Red Racer, Page 3

  Shit. Oh, shit.

  The words formed a mindless refrain, echoing through Kief's head as he raced for safety. That had been Ry. No mistaking it, that was Ry.

  Ry, In the pilot's seat of an Enforcer's aircar.

  Shit.

  Suddenly, everything made sense. He knew the Eyes had been watching him. Obviously. He knew the Enforcers went after those the Eyes couldn't handle. Again, obviously. What better way to catch him than to use bait?

  But he loves you, whispered a small voice inside his head.

  "If he does, he's never said so, damn it all to erasure," he said aloud, as he pulled into his uncle's place. He put the car away rapidly, making sure it was entirely concealed. This was no time to get sloppy.

  And what if it wasn't a setup? In that unlikely case, it was still betrayal. Ry should have said something. He was an Enforcer, damn him, one of Them.

  The Enemy.

  Oh, shit.

  Maybe his uncle would have some advice for him. Uncle Robert usually came through with something that put everything into perspective, why should this be any different?

  But the pain inside suggested it would take more than good advice to fix things this time.

  "Awright, what's wrong with you, boy?"

  There was Uncle Robert now, waiting in the doorway to the hidden garage. Kief opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He coughed, then tried again. "Enforcers."

  "They almost get you, or what? You look like you seen a ghost."

  "My. . . friend," he choked out. "My best friend. An Enforcer."

  "Oh, shit." His uncle humphed and shuffled. "Well, you'd better come in and sit down for a bit, boy."

  At least I got the word usage correct, Kief thought inanely and followed Robert into the house.

  "Sit, nephew," Robert said inside, gesturing towards one of the ancient wingback chairs. He busied himself adding wood to the fire, while Kief sank numbly into the chair.

  "Now," his uncle said, after he was satisfied with the fire and had sat down himself. "Tell me. Who's this friend of yours?"

  "Ry," he whispered. He cleared his throat and spoke louder. "His name's Ry. We met. . . six weeks ago? End of September, anyway."

  "Not long after you started running the back roads," Robert nodded. "Go on."

  "We. . . spend a lot of time together. Too much, maybe. I—I can't explain. I like him. A lot."

  "I gathered that already, son. Now tell me."

  The caring tone of his uncle's voice nearly undid him. Kief had to take several deep breaths before he could continue. "He's one of Them. I didn't know. He was there. The pilot."

  "The one that ran you down today?" Robert guessed shrewdly. Kief nodded. "And now you're thinking it's a setup."

  Kief nodded again. "I should have known. Should have guessed. He knew too much. And the Eyes back down when he's around. He must have been hunting me down the whole time."

  "Whoa, there, drop back a bit, boy. Tell me exactly what happened today."

  "I was out on the road you call County Line. Going along just great, car doing beautifully. Then there was an aircar, one of the big ones, but I couldn't go too terrible fast, because of how holey the road is up there."

  "Ain't no one to maintain it. No surprise it's got holes. Then what?"

  "It was good. It was damn good. Got right up on me. In fact, it caught me, cut me off in between a dropoff, a massive pothole, and it. I nearly hit it. I stopped. Couldn't do a damn thing else. The shield dropped, and they could see me. I could see them. He was there." Kief swallowed hard. "Ry. My friend. He was the pilot. He looked at me. I looked at him. He closed his eyes, then the aircar screamed and dropped dead on the ground. And I got out of there, what's it you say, lickity-shit?"

  Robert snorted. "Lickity-split, boy. So. Your buddy, he flies this aircar after you, then finds out it's you and lets you get away. I got that right?"

  "Maybe," Kief said cautiously, around a sharp, bright stab of hope. Put that way, it sounded like Ry hadn't known, hadn't set him up from the start.

  "Boy, you got nothing to worry about, then," his uncle said with confidence. "Don't know what your friend was doing flying that thing, but that boy didn't set you up. Got it?"

  "If you say so," Kief said. He wished he could be as certain as Uncle Robert.

  "Remember what I told you about love, boy? Well, it works between friends, too. Especially good friends. You've got to trust in your friend. Give him a chance to speak for himself."

  "I hope you're right."

  "I know I'm right, boy. I didn't survive the end of the world 'cause I'm an idiot. Trust me. Trust him."

  * * * *

  "You sent for me, sir?"

  The agent stood rigidly at attention in front of the Director's desk. He'd never been called here before, but hopefully this wouldn't be the last time. Attention from the Director was a good thing, as long as it wasn't disciplinary.

  "Yes. I understand you're on the Red Racer case?" The Director looked up from his comp, hazel eyes hard as malachite.

  "Yes, sir." The Enforcer tensed up. Perhaps this wasn't as good as he'd thought. Dangerous ground ahead, for certain.

  "What's your opinion of what happened with the aircar?"

  "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

  "Of course. Otherwise I wouldn't have asked."

  "Deliberate, sir. Definitely deliberate." The agent held his breath.

  "And your reasoning?"

  "The mechanical failure that occured was in the hover suspension system. An experienced pilot would know exactly how to time it so the forward thrusters and the support fans shorted each other out, rather than holding the craft at hover. Approximately three point eight seconds of thrust, applied to both motivators while under the brake, would have the exact same effect as a random equipment failure."

  "How did you know this?"

  "Research, sir."

  The Director tapped a finger against his cheek thoughtfully. "You're smart, agent," he said abruptly.

  "Thank you, sir." The Enforcer relaxed a hair.

  "I need you to do something for me. I think you're smart enough to be the right man for the job, no matter what others say. Will you accept?"

  "May I ask what the job is, sir?"

  "Yes or no," the Director snapped.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Designation 719465. Name Ry. Watch him. I need to know his involvement with this Red Racer."

  "But sir, he's—" The agent stopped himself, afraid he'd already gone too far.

  "My son. Yes, I'm aware of that, agent. Now do your duty. Any means necessary."

  "Very well, sir." The Enforcer saluted respectfully, then left.

  Chapter 7

  He was there. Kief felt his heart clench in his chest. But he concealed the reaction, burying his emotions behind a lifetime of control. He crossed the room just as he always did and picked up a drink at the bar. Then he walked calmly—calmly!—through the crowded tables until he reached Ry.

  "Hey." Kief sat down, watching Ry warily.

  "Hey yourself."

  "Why didn't you tell me?" Kief said, in a low, intense voice. He glanced at the Eye, who was watching a crowd of loud teenagers.

  "I could say the same." Ry took a sip of his drink, outwardly calm. But his eyes betrayed him, as usual, dark and worried.

  "Because I'm no threat to you." Kief could have kicked himself for the accusatory tone, but it was too late to stop the words.

  "Again, I would say the same." Ry fidgeted with his glass. His gaze dropped to the table. "At least, not when I know it's you."

  All the anger and uncertainty of the last week bubbled up inside Kief and threatened to break free. "As if you didn't know," he growled. "Don't sit there and try and pretend—"

  "Shh!" Ry glanced over to the Eye, who focused on them now, and gave a little wave. "Not here, okay? I'm not exactly in good shape with them myself right now."

  "Where, then? B
ecause I've got a lot to say to you, and I think you've got some explaining to do."

  Ry shot him an enigmatic look, but nodded. "My place. It's about time we came clean to each other."

  Kief leaned back a hair, suspicion written all over his face. "And it's not a trap?"

  A vicious and nasty part of him was glad to see the flash of hurt in Ry's eyes. "Well, that's just a risk you're going to have to take, isn't it? If my word's not good enough, that is."

  "Like you've got much room to talk, Mr. Collector," Kief muttered, but pushed back his chair and finished off his caff in a single gulp. "Let's go, then."

  Kief shot the Eye a dirty look on the way out. The Eye reached for his link, then Ry caught his attention and shook his head. The Eye shrugged and let his hand fall short of the link and the report of antisocial behavior.

  Kief reached the hallway and turned towards the business district. Ry let him go a few paces, then cleared his throat. Kief stopped and turned. "Well? Are you coming?"

  "I said my place, didn't I?"

  Kief blinked. "You didn't mean," and he jerked his head towards the hideout, unwilling to say anything more under the watchful electronic Eye.

  "No. I meant my place. Coming?"

  Kief nodded and followed when Ry resumed walking towards the residential section. He was surprised at how hard he was having to work to remain angry, in the face of Ry's calm. Not to mention the pain in his eyes. . . But he had to hold on, had to cling to the anger, because if he didn't then he was going to do something disgraceful, like beg for forgiveness or promise to never do it again.

  They walked the corridors and rode the lifts in tense silence. Kief followed closely, wishing he dared reach for the reassurance of Ry's hand. But that just wouldn't do, so he tried to act like he went into the upper levels all the time. He couldn't help staring, though, or crowding in close to Ry when they went through the Eyes' common room. Ry didn't stop there, instead leading him to yet another elevator. Up three more levels, then out into a similar common area, with slightly higher quality furnishings.

  Where are we? Kief wanted to ask, but he kept his mouth shut and followed Ry out of the common room and into a lushly carpeted corridor. There he was glad he hadn't said anything, because he saw two men in uniform walking towards them. Dark green, almost black, with a single brown bar patch to indicate branch of service: Enforcers.

  "Evening, Ry," the taller of the pair said.

  "Hu, Jek," Ry nodded. "Good to see you. Going out?"

  "Yeah, we’re finally off duty. You hear about the plans for the weekend?"

  "Hu," Ry shook his head reprovingly. "You forget, I'm hardly on the priviliged info list these days. You probably know more than I do."

  "Huh. Weird, you being on the out." Hu looked at Kief, with a sly smile. "Company, eh?"

  "Yeah, not that it's any of your concern. Job, remember?"

  Job. Kief nearly blew his cover then and there, when blind, unthinking fury swept over him. Job?

  Both other men laughed. "Yeah, whatever you say, Ry," Jek teased. "C'mon, let's get out of here, leave Ry to his duty."

  Hu laughed again, then they left. Ry continued down the corridor, and Kief followed, still quivering with carefully supressed emotion. When Ry stopped and pressed his palm to the plate of a door on the right, Kief went through the door, almost beyond caring whether or not it was a trap.

  "Job?" he demanded, as soon as the door whispered shut. "You're just doing your job?"

  "Shit." Ry sighed and ran a hand through his hair, rumpling it. "Somehow I knew you'd pick up on that. Have a seat, why don't you, and I'll explain."

  Kief glanced at the room, still too mad to even see clearly. He received a confused impression of a good-sized public room with two or three seating units and a low table. He perched on the edge of a multiseat, hands alternately twisting at each other, gripping his knees, or picking at the seat cushion. "Well? Spit it out. I'm waiting."

  Ry sank into a singleseat, rubbing his forehead. "I'm a pilot. Enforcer Special Ops unit, covert operations." Then he looked up, an intense light in his eyes. "But I did not set you up. The Red Racer was never my assignment. I was just as surprised as you were that day."

  "We'll get to that in a minute." Kief refused to be distracted by the intensity of those eyes. "Just then, you said this was part of your job. Spill it."

  "Easiest way I could think of to get them to back off, okay? My job involves some odd things, when I'm not flying. They'll assume you're a contact. Well," and a fleeting half-smile crossed his face, "they'll assume I've brought you here for the night and am using work as a cover, but officially they'll see you as a contact."

  "Huh." Kief drummed his fingers on his knee. "All right. That takes care of the job issue. Now why didn't you tell me?"

  "No real reason to. Why? Would you have told me? Speaking of which, you should have told me." Ry shot him a disgusted look. "If I'd known, I would have gotten myself pulled from that duty shift. Last thing I was expecting was to run down my secret lover when I traded duties with someone calling in a favor."

  "Yeah? And how do you think I felt about that one, huh? When that damn shield dropped and you were there." Kief just couldn't hold still anymore. He got up, pacing back and forth behind the multiseat. "I nearly died, right then and there. Was it all a set up?"

  "Don't you listen?" Ry glared at him. "I just said I didn't know."

  "And how am I supposed to believe you, hmm? How am I supposed to believe that you're not just going to turn me in?"

  "You low-level bastard," Ry said, tension humming in his voice. He rose and stalked to intercept Kief, grabbing his shoulder and holding him in place. "You're supposed to believe it because I said it, zip you. And just in case you're wondering, I got reprimanded for letting you escape, seriously reprimanded. And I stuck to my story, even under the question, that it was a mechanical failure put that aircar on the ground. Now don't you think that says something about if you can trust me?"

  Kief looked into the stormy eyes so close to his own. "Can I believe you?" he said coldly, even though his heart was screaming at him to just drop it and beg for forgiveness.

  "Damn you," Ry whispered, flinching away with sudden pain. "If you can't believe me," he said more loudly, turning away and rubbing his forehead again. "If you can't bring yourself to believe that I care enough to tell you the truth. If you don't want—" He broke off and took a deep breath. Then he looked at Kief, eyes glittering. "If you don't want to believe me, that's your choice. But if that's the case, you'd better just walk right out that door and never come back."

  He turned away and went back to the singleseat, sitting down and holding his head with both hands, fingers knotted in his hair. Kief watched him, feeling suckerpunched. Leave? Memories flickered through his head, brief moments of passion and tenderness. The special closeness they'd felt with each other, the gleam of red highlights in Ry's hair brought out by candlelight, the feel of his hand, the taste of his lips. . . the joy shining in his eyes when they were together. The pain there now, pain that he had put there. The utter shock and disbelief when the shield had dropped.

  And the aircar dropping dead to the ground, allowing the Red Racer to escape.

  Slowly, quietly, Kief returned to the multiseat. He sat there silently, no longer angry, just numb, watching Ry.

  "Are you going to trust me again?" Ry said in a low voice, not looking up.

  "I'm still here, aren't I?" Kief sighed. "How is this going to work?"

  "You'll have to trust me. That's all I can say. I don't want to lose you." Now he looked up at Kief. "What's it like?"

  The roar of the engine, the willing response to his slightest movement, the squeal of the tires, the wind in his hair. . . "Magnificent," he said. "I can't describe it. It's probably something like flying, only more. . . more personal. More intense."

  Ry smiled shyly. "I envy you. Even before I knew who the Racer was, I envied him the freedom."

/>   "Huh." Kief shifted uncomfortably. "But you're an Enforcer. Special Ops, at that. You have more freedom than even the Eyes."

  "No monitors, more leeway when it comes to the laws. That's it. It's true no one will question my bringing you here, but it's also true that I can't hold your hand in public without getting hauled in on a public indecency charge. Might get off easier than you would, unless someone actually recognized you as the Racer, but I'd still get hauled in."

  "Huh. That reminds me. Why me?"

  "Um," Ry shifted uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at Kief.

  Kief felt a stab of apprehension. "Spit it out. Why me?"

  "Okay. Remember when I said the Eyes already were watching you?"

  Kief felt a chill all the way from his nose to his toes. "Yes."

  "They were. As Special Ops, even just a pilot, I can check in on any covert work I choose, and, well. . ."

  "Tell me already," Kief growled. Uneasiness curled through him, settling in his guts.

  "I'd been asked to keep an eye on a new agent. First assignment, should have been something relatively easy, even though the Eyes hadn't managed to fix the problem, just a couple youngish men showing distinct antisocial tendencies. You know, pushing the limits on hair and dress, continuing swearing or writeups for attitude—real easy task. So I dropped by that first night to check up on Vidder. That was the first time I saw you."

  Kief was reassured by the look on Ry's face, as though he were remembering something infinitely wonderful.

  "I chased off Vid, and, well," Ry shrugged and smiled. "You know the rest."

  "Vidder's an agent." Kief shook his head. "That's hard to believe. Did you warn him off me and Cole, or what?"

  "Kind of. I convinced him that there was nothing to report, that you were just ordinary young men and not antisocialites."

  "So it was for real, right?" Kief suddenly needed the confirmation. "You weren't just playing with me, right? Not just something you do with all the antisocial young men you check out?"

  "Kief," he said, shaking his head. "Sometimes I just can't believe you. Yes, it was for real. Still is, if you're still willing."

  Kief swallowed hard against the sudden traitorous lump in his throat. "Of course I'm willing," he choked out.

  "Oh? Then why are you over there, and I'm over here?" A wicked smile hovered around the corners of Ry's mouth, chasing away some of the sadness.