“The founders of our movement did. Some of the survivors of Ul-oemato had maps of the original city, and it was a simple matter to work out what had been what under the new surface.” Emmerik faced Roche now, wiping at the dust around his eyes. “All it took was some digging equipment, a little patience, and a lot of care to keep the work hidden from the wardens. Whole sections of the original maglev subway were intact, although the tunnels had cracked open in a few places. The rubbish that had filtered down was cleared out, and there we had it—a means of crossing the city without being seen by the wardens. There are buildings dotted all over the city that act as entrances to the tunnels: little more than empty facades hiding their true purpose. Gain access to one of these and you can go almost anywhere.”
“That’s a major achievement,” she said, studying him closely. When he went to look away again, she quickly added, “But why are you telling me about this now? Why the sudden trust?”
“I’ve always trusted you,” he said soberly. “But your involvement with Cane made me a little apprehensive.” The Mbatan shrugged wearily. “The difference now is that we need your help as much as you need ours. And the only way to begin helping each other is by talking—as equals.”
“Trade secrets, you mean?” she said, glancing over her shoulder to where Cane was riding on the tail of the flatbed, his eyes constantly scanning the crowd.
“I was thinking more of your AI,” put in the Mbatan. “I had no idea it was so powerful.”
Roche turned back to him and offered a fleeting smile. “Neither did I, to be honest.”
Emmerik grunted deep in his throat. The exhalation might have been a laugh, although his face displayed no amusement. “It’s running the suit, isn’t it?” he said.
Roche nodded. “Through the data glove.”
“For that function alone it is valuable. Any advanced weaponry is priceless here.”
Roche immediately understood what he was hinting at: the Dato wouldn’t be the only ones interested in getting their hands on the AI. But what Emmerik almost certainly failed to realize was that without her—without her palm-link, her implants—the Box’s value was reduced to zero. Without her in the driver’s seat, the armor was little more than dead metal, and the Box a useless valise.
When she explained this to the Mbatan, he only smiled and said:
“I understand this, but there are others who won’t. Take care to emphasize your own worth as much as the assets you bring with you. I am not typical of the bulk of our group, Commander.”
She nodded, taking his warning to heart. Whether he was referring to Haid himself or just those surrounding him, it didn’t matter. That the threat was real was enough for now. She would keep her guard up.
Moments later the truck swung into a sheltered garage and shuddered to a noisy halt. The rebels clambered out of the cab and off the flatbed and began to unload the truck. Emmerik joined them, leaving Roche to make her own way down. The bulky armor took the short drop with ease, thudding to the concrete floor like a lump of lead. Cushioned within, her injured shoulder was barely disturbed by the jar of impact.
She brushed some of the ubiquitous dust from her cloak and turned to help Cane with Veden’s stretcher. One on each end, they swung it down and placed it against the far wall. Barely had they put it down when two unfamiliar rebels appeared through a door leading deeper into the building and spirited him away.
Maii, when she tried to follow, was politely but firmly rebuffed. Roche moved to comfort her, but the girl shrugged her away.
“You have medical facilities here, Emmerik?” said Roche.
The Mbatan paused in the middle of unloading the truck to look at her. “Some.”
“How sophisticated?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s not my field.”
“He’ll need X-rays, CAT and QIP scans, nanosurgery if you have it—”
“We’ll do what we can, Roche,” he cut in sharply, more calmly adding, “When we can. Okay?” He returned to his work without another word.
Feeling impotent, Roche tried to find something to do. Two of the rebels were struggling with a large crate of projectile weapons retrieved from the ruins of their headquarters in Houghton’s Cross. With the power-assists of the armor, she took the crate from them and placed it with others along one wall, then turned to do the same with the rest of the crates on the truck. The warning from Emmerik still rung in her mind; the more she could do to gratify herself to the locals, the better.
<I too have the original plans of the old port,> put in the Box unexpectedly, harking back to her conversation with the Mbatan. <We are approximately five kilometers from the current landing field, on the site of what was once a large university. The maglev network divides into three major routes not far from here. A good location for headquarters. >
Roche grunted, only half listening. <Do your files say anything about current security arrangements?>
<No, but I am still patched into the DAOC combat network through the suit.>
<I took the precaution of erasing any record of my intrusion from all databases connected with the assault on Houghton’s Cross. The only people aware of my intrusion were onboard the troop carrier; I was careful to prevent information being transmitted by radio at the time and, naturally, the people themselves are now dead. Therefore, DAOC is ignorant of my intrusion in its systems.>
<And?> Roche prompted when the Box fell silent. <What have you learned?>
<Surprisingly little of any importance. I can only access information and routines stored in a buffer accessible by combat computers and decentralized planning systems. Unfortunately the main work is done by the MiCom processing center in the landing field, which is quite separate. The combat network is updated hourly from this processor.>
<What does it say about us?>
<That there is a price on your head, Morgan. A high price, too. To be taken alive, if possible.>
<Only me? What about Cane and Veden and Maii? Hell, what about you?>
<The only person described in the bulletin is ‘Morgan Roche,’ no rank. You are said to be armed and in league with indigenous forces. Which, I suppose, means that you were seen with other people, and that, for some reason, it was determined that these others met you here rather than came with you from the Midnight.>
<How do they explain the troop carrier, then?>
<They do not. It would seem that Warden Delcasalle has no knowledge of either my existence or my capabilities.>
<That makes two of us,> she said, thinking of the way the Box had saved them at Houghton’s Cross.
“Roche?”
Startled by the sudden intrusion on the conservation, Roche realized that she was standing stock-still in the middle of the garage, staring off into space. Feeling foolish, she turned to face the woman who had spoken. Cropped blonde hair, a sour face, and grey eyes stared back at her. “You Roche?”
“I am.” She automatically glanced around for the others and found Cane and Maii on the far side of the garage. Cane’s eyes scanned the proceedings with his usual attention to detail; the Surin was motionless.
“Haid wants you out of that armor before he’ll let you down. There’s a cubicle and a change of clothes out back.”
Roche flexed her fingers in the power-gloves. Although the armor had increased her sense of well-being for a while, she would be glad to be rid of it, if only temporarily. Sweat had pooled in the suit’s crevices, making her entire body feel oily. “Any chance of a shower?”
The woman nodded reluctantly. “If you have to,” she said. “But don’t waste the water.”
The woman walked through the door at the rear of the garage, and Roche followed, careful not to bump anything with the armor’s wide shoulders. The corridor was narrow and cluttered with boxes. Some of them contained weapons similar to the ones they had brought back
from Houghton’s Cross; most seemed to contain provisions of a more harmless sort: food, clothes, medicinal supplies, and the like.
Although the Enforcement government allowed the inhabitants of the penal colony free rein over their internal affairs, they obviously kept a heavy hand on potentially dangerous matters, such as technology and communications. Thus far, the most sophisticated weapon Roche had seen in the hands of the rebels was a projectile rifle, and the most powerful engine one powered by petroleum. By thus keeping the population at a level barely approximating civilized, DAOC ensured that its relatively small but well-equipped force was more than capable of keeping the peace. Armed with nothing but pellet guns and cow-shit trucks, the rebels wouldn’t last a moment against the landing field’s defenses.
Yet somehow they had fashioned an extensive underground network capable of some small resistance. Utilizing the only assets available to them—ruins, untamed wilderness, and people—they had at least given themselves a chance. All they needed, she thought, was one even break, and they’d become dangerous. And, like all dangerous resistance movements, they’d probably be wiped out at the first opportunity.
Roche tried to rid herself of the thought, concentrating instead on her own problems.
The cubicle at the end of the corridor was half as large as the compartment Roche had occupied on the Midnight. A small toilet facility, including a shower, had been curtained off in one corner. There seemed to be no surveillance equipment or hidden entrances, just the door through which she had entered.
“Thanks,” Roche said. “I owe you one already.”
“I’ll send the Surin girl through when you’re finished.”
“No, wait.” Roche stopped the woman before she could leave. “I’d like to see her now, if possible. Don’t worry,” she added when the woman frowned, suspicious. “We’re not going anywhere.”
The woman shrugged and left the room. Roche waited a moment, then returned her attention to the Box.
<You heard what she said. We have to leave the suit behind. I don’t think they plan to steal it.>
<Not that they could use it anyway,> said the Box. <Besides, it isn’t important right now. I believe I have gathered enough information from DAOC for the time being.>
<Good. So unseal this thing and get me out of here.>
The armor hissed, split along its seams, and allowed her to wriggle free. The pain in her shoulder was muted, manageable, as her arm slipped out of the padded sleeve. The touch of fresh air on her exposed skin made her groan with relief.
The blonde woman arrived with Maii as Roche began the difficult process of extricating herself from the sweat-stained and torn remains of her Armada uniform.
The woman pointed at a small pile by the door. “Change of clothes. You’re about my size, so they should fit. You’ll find a towel in the shower.” With that, she left Roche and the reave alone.
“Do you want a shower?”
Maii shrugged.
Roche took the hint and began to peel off her uniform, not bothering to hide herself from the blind Surin. Her skin was red where the suit had rubbed, and crusted with dirt where it hadn’t. She doubted that even an hour in a gehan mineral spa followed by a complete body scrub could make her feel clean, but a brief rinse certainly wouldn’t hurt.
The curtained-off area contained a small handheld nozzle and a recessed basin. Standing in the basin, with the valise resting just outside, she switched on the nozzle and gasped as a fan of cold water sprayed her thigh. Directing the jet across the entirety of her body, she did her best to clean herself, relishing the feel of the cool water.
She examined her skin as she washed, noting a variety of multicolored bruises she hadn’t previously been aware of. The purple-yellow blotch enveloping her left shoulder was beginning to fade, but still spread down to her breast and as far back as she could see. The joint itself was tender to the touch, and, she noted, swapping the nozzle over to her left hand, stiff. Her right side was relatively intact, apart from a couple of grazes. The water washed across the smooth line of her muscles, down her hips and thighs, curling between her toes, its caress gentle and soothing. She could have stayed within the intimate embrace of the water indefinitely, but she kept in mind the woman’s warning and, after one last scrub at her stubbled scalp, clicked off the nozzle and reached for the towel. Water was scarce on the planet, and doubly so in the port itself.
While drying herself off, she stepped from behind the curtain to find Maii standing in exactly the same position she had been minutes earlier.
“You look lost,” she said, with feeling. The girl seemed so small and helpless that, despite years of programming to loathe reaves, she wanted to reach out and hug the child.
<Without Veden, I am nothing.> She shuddered gently. <He is my eyes, my ears...> Roche could feel something else there also, but Maii managed to suppress the thought; her words in Roche’s mind trailed into an uncomfortable silence.
“By yourself, you must feel terrible.” Roche wondered at the depth of the girl’s attachment to her ward. It seemed more than just the bond of friendship, and yet less than a physical attachment. Could the Surin and Eckandi Castes mate? It was not something she had ever heard of before.
<It is not a common practice.> There was annoyance in the reave’s tone. <The Agora has forbidden it.>
“Then...” Roche wasn’t quite sure what to say. From what she remembered of Maii’s memories, the reave held the main governing body of the Surin Caste in no high regard. “Listen, if you and Veden are lovers or whatever...”
<We’re not,> she cut in with indignation.
“Okay.” Roche finished toweling herself dry, then turned to the pile of clothes. The loose outfit of brown cotton pants and shirt the woman had provided was slightly baggy, but comfortable enough. She tucked her left arm under the shirt, keeping it pressed against her stomach. The valise’s cable dangled around her waist like a belt.
Turning back to Maii, she said: “We’re in no hurry, it seems. Why not have a shower? It’ll take your mind off things for a moment.”
<I can’t.>
“Why not?”
<Because I can’t see.>
“You—” Roche did a mental double take. “What’s wrong with my eyes?”
<You don’t like me to use them,> said Maii. <And I respect that.>
Roche frowned. “But—”
<You regard it as theft. I haven’t touched your mind for information since Houghton’s Cross. You tried to help me there, and for that I am in your debt. At the moment, respecting your feelings is the only way I have to honor that debt.>
“So whose eyes have you been using?”
<Cane’s, when he lets me. But his will is stronger than yours, and I am unable to read him without his noticing. Sometimes I use the rebels. Most often, I just wait.>
“For Veden.”
Maii was silent. Grief radiated from her small form and into Roche’s mind.
She sighed. “Look, Maii. You’re exhausted, you need rest, and I don’t know how long it’s been since you slept. You need that shower. It’ll make you feel better, if only for a while.” Roche hesitated, then forged on. “You can use my eyes, if you want.”
<Do you mean that?>
“You can check, if you like.”
The reave didn’t say anything for a moment, then sighed. <Thank you, Morgan. I know how much this disturbs you.>
“Yes, well, this time it won’t be theft, but a gift.” She paused. “Besides, we kind of need each other right now.”
<You see yourself as alone also, don’t you?>
Roche shrugged, knowing that, having let the reave into her head, she could no longer hide her feelings from the girl. “Just have a shower. We’ll talk about it later.”
Maii nodded and slipped out of her tunic and blindfold. Leaving the curtain open, she climbed into the basin and used the nozzle to clean her skinny body. Roche tried not to feel squeamish, and forced herself to keep her eyes on the girl as she washed.
Not “girl,” she reminded herself. Not as she knew one to be. Naked, there was no mistaking the peculiar physiology before her for that of a Pristine: the graceful skeleton, with its high rib cage; the dark, protruding nipples; the stump of a vestigial tail protruding from the cleft between narrow, corded buttocks; the fine, ginger hair—not fur—that uniformly covered the Surin’s body except at groin and armpits, exactly the reverse of Pristine hair. Girlish in form, but Exotic in detail.
As her eyes became accustomed to the sight, Roche noticed the fine network of scars across Maii’s scalp. Whoever had operated on her—the rogue doctor unnamed in Maii’s memories—had performed an intricate operation to convert the child into a fully functioning epsense adept. Exactly how it had been achieved, Maii did not remember; and Roche had never heard of the practice before. The moral question it raised may have forced the Surin Agora to ban the process while it was still in development, and thereby driven the doctor underground, where he had procured experimental subjects from the poor or the unscrupulous. Children, all of them, too young to choose. When Maii finished her brief shower, she climbed out of the basin and used the towel Roche had discarded to dry.
Then she clambered back into her old shipsuit and smoothed the hair on her hands and scalp.
<Thank you,> she said. <You were right: I did need it.>
“That’s okay.” Roche glanced at the door. “Maybe you should call the woman—”
<Her name is Sabra, and she is Haid’s assistant.>
“—Sabra, then, to let her know we’re ready.” Maii nodded. Roche took a seat on a box in one corner of the room to rest while she waited. The enormous bulk of the armor dominated the center of the tiny room, like a statue of a dirty, beheaded giant. Old but still reliable, it had served her and the Box well during her brief occupation, and she regretted leaving it behind. If discussions went well with Haid, she promised herself, she would retrieve it later.
<It needs a name,> said Maii, eavesdropping on Roche’s surface thought.
Roche nodded. “Any suggestions?”
<Only the one you’re thinking of.>