More shooting.
“You’ve killed him,” I shrieked. “You bastard.” I tried to burst into tears.
Turam said, “Sorry, baby. Good-bye.”
I screamed for him not to shoot. Then Turam fired his weapon at the sky again. I cried out. Alex signaled for me not to overdo it, and I went silent.
Alex and I stayed quiet, while Turam and his people laughed and said how they’d take the bodies outside and burn them.
“Praise to the All-Father,” said one of them.
Alex pointed at the door. Everybody out. We left my bracelet on the side table but didn’t turn it off. Outside, in the hallway, a crowd was gathering. They looked a little scared. We shushed everybody and got clear of the area.
In one of the side rooms, Alex thanked everybody for helping. Every now and then, someone went back to our apartment and screamed something unintelligible that sounded bloodthirsty. Then, finally, we stopped.
Barnas and the others congratulated one another and took turns assuring us that if anybody showed up who wanted to give us trouble, they’d deal with him properly.
“What do you think?” said Turam. “Did it work?”
“You did a good job,” Alex said.
“Now,” Turam continued, “what happened to the rescuers? Who is this who’s coming to get you?”
“Yeah,” Barnas said. “How about enlightening us?”
Alex sat down. “Belle’s not responding. That tells me that whoever’s up there with her isn’t StarCorps. And I can only think of one other likelihood.”
“The Mortician,” I said.
“Yes—if I’m wrong, I’ll apologize later.”
“It won’t work, Alex.”
“Why not?”
“The Mortician doesn’t speak the local language.”
“She’s probably been doing the same thing we have: letting her AI listen in and act as an interpreter. Even if not, it doesn’t matter. She couldn’t possibly have misunderstood the point of all the shots and screams.” He stopped. Touched the silver chain. “We’ve got an incoming call.”
“It’s probably Belle.” That was my optimism working overtime.
“Text message.” Alex looked at it. Showed it to me.
Benedict:
You can’t seriously expect that ploy to work again? Talk to me. Or I’ll take out your little social center down there.
“It might be a bluff,” I said. “She has no way to be certain we’re not dead.”
Alex shook his head. “No, but she has nothing to lose by destroying the compound.”
“Sure she does. She wouldn’t be able to tell whether she’d gotten us.”
“You willing to bet that’ll stop her?”
“I guess we’d better call.”
We were speaking in Standard, and Turam had figured out that wasn’t a good sign. “It’s not over,” he said. “Is it?”
Alex delivered a casual nod intended to suggest everything was under control. But he didn’t want to mislead anyone. “Probably not, Turam,” he said. He activated his link. “This is Benedict. What do you want?”
“Mr. Benedict.” The female voice in the link was not Belle’s happy-go-lucky tone, but was rather a combination of amusement and mockery. The room fell silent, and I saw the surprise on faces that had grown accustomed to talking jewelry but expected it to use a familiar language. “I wasn’t sure we’d ever get a chance to discuss matters.”
“What happened to Belle?”
“I shut her down.”
“Why?”
“I’m sure you can guess why. Let’s not waste time on details.”
“Who are you working for?”
“I’m not at liberty to reveal that.”
“So what do you want?”
“Unfortunately, we can’t have you spreading what you know back home. I will be at your facility in precisely three hours. You and Ms. Kolpath will present yourselves outside the front door. Then we’ll try to work out an agreement. If we’re successful, I’ll return control of your AI to you, and you can await the arrival of StarCorps. That should be about two days, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Three hours, Benedict. I’ll see you then.”
“Just a minute: What happens if we can’t reach an agreement?”
“I don’t think there should be any difficulty on that score. I’m prepared to buy your silence, and to be very generous about it. Let’s let it go at that. Oh, and one more detaiclass="underline" I know you might be tempted to leave the facility, to hide in the forest. If you do that, you can almost certainly stay out of sight until the authorities come, and there would be little I can do to find you. However, if you choose that course, be advised I will have no choice but to destroy your new friends. All of them. Do you understand?”
“Yes. We’ll be here when you arrive.”
“Good. I’m sure we can reach an amicable agreement. Oh, by the way, please be sure you bring your links with you.”
“Why’s that matter?”
“I don’t want any formal record of this transaction to show up later.” She disconnected.
“Alex,” I said, “there’s no way she’s going to make a deal.”
“I know.”
“If she can get us into the open, we’re dead. She’ll have something mounted on the lander. Probably a blaster or a proton gun. And she’ll just take us out from the air.”
“She can’t. At least, she can’t if she’s serious about silencing us.”
“Why not?”
“It’s why she wants the links. If she just blows us up, she has no way of knowing that we haven’t handed them off to someone here. And that we haven’t recorded everything. StarCorps comes, the information gets passed over, and her client is compromised.”
“We don’t even know who he is.”
“I think we do. In any case, we know enough. She has to make sure the links get destroyed, too. Or maybe she doesn’t. But it’s all we have.”
We’d lapsed back into Standard, and everyone in the room was staring at us. Turam took a deep breath. “What was all that about?”
“I think we have a problem,” said Alex. “Chase, we need a weapon. Something with a little more kick than the scrambler.”
“The blaster. The one we took from, what was his name, Alex Somebody.”
“My thought exactly. It was stowed in the equipment locker. Those are pretty solid. You think it might have survived the crash?”
“It might.”
“I hate to drop this on you. But I just don’t get around very easily, and time—”
“It’s okay.”
“One other thing—”
“Yes?”
“Don’t count on three hours. She could show up at any time.”
“All right. What are you going to be doing?”
“I think we need to warn Viscenda an unwelcome visitor is on the way.”
I drafted one of Turam’s gun-toters to give me a hand. The weather had turned cranky. The sky was a dismal gray, and rain was threatening.
We hustled down to the pier, climbed into a canoe, and hurried across the river. The water was rough, stirred up by the wind. We didn’t talk much. Mostly it was me explaining that the individual who was coming couldn’t be trusted, and him saying I shouldn’t worry.
The lander was little more than a blackened hull with parts scattered around the field. But the ladder was intact, and the hatches were open.
I climbed inside. The seats had been blown apart, the viewports were gone, and everything was scorched. The deck crunched underfoot as I pushed my way to the rear of the cabin and opened the storage bin. The blaster was there. Apparently intact.