House of Gold, page 25
Sensing that she’d rather be alone, I get up from the couch. “I’ll give you your privacy.”
As I reach the door, she addresses me. “Nandipa . . .”
I look over my shoulder, but her gaze drops to the table.
“I won’t be coming home with you later. I have . . . an engagement.”
All right. I don’t think I can ignore this anymore. “Adaolisa, are you sure about this?” I finally ask. “Michelle Zimba is the executive chair. What if—”
“I’m fascinated by her,” Adaolisa cuts me off. “She’s intriguing. And it’s harmless fun. And an opportunity. Don’t worry about me, my love. I know what I’m doing.”
I can’t help but sigh. “Just be careful.”
“I have to take this call.”
“Of course,” I say and dutifully leave her office.
CHAPTER 15:
HONDO
I watch the footage on my tablet for the twentieth time, maybe. A man walks toward an aerial car in the early hours of the morning. The camera watches from a building across the street, but I can still see the nasty scar on the right side of his stubbled face, filled in with a metallic material. He gets into the car. It lifts off, briefly ascending out of view, and then seconds later it drops from the sky like a rock, hitting the ground with enough force to flatten everything inside.
The next vid was taken on the same day, just minutes later, apparently, from the inside of an elevator. A heavily armored woman walks in with two others, and as soon as the doors close, the elevator plummets, taking them down with it. The fall lasts at least twelve seconds before the footage cuts out. There are no survivors.
Seated on a folding chair on the Seajack’s topside deck, I watch the vids again, memorizing the facial structures of the victims, the curvatures of their mouths, the emotion in their eyes, details I’ll use when I get around to sketching them.
In one fell swoop, these incidents took out two of the most powerful and vicious gang leaders of Kenrock City, and all signs point to the Kenrock corporate government as responsible. But I know better.
I know that these are yet more souls I have helped send to their graves; therefore it is only fitting that I sketch them. I tell myself I don’t really regret that they are dead, that they had to die. They were cruel, they forced people into Hives, they killed, and they suppressed; Jamal had to remove them. It was necessary.
It was the right thing to do.
Once I’ve committed the faces to memory, I browse through my news feeds. With ZimbaTech and now Kenrock suffering criminal gang uprisings, other cities have begun to notice. Molefe Star has already seized control of their Hives from the gangs they had running them. Nkala Interstellar has set up checkpoints and no-fly zones to insulate its upper districts from any potential bad actors. From a little submarine in the ocean, Jamal has engineered the perception of a worldwide criminal gang uprising, and my list of people to sketch is growing faster than my hand can sketch them.
I swipe the news feeds away when he climbs up a nearby ladder, coming out of the water from his swim. I reach for the towel on the chair next to mine and toss it to him. He flashes me a smile as he catches it.
“The water is great today,” he tells me as he wipes himself down. “Are you sure you don’t want to go in?”
It’s our second time coming up to the surface this week. I don’t mind the water, but I’d much rather use my time up here soaking up as much sun as possible. “Maybe next time,” I say. “If there’ll even be a next time. Our batteries will need a recharge soon.”
Jamal drapes the towel over one shoulder. “How far to reach the nearest flotilla?”
“If we take it slow, we’ll be there by morning tomorrow.” He looks out into the distant line of the blue horizon, and I sense uncertainty passing through him. “Something you’re worried about?” I say.
He shrugs it off, sitting down next to me. “Maybe Adaolisa’s need for control rubbed off on me,” he replies with a scornful laugh. “The flotillas are an unknown, and I’m close to the next phase of my plan. I guess I just don’t want any disruptions.”
I feel my sketching hand twisting the grip of an imaginary stylus. So many faces already. More to come. It’s necessary.
“Take us to the flotilla,” Jamal decides. “We can’t avoid it forever.”
I keep the Seajack’s top deck above the waterline as we make our slow approach, broadcasting the omni’s identifying information as is supposedly the custom when dealing with the Free People to indicate friendly intent.
A Free People vessel hails us as soon as we come within two hundred miles of the flotilla. “Omni-vehicle Seajack, you are entering sovereign Free People waters. Turn back or submit to boarding for a full inspection.”
The water around us has lightened to an aquamarine blue with the coming of sunrise. Both Jamal and I spent the night in the cockpit, though Jamal drifted off to sleep in the copilot’s seat a while ago.
I glance at one of the screens on the dashboard, which has a live data feed from the satnav station. The ship hailing us is the FV Khama, apparently, a large frigate equipped with substantial antisubmarine weaponry. We’ll be finished if they decide they don’t like us.
Better not piss them off, then.
“Free People vessel, this is the Seajack,” I say. “We request permission to dock with the flotilla, recharge our batteries, and trade for supplies. We will submit to boarding for inspection.”
Jamal stirs awake and listens quietly as the voice on the radio responds. We are directed to cut off our speed, maintain position, and prepare ourselves to receive a boarding party. I accept and end the communication.
“We don’t have anything to hide, do we?” I ask Jamal.
He gives a sleepy laugh. “We have everything to hide, my brother. Just nothing that isn’t already in plain sight.”
“I’m reassured,” I say flatly, then look down at my naked chest. “At least we should put on shirts. For modesty’s sake.”
With no one to impress, we’ve both gone lax in our clothing habits, getting by on shorts and flip-flops alone. I pull a simple white shirt over my head while Jamal slips into a floral button-down, and then we head topside to receive our guests.
Jamal whistles as the FV Khama approaches us, his spike in anxiety rippling through me and causing my eyes to dilate. It’s not so much the size of the thing that impresses us; though it towers over the Seajack’s single exposed deck, it isn’t especially large for a ship. But its sleek, geometric structure of sharp edges, few windows, and heavy armor plating makes it look practically indestructible, a moving bunker that could withstand anything thrown at it.
Three radar domes crown the Khama’s daunting silhouette. I’m sure we’ve already been scanned and they know the omni has no weapons. A large five-pointed black star is painted on the hull amidships. As the Khama comes up along the Seajack’s starboard side, the frigate keeps its distance, and I begin to wonder how the boarding party intends to make it all the way across.
Then we see a platform ascend from the Khama’s main deck, carrying aloft several figures on the power of ion thrusters attached to the bottom of the platform. I pick up seven sources of static on board, not imminently hostile but alert, coiled like springs. Armed, and highly trained.
“Seven commandos,” I warn Jamal as we watch the platform. “They’ll fire at the slightest excuse.”
Jamal licks his lips. “Then let us not give them an excuse.”
The platform descends close enough to allow the Free commandos access to our top deck, and the seven rifle-toting men and women who join us pique my interest as much as they put me on my guard. Loose patterned cloths drape over their ballistic armor, while interesting designs painted in white cover their arms and faces.
The leader of the group is a large man whose scarlet cloth leaves most of his chest bare. Long braids fall to cover the left half of his face, and the iris looking out from the other half holds a synthetic white glimmer, giving the impression that he can see through walls.
I struggle not to put myself in front of Jamal when the man steps forward with his massive rifle, which has a jagged knife implement attached to it. The deepening interest I detect in his static as his white iris looks us over has me wishing I had a gun in my hands. The abrupt spike of worry I sense from Jamal doesn’t help matters either.
“Lieutenant Jotham Lukwiya of the Black Star Navy at your service,” the man says in a friendly baritone, though he glances around the deck as if he expects to find someone hiding. “Anyone else on board, fellows?”
I don’t know what Jamal has seen, but he’s tensed up inside like he regrets ever coming here. “It’s just the two of us, boss,” he politely replies, putting up a ruse of calm.
“Any weapons or contraband?”
“We have six firearms and three cases of ammunition, all stowed in a storage compartment. No contraband.”
The man nods at his people, and three of them head inside the Seajack to commence their search of the interior. The other three stay behind, holding their guns like they want a reason to shoot us. I feel like their focus is squarely on me.
What the hell is going on?
If I thought I could move fast enough without getting Jamal killed, I’d have already attacked.
“So what brings you all the way out here?” says Lukwiya, throwing the question casually, though the coils of his static have wound even tighter. I think his eye contact might be a recording device, and I see an earpiece in his right ear. I have a feeling someone on the ship is watching and communicating with him. The same might be true for the others.
Despite the invisible but growing air of danger, Jamal steps forward to hand the lieutenant a tablet showing the aliases he created for us. We are currently pretending to be data-recovery experts from SalisuCorp.
“I’m Joshua, and this is my brother, Caleb,” Jamal says. “We’re wanderers trying our hand at life outside the cities. We’re considering joining a flotilla.”
Lukwiya smiles without humor as he scans the information on the tablet, no doubt to be verified by whoever’s listening in. “I hope for your sakes you’re not wanted men, Joshua and Caleb. The flotillas are not havens for criminals running from corporate justice. If you are such individuals, you have come to the wrong place.”
“We have nothing to hide, Lieutenant,” Jamal says. “Our identities are verifiable.”
Lukwiya stares blankly for a moment, his static patient. I think a communication comes into his earpiece, and then he nods. “It would seem you are right.” He hands the tablet back to Jamal. “Once we complete our search, you can proceed to the flotilla.”
I don’t believe him. Something’s wrong here.
“I’ll take a look inside, if you don’t mind,” Lukwiya says. “You can wait out here.”
“Of course.”
We don’t move. The three remaining Free commandos watch us with near-unblinking stares, like they know we could pose a threat to them even unarmed. They’d light us up faster than I could take the first one.
Jamal leans closer to me and whispers in the Second Dialect, “I think we’re in trouble.”
“Are they pirates?” I ask.
“No. But I don’t think they plan to let us go.”
“Something interesting, gentlemen?” says the one with white dotted stripes painted down her cheeks. She’s younger than the others, and despite the smile on her face, her static tells me she desperately wants to point her rifle and pull the trigger.
“Nothing at all, boss,” Jamal says. “We’ll keep quiet.”
“It would be best.”
Lukwiya is gone for only minutes, but time crawls, and the sensation of being trapped grows so strong I begin to convince myself to act. Maybe I’ll be fast enough. I can’t just stand here and let them take Jamal. I have to do something.
“Don’t do it,” Jamal whispers.
Reluctantly, I rein myself back in.
“I see you came prepared,” Lukwiya says as he comes back out onto the deck. “Grain seeds and ammo are desired mediums of trade among the Free People.”
Jamal remains polite. “Is everything in order, Lieutenant? We would love to be on our way.”
“In a bit. Why don’t you tell me about the setup you’ve got going down there? Seems like a lot of tech to be hauling around.”
“We decrypt data for a living,” Jamal lies. “We help people who’ve lost their encryption keys. We don’t always succeed, but the computing power required is substantial.”
“I see.” I know the lieutenant doesn’t believe us. My muscles want to tense, I’m flooded with stimulants screaming at me to act, but I don’t move.
Lukwiya glances at me, then looks back at Jamal. “You said you’re brothers, yes? You know, it’s uncanny. You look so alike, yet I’d hardly believe you share the same two parents. Are you half brothers?”
“We’re fraternal twins, Lieutenant,” Jamal answers, infusing a touch of impatience into his voice. “Is there a problem here?”
“As a matter of fact, yes, there is.” Abruptly there are six rifles aimed at us, the lieutenant’s people acting on some silent cue.
Jamal and I both lift our palms. It was Jamal keeping me from losing it all along, but now I project a sense of calm in his direction. I won’t let you get hurt. Just do what they tell you.
For his part, Lukwiya remains at ease, a deceptively affable smile curling his lips. “See, I think you’re lying to me, Joshua, if that’s even your name.”
“Our identities are verifiable,” Jamal says, his voice steady.
“I’ll give you that, but see, we’ve been told to be on the lookout for any strange siblings traveling together in pairs. They’d be intelligent, good looking, and well spoken. I don’t know about you, comrades,” the lieutenant says, addressing his people without taking his eyes off us, “but I say they fit the bill.”
“They fit, sir,” says the young woman who spoke earlier.
“We were also warned to watch out for the silent one.” Lukwiya’s white iris lands on me. “That would be you. Caleb, is it? Try anything and your brother dies first.”
Ancestors. We’re done for. All I can do now is obey and hope it’ll be enough to save Jamal. “Understood.”
“Good boy. Now put your hands behind your head and turn around. Slowly. Both of you.”
I glance at Jamal. I know he’s afraid, but he’s kept it off his face. “Just do what they say.”
He nods, and we both turn around, our hands behind our heads.
“Patience?” Lukwiya says.
“Right away, sir.”
The young woman named Patience comes to cuff me first, binding my hands in metal shackles. She does the same thing to Jamal. A spike in her static tells me I’m about to be attacked, but I remain still only because I don’t sense the same hostility directed toward Jamal. The next thing I know, there’s a hand reaching up to smear a red paste above my upper lip.
The pungent fumes of the paste hit me like a punch to the jaw. My head spins; I stagger, then sink to one knee. I struggle against the sudden urge to laugh.
“What have you done?” I hear Jamal say. “What have you given him?”
“Just a little something to help your brother relax,” Patience says. “We’re not taking any chances.”
I try to fight it—I was built to be resistant to such things—but the psychoactive fumes are powerful. With my hands bound I drop awkwardly to the deck, and it feels like I never stop falling.
“Don’t worry,” comes Lukwiya’s baritone. “Cooperate, and you will both be fine.”
The last things I see before I black out are Jamal’s flip-flops, Lukwiya’s sandals, a pair of boots, and behind them all, the blue sky.
I return to awareness in a seated position, a painful crick in my neck. I groan, lifting my forehead off a hard and cold surface. As I blink my eyes open, my heart kicks into gear immediately, my thoughts racing, reaching, then flooding with relief when I feel Jamal’s quiet presence nearby.
“Jamal?” I croak.
“I’m here. I’m fine. Ancestors, Hondo, are you all right? I damn near pissed myself.”
I try to move but find my hands cuffed and my ankles fettered to a steel table. Unharmed and seated calmly next to me, Jamal is similarly bound to the table, though it seems they allowed him the kindness of looser restraints. My head is still spinning as I look around. We’re in a windowless cell with a single lamp on the ceiling, so dim we’re practically sitting in the dark.
“How long?” I say.
“A few hours.”
“Where are we?”
“Inside the frigate.”
I flex my shoulders, trying in vain to work the cramp out of my neck. I can still taste that foul red paste at the back of my throat. “Do you think your sister did this?”
A breath pours out of Jamal like he’s asked himself the same question. “Maybe, but this isn’t like her. And she didn’t know we’d be coming out here.”
“Then how?” I ask.
Jamal slowly shakes his head. “I honestly don’t know.”
There are at least twenty people on board the frigate. I sense one of them approaching, restive like they’re itching for a fight. I don’t need to guess who it might be.
They must know I’m awake. But of course they’d have a camera watching us.
“I think Patience is coming,” I warn Jamal and brace myself for whatever’s about to happen.
“They haven’t killed us yet,” Jamal says despite his spiking nerves. “We might be able to talk our way out of this.”
It’s only when the Free commando is almost to the door that I realize there are two other sources of static moving with her, masked so well I might not have noticed were I not paying attention.
Goose bumps rise all over my skin. “Someone else is with her,” I whisper.
“Who?”
Before I can answer, the door swings open. Light floods in, dazzling my eyes, and then the silhouettes of a pair of tall and broad-shouldered figures fill the doorway. Behind them I sense Patience waiting quietly.
Jamal hisses out a curse.
