The problem is that neither Bernard nor Emblyn would abide by the outcome of such a battle. There would be more outbreaks and as folks got desperate, serious damage would be done. So far the attacks had caused a lot of property damage and inconvenienced people, but death had not slopped over into the civilian population. I was not sanguine about that situation continuing. Bernard’s willingness to murder Public Safety officers indicated there would be no restraint on his part.
And once he had taken power, I could imagine a lot of civil rights abuses in the name of maintaining security.
This analysis was all well and good, but left me with nowhere to go and nothing to do, short of a wholesale murder spree—which, I will admit, was tempting. I mean, I knew I would never do it, which is why I could entertain the fantasy. Each clank of shrapnel in the dish was another bullet pumped into Bernard and Emblyn. I tossed Teyte, Catford and Siwek into that mix, just because I knew I’d have that many bullets in a clip, with a couple to spare for anyone who twitched one more time.
Niemeyer looked over at me as an intern swathed his body in gauze. “Don’t expect that your intervening there will spare you from prosecution.”
I frowned. “Look, let’s cut to the chase, shall we? You’re going to figure I was there as some sort of a spotter for the whole thing, right, which explains in your mind why I was present when things went down. You’ve seen my files and you know what I’m capable of piloting, so you know if I were going to be there in some capacity, I’d not have been there in a Cabochon. And if I was there working for FfW, why would I have rescued you? If I wanted to save you and your men, I wouldn’t have called in reserves, right? And if I was working for the guy in the ’Mech, I’d not have pulled you out, right?”
His nostrils flared. “So, you just happened to be there? Out for a midnight drive.”
“Yeah, insomnia is a horrible thing.” I shook my head. “Look, there is no way you can prove I was there for any reason other than circumstance. You investigate, you find out I had lunch in the area, supper, too, but nothing sinister. I was definitely at the wrong place at the wrong time—’cept I was able to help you out. I don’t regret that at all.”
His hands tightened on the edge of the treatment table. “So, you’re telling me that the ends should justify your means?”
“Nope, just that actions speak louder than words.”
Niemeyer snorted. “I’d rather believe you hit the accelerator by accident.”
“And I’d rather believe this is all a bad dream, but we both know it isn’t.” I shrugged. “You can haul me down to headquarters, or break into my hotel room, and grill me. You’ll get nothing.”
His brows furrowed. “You truly think that second barrage was not an accident?”
“I think of it as a weather forecast: seventy-five-percent chance of treachery, with mixed stupidity. We both know how it will be spun, and how it is being spun now. By noon you’ll have him here, visiting survivors, talking to the media, building up a frenzy of activity. We both know it. You’ll be lauded as a hero, as will he, and circumstance will toss you together. He’ll be legit and your hands will be tied.”
“Not as much as you think.”
“But more than you’d like.” I almost added, “And more than I’d like,” but I held back. Sam never would have said that.
“There’s a lot of things I don’t like, but I have to abide them.” The big man shrugged, then exhaled loudly and seemed to shrink a little. He turned his head slightly and regarded me carefully. “You are a material witness. I’ll want you to give a statement on what you saw.”
“Sure, I’ll head down there later today. After the crowds have cleared from the media conferences.”
He nodded wearily, then slid off the examining table and stood. “I’ve got people to check, reports to make.”
“I have a question for you. You’ll have to trust me with the answer.”
His head came back up as wariness tightened his eyes. “And the question is?”
“Insider or anonymous tip?”
“Just like before.”
Just like when I had tipped them about the Palace raid. This brought a new player into the mix, someone who wanted Ff W to fail. It had to be someone inside the organization, but who? Catford, Gypsy and Elle all had to be candidates. Tactical commanders would have been, too, but they wouldn’t have called Public Safety in on themselves. I included Siwek just for the fun of it.
Niemeyer watched me, then nodded. “You going to cause trouble?”
“Probably, but not for you.”
“Why? Why not just leave?”
“Did you have someone following me last night?”
“No, but I know where you were. At one of the Basalt Foundations kitchens. You helped out.”
“So maybe I’ll be helping out. It’s a nice world you have here.” I gave him a Sam-nonchalant shrug. “I would like to see it remain that way.”
Niemeyer hesitated for a moment, then nodded, but said nothing. He shuffled from the trauma room.
An intern slapped a light anesthetic patch on my legs, then gave me a pair of scrub pants since mine had been cut clean off me. I retained the rags in a plastic bag because they held my identification, squawker, noteputer and some money. Wandering out of the hospital, I took one look at the smoking wreck of the Cabochon and hailed a hovercab. A Drac brought his cab over and picked me up.
The trip back to the Grand Germayne did not take that long, but I managed to use my noteputer to do a bit of work before we arrived. True to my word, I was going to stir up some trouble, and I wanted to have a safety net in place to make sure I could clean up after myself.
About a block and a half from the hotel, an unmarked Public Safety unit hit its lights and siren and the taxi pulled over. I gave a moment’s consideration to bolting from the taxi and running, but my legs just weren’t going to go along with that plan. Two plainclothes officers—the two on Bernard’s payroll—approached with needle pistols drawn and ordered me out of the vehicle. While one of them conducted me back to their hovercar, the other told the taxi driver to get going and that unless he wanted to be associated with “all the other Drac terrorists,” he’d just forget the fare.
I snarled back over my shoulder, “Don’t be cheap. You’re bought and paid for. He works for a living. Pay hi…”
The man behind me brought the butt of his gun down on the back of my neck, dropping me to my knees. A shove to the back bounced my face off the vehicle’s door, and I slumped to the pavement. My nose hadn’t broken, but it was leaking. I could feel the detective winding up for a kick that would drive a kidney up through my throat, but the rear door on the unit opened and two big boots hit the pavement.
“No need for that, Oates. Mr. Donelly is our guest.”
I rolled onto my back and looked up at Teyte Germayne. While his voice had been pleasant, his expression was anything but. “Make sure he tips the driver. I’m a big tipper.”
Teyte leaned down and smiled coldly. “No, Donelly, you’re not a big anything. You’re nothing, should have remembered you were nothing, and should not have tried to defy Bernard. If you’re lucky, it’s a lesson you’ll learn from. If not,” the man shrugged, “hope that reincarnation is true.”
36
As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods;
They kill us for their sport.
Manville, Capital District
Basalt
Prefecture IV, Republic of the Sphere