I regarded him with open curiosity. “I wanted to ask you about that. Do you often threaten people the Bettelhines want here?”
“I take less pleasure in it in your case than I did before you saved my life, but yes, I do. It’s part of my job description. Guests, even honored guests, remain welcome only as long as they know how to behave. And you wouldn’t be the first one it’s been my duty to chastise.”
Charming. But for what it was worth, he seemed to be telling the truth about enjoying the ominous threats less now than he had before the stranglecord attacked him. Not that he seemed to enjoy much of anything. The more time I spent with him the more he struck me as trapped inside himself, and unable to escape, a feeling I’d also gotten from, among others, Colette Wilson and Arturo Mendez. I remembered things Pescziuwicz had said and felt a chill at the insistence of the warning.
So I asked him again: “What did you people do to Bard Daiken?”
He remained silent, his eyes apologetic but failing to offer even a momentary promise of safety.
14
THE FOURTH BETTELHINE
S kye locked the Fire Snake inside the suite’s stasis safe. Paakth-Doy finished treating Wethers and Skye for their own injuries. Even as we shed all external evidence of the Fire Snake’s attack, the four of us agreed to keep the incident a secret for the time being, both to avoid panicking the others and provide the culprit, whomever that might be, more opportunity for accidental exposure. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was something.
Then Mendez called to let us know that there’d been another development outside the carriage.
This time everybody followed him belowdecks, to share the news carried by the air lock monitors. This time we all faced the little monochrome holos as they cycled between exterior images of the carriage and relayed images of a gathering storm.
The Stanley clinging to the cable above us was no longer our only company. Another one, no doubt dispatched from Anchor Point, clung to the cable below, more predator at bay than rescuer waiting for the right moment to approach. At least fifty other spacecraft, from single-occupant fliers to troop carriers capable of carrying hundreds, had formed a fresh perimeter surrounding us on all sides. Dozens of smaller dots of light, impossible to resolve in any image panoramic enough to capture the scale we were dealing with, came into focus when Mendez zoomed in. They were soldiers; all faceless in their free-fall maneuver suits, all carrying precision weapons with black, hungry barrels.
The very immobility of the tableau was what made it so frightening. None of the vessels moved in relation to one another. None of the soldiers shifted position. The most the machines and people did to prove themselves a living system capable of action at a moment’s notice was flare with light every few seconds as their respective propulsion systems fired to prevent them from drifting out of formation.
It had only been a little more than an hour and twenty minutes since the first Stanley dispatched from Layabout had aborted its rescue mission. The powers that ruled military response on Xana had deployed this armada in less time than it would have taken the authorities on some Confederate worlds to put on their boots. This was a fine testimonial to Bettelhine efficiency, and a somewhat less sterling omen when it came to our own chances of survival.
I much preferred the security that came with being trapped with a single murderer, or even a handful of conspirators, to the dubious comforts of knowing that an entire fleet was fixing its guns on my position. Granted, the commanders who gave the orders were all Bettelhine employees themselves and therefore unlikely to relish the idea of killing three members of the Inner Family. But we now owed every moment we still drew breath to the continuing calm and stability of men and women who knew that their own lives might depend on recognizing a sudden attack. If it came to the final extremity, we wouldn’t be the first hostages to die because some recruit, dripping sweat behind the nice anonymous mirror of his helmet’s faceplate, returned an attack that was only a glint of sunlight reflected off steel.
Jason’s grin became a black grimace. “We’re running out of time, brother.”
Philip seemed surprised to be included. “I know.”
“That’s a siege.”
“I know.”
“Our own people.”
“I know.”
Jason bit his lip. “The thing is, a formation like that, I would normally expect them to send an envoy, or attempt some other form of contact to let us know what they want. Dictating terms of surrender, that kind of thing. But they’re just waiting. It’s like they’re scared to come in.”
“Or,” Jelaine said, “like they’re waiting for the right moment to attack.”
Philip raised a hand, hesitated for a moment, as if he didn’t know what to do with it, and then clasped Jason on the shoulder. It was about as awkward an expression of filial love as any I’d ever seen, and it must have felt awkward as hell until Jason returned it.
When Philip spoke again, his voice trembled from more than just fear. “All right, everybody. This is a one-time-only offer directed either at the unknown party responsible for our situation or for any allies who might be aiding and abetting. Whoever you are, if you step forward and assist us in ending this madness right now, I will personally guarantee freedom from prosecution, secure passage to the world of your choice, and enough money to guarantee a life of extreme wealth. This offer gives you a free pass for your involvement in the murder of the Khaajiir and will be payable in full the instant everybody aboard this carriage is safe. Let this offer pass and I assure you with equal seriousness that the same resources, and more, will go to plunging you into hell every day for the rest of your life. This is a one-time-only offer that expires ten seconds from now.”
When Dejah Shapiro stepped forward, I imagined her about to admit guilt and accept the offer. But no, she just added, “I’ll back that promise if he doesn’t.”
In the silence that followed I searched the faces of the assembled for the uncertain half-starts I would have expected of any tempted culprit.
After a few seconds, Philip said, “Time’s up.”
Dejah flashed a grin. “It was actually up half a minute ago, dear. But nobody wanted to say so and maybe cut off a killer still trying to make up his mind.”
Jelaine covered her own half-smile with her fingers. “I’m sorry, people, but I’ve been watching the digital timer on the console over there. It was more like forty.”
Philip nodded. “Determined bastard, whoever he is.”
The Porrinyards agreed. “A genuine asshole.”
As was only to be expected, Dina Pearlman took it a step too far. “I don’t mind saying, I’ve been trying to figure out some way I could claim the prize. For an offer like that, I’d have killed the Khaajiir twenty times over.”
Dejah spared her only the briefest of glances. “Yeah, well, killing the Khaajiir would take an offer like that. He was worth something. You’re only alive today because nobody’s ever come up with spare change.”
There were smiles at that, even a grudging one from Mrs. Pearlman. For the moment, at least, these were not bickering people with competing agendas, not frightened prisoners waiting for outsiders to come and rescue them, but a united front against an unknown and dangerous enemy.