts, he doesn’t get the money. This makes him unhappier still.
Unhappy enough to jack the bolt on his rifle.
Wait, I tell myself.
The moment he raises his weapon will be the moment I kill him.
A step to reach him, a single flick of my blade . . . Should be easy enough.
I’m still edging my knife from its sheath when someone beats me to it. A shovel is as good a weapon as anything else if thrown hard enough. And I know it’s luck that makes the shovel break Racta’s rifle arm. But sometimes luck is all you need.
Stalking towards Racta, the prospector picks up his shovel and smashes the blade sideways into Racta’s knee.
‘My woman,’ he says.
We know who he’s talking about.
As Rachel, Neen and Shil keep their weapons trained on the other trackers, the partner of the dead woman drives the edge of his shovel into Racta’s throat.
The screaming stops.