Under A Winter Sun, page 4
She sneers. “Barely.”
“Barely? I almost killed you.” I try to work up the energy to get off the floor.
Soledad snorts and Jagr goes on. “We know who you are. We are aware of what you're doing to us. And we know what you did to Arcadia.”
Shit.
She squats beside me. She's got spectacular legs and the dark combat suit does nothing to hide them. Quite the contrary.
“Still, you could have just asked.”
With a groan, I roll over on my back. The pain in my cheek as it unsticks from the concrete makes me wince.
“And what do you need my help for, anyway? You need someone to teach Soledad manners?”
I pump my fingers, trying to get the blood flowing into my hands again. It hurts like liquid fire streaming into my digits. Coming back to life is a painful process.
“Yes, I do, but that's not the primary job I have for you. If she ends up house-trained,” Jagr glances sideways at Soledad, “I consider that a secondary objective achieved, and you get a bonus.”
“Bonus.” I taste the word. “I like the sound of that.”
Wincing, I push myself up on my elbows and from there to a sitting position and wince again as the headache cuts like a burning machete through my brain.
Soledad smirks.
I give her the finger and my head hurts even more.
“So, what's the job?” My hair is stiff and sticky with blood. I inspect my reflection in the shiny black bodywork of the car and pat my dark mop down into some semblance of order. There are ladies present. I fail miserably. Even Suki would be proud of this spiky hairdo. There's a sudden stab of pain somewhere in the general area of my icy heart at the thought of Suki, even after all this time.
“We need your help to find someone.”
Don't they all.
“You want me to kill him?” I peer up at Jagr.
“Nope. We want him back alive.”
“Why? What's he done? Did he get Soledad pregnant or something?”
“You're not very good at this, are you, Perez?”
She looks disappointed. Then she sighs. “He went somewhere for us. He stumbled over something. Something big.”
“Who's 'us'?”
Jagr shakes her head. Not important. I get it.
“Where did he go?” Using my index and middle finger, I rub the base of my nose to make the headache go away. I might as well have tried to yodel for all the good it does me.
“Nifelheim.”
“Nifelheim? As in the Goliaths' Nifelheim?”
“Last time I checked, there was only one Nifelheim in this system.”
“And you need me because I know Thorfinn Wagner?”
Jagr nods. “You need his help to keep the Goliaths off your back when you go there to find your man.”
“You're not as stupid as you look.”
Yeah, I get that a lot.
I wipe a hand over my mouth, brushing flaking blood from my lips and stubble. No matter how many times I swallow it, I will never get used to the taste of my blood.
“The thing is, I haven't talked to Wagner for a long time.”
“You're still friends, aren't you?”
“I guess.”
“Well, there you go then.” Jagr stands up and rests the rifle across her shoulders, pushing out her fabulous chest. The combat suit accentuates her curves. I'm sure she is well aware of how good she looks.
I sigh and hate myself a little for taking the bait. “OK, I'll talk to him for you. What did your agent find?”
“That's the thing. We don't know.”
“You don't know?”
“Data analysis and pattern correlation algorithms imply the Goliaths are up to something, and that scares us. We've never seen this level of organised activity from them before.”
“The Goliaths?”
“That's what I said.”
That is odd. The Goliaths are normally content to battle among themselves for positions of power.
“OK, I'm listening.”
A slight change in Jagr's pose tells me that's what she wanted to hear.
“Your agent must have told you something. Not much of an agent otherwise.”
Her eyes narrow and there's a glint of sharp steel behind them like I've insulted her. Maybe the agent is her boyfriend or something? I'm surprised by a twinge in my chest at the thought of Jagr with a boyfriend. Like a small fish took a nibble of my heart.
Her jaw flexes as she bites down on an acid reply and instead forces her voice back into businesslike tones. “All we have is a name.”
Oh, for fucks sake. Are they dragging this out to piss me off? I groan and release my nose and peer up at Jagr again. “So, tell me the bloody name already.”
“Project Jotun.”
“Jotun?” The name sounds vaguely familiar.
“Yes, Jotun.” They both look at me with expectation, like the name should mean something to me.
“What's a Jotun?”
“We thought you might know.”
“No idea.”
“Never mind. You can ask Wagner. Soledad, get him up.” Jagr waves for Soledad to help me up. “Our window is closing.”
“What?” I look between the women. “Now?”
Soledad reaches out and I grab her hand. She pulls me to my feet. Jagr lowers the rifle but holds it pointed down and to my left. She's ready to cut me down again if I make a move.
I hold on to Soledad's hand. “You're good, Soledad. And you do fight like a girl.”
She grins. “Thanks. So do you.”
I can't stop a short laugh.
I let go of Soledad's hand and turn to Jagr. “One more thing.”
“What?”
I tear the rifle from her hands and swing it around, eject the magazine, pull the bolt to remove the cartridge and hand the weapon and the magazine back to her. There's a soft metallic ping as the cartridge lands somewhere out in the darkness. “Never point a gun at me again.”
She glares at me a long time while fury and something that could be professional admiration chase each other across her face. Then she sucks her teeth. “Are we good, Perez?”
“For now.”
“Great.” Jagr walks around the car to the passenger side. “Get in.”
She opens the front door and throws the rifle inside. “We have places to be. Our ride won't wait for ever.”
Soledad gets in and starts the car.
I remain standing, rubbing the sore back of my head.
Jagr rests her elbows on the car's bonnet, palms together like she's about to pray, and places her chin on her thumbs. Damn, she's cute. “Now, Perez. If it's money you want, I'll see to it, you will never want again.”
“No, I don't want money. I'm all set, thanks.”
“Yes, I forgot. You stole a sizeable chunk of Gray Industries assets before we locked your DNA out of the accounts.”
“If you knew about that, why didn't you come after me?”
“Consider that payment for ridding us of a … sensitive problem.”
“Gray, you mean?”
“He had become a liability. It was already decided he had to go. Then you showed up and did the dirty work for us. Now tell me, Perez. What do you want?”
I consider it for a moment. “To be left in peace.” It's only when I say it out loud that I realise how much I want it.
“I can arrange that.”
I scowl at her.
“You can call off the dogs, just like that?” I snap my fingers.
“I can.”
“And what do I have to?”
“Help us find our man. And stop killing us.”
“Can't do that. I made a promise to someone.”
“Yes, we know about that. But don't you think you've killed enough? There are almost none of us left.”
“There's you.” I nod at Jagr. I nod at Soledad. “Her. The Cardinal.”
“And when you've killed us?”
“There will always be new immortals somewhere. I hear there are a lot on Earth.”
“But what will you do when you've killed all the old ones?” She squints, studying me with genuine interest. “Will you start killing innocent infants?”
She's got a point. I hadn't thought of that.
I clear my throat. “Well …”
“Can't we call it even, Perez? You've proved your point. You've honoured your promise.”
Perhaps I have. It's getting old, hunting and killing immortals. And I'm not getting any younger. I'm tired.
I cough. “No hard feelings?” I hope the pleading tone is only in my head.
“No hard feelings. Get in the car.”
Soledad peers at me through the open driver's side window.
“We have to go, boss. Clock's ticking.”
Jagr ignores her.
I chew my lower lip and spit clumps of dried blood on the floor.
“Think about it, Perez. You could help save the world again. Be a hero.”
“No, thanks. Been there, done that. Fuck all it did for me.”
She tilts her head and looks at me like something just occurred to her. “You think we are the bad guys here, Perez.”
“Something like that. You're from Earth, remember. We're raised on horror stories about you.”
“I know you people think of yourselves as frontier explorers. Making your destinies among the stars,” she makes sweeping gestures with her slender hands, “far away from Earth regulations. You paint us as the bogeymen, and I can understand that, but on the bottom line, we all want the same thing.”
“And what is that?”
“To make a better life for all humanity.”
“You believe that's what you're doing?”
Her eyes tell me 'yes'.
“Hm.” I spit more blood on the ground.
“Is that so hard to believe, Perez? You've been around the block far longer than me.”
Hey. I'm not that old.
“You know the world isn't black and white, Perez.”
I bark a harsh laugh at her words.
“What?”
“Someone spoke those words to me once. That was before I sealed him in a shuttle with a flesh-eating nanite cloud and sent him on a one-way trip to the Andromeda Galaxy.” I squint at her. “Is that how you see the world? As long as it helps you get ahead in the Race, anything goes?”
“It's time to pick a side, Perez. Do you stand with humanity, or do what you always do, and walk away?”
She has a way of prodding my sore spots. I don't always walk away.
Soledad glares at me from the car. “What's your problem, Perez?”
“My problem is I don't give a shit.”
“Oh, but you do,” Jagr replies. “I've studied your profile. You give a shit, and this is your chance to show it. Pip. Give the man his gun.”
Soledad holds out my pistol through the window.
“We're on the same side now, Perez. You'll be there only as an observer. We'll do all the heavy lifting. All you have to do is talk to Wagner, and that's it.”
I grab the gun and check the magazine. It's still loaded. “That's it? Talk to Wagner and we're done?” I slap the magazine back in place.
She can tell she's got me. “That's it.”
I scratch my chest with the gun. My clothes are crusty with blood.
Jagr cracks a smile. I like it when she smiles. “I'll even buy you a drink when this is over.”
Crap. She has studied my file.
“All right.” I open the passenger door and get in. The car smells like new cars have smelled since time immemorial. The heavy scent of leather and polymer always give me a headache. Jagr taps the roof and gets in. I place the gun on my lap for easy access if this turns out to be an elaborate trap.
Soledad starts the car and stamps on the accelerator. Tyres scream and I'm pressed hard into the seat. The ride we're on our way to meet waits for no man. Or woman.
Jagr twists around in her seat. “Was that what happened to him?”
“Who?”
“Gray. Was that how he …?”
I stare out the window as the empty warehouse speeds past. The memory burns in my mind. I know it's Meridian's chemistry responding to the images of the flaying and tormented Gray, but it still warms my guts. “Yup.”
“Gray was a rotten bastard, but shit.” Jagr sees the grin on my face and shivers. “You are a terrible man, Perez.”
I nod. She gets no argument from me there.
Her eyes linger and the moment stretches out, threatening to become uncomfortable. I continue to stare out the window, refusing to look at her. She tears her gaze away and faces forward again. I breathe a quiet sigh of relief. “Fuck,” she says and wipes a hand down her face, restoring her professional calm.
We shoot through the warehouse doors and out onto the broken and pitted asphalt of the street.
“Where are we going?”
A few lonely streetlights reflect in the car's shiny black paintwork.
“To the airport?”
There are no stars in the Bottoms. The ever-present mess of rusted pipes and cracked concrete known as the Ceiling makes sure of that.
Jagr has regained her composure and shakes her head in the rear-view mirror. Soledad twists the wheel, and we go screaming up a concrete ramp, heading for the upper levels of the city. “Not quite.”
Interesting.
Outside in the tunnel, the streetlights flicker, go dead and come back on again.
“Lots of power failures lately,” I remark and finger my gun.
“Are there? Haven't noticed.”
“I registered another drop in data connectivity,” Aeryn says.
“Hmm.” Here too. The world falls apart around us and no one even notices. A holiday on Nifelheim doesn't sound so bad anymore.
I study my newfound friends as the dirty streets of the Bottoms recede below.
The similarity between Jagr and Soledad is uncanny. They have the same cruel but attractive Slavic face and the same lean, fit build. Both women are the same age, about forty, give or take a few years. They even sound the same when they talk. Genetically identical. If one of them committed murder, the other could get executed based on the DNA evidence. You better hope your clones behave.
We scream out of a tunnel and enter the middle tiers of Masada. Patches of night sky become visible between the tall starscrapers. The streets are filled with people. There's another protest going on. A lot of Christ-Heads line the street, shaking crosses and chanting. They are all over the news these days. Not only on Elysium but all the settled planets. Something has them riled up. Probably semantics in some holy document or other. I couldn't care less.
“We're here,” Jagr announces.
What Are We Riding On?
We swing around the ground-level shops of an obsidian starscraper and drive out across a large parking lot. Unusually for Masada, this lot is open to the sky. It's framed by taller buildings stretching on into the sky. Hundreds of metres below are the Bottoms we just left, and hundreds of metres above are the penthouses and eyries of the elite, not quite visible through the smog of the city and the mist from the jungle surrounding Masada. The lot is empty except for a dark, ominous-looking, four-engine dropship of obvious Terran military design. It's big. Twenty metres long by eight wide, and four metres tall on its landing struts. Two stumpy wings extend from the craft with enormous swivel engines attached to the ends. The rear pair of engines are attached to the hull to allow all four engines to swing back and power the ship on high-speed assaults. A huge swivel-mounted Gatling gun hangs under each wing and one below the nose of the ship. Those things can pound a bunker to dust. The ship stands with its engines idling in the centre of the parking lot, illuminating the neighbourhood with its landing lights. The engines whip exhaust fumes and dust around the lot. Someone has got powerful friends. Kids hang out the windows of the surrounding residential blocks and stare at the ship. There are many adults too. Most of these people have never seen a real spaceship before, and I doubt even one of them has seen a warship. I always wanted to be a dropship pilot when I was a kid. They fly the toughest missions and boast the shortest life expectancy of all military pilots, but they also claim the biggest pay cheques. During the Corporate Wars, the dropship pilots had almost as many fans as the Goliaths.
Jagr turns around in her seat. “Now behave, Perez.”
“What, are we meeting your parents already?” This relationship moves a little too fast for me.
“Nope, you wouldn't want to meet them. Trust me.” There's a quick wrinkling of the skin at the corner of her eye. Was that a smile? When I look closer, it's gone.
Soledad drives the car through the swirling smoke, right up to the dropship and brakes. Hard. I bang my face on the back of her seat.
Always remember to wear a seatbelt, kids.
Warm fluid runs from my nose and I can taste salt and iron again. Damn it. I make sure to bleed all over the seat.
We exit the car and I shield my eyes against the dust whipping around the ship in the glare from the floodlights. The night is humid like a sauna, and the wind from the engines is a welcome addition. The toxic smell of jet fuel brings back memories of adventure and death.
“You've met Soledad.”
Jagr has to shout over the whine from the idling turbines. “She's our weapons expert, mechanic and medic. She can destroy anything and anyone and then patch 'em back up again.”
“Yeah, I've noticed,” I rub my nose. It's still bleeding feebly. Soledad leers at me through the haze.
Jagr waves her rifle in the general direction of the dropship. “Perez, meet the rest of the team.”
I squint through the light. Another woman is leaning against one of the landing struts, puffing on a cigarette. Her clothes flutter in the wind from the turbines.
Oh, great. I lick my teeth and spit blood on the asphalt. Another clone.
We walk up to the ship.
“That's all?” I glance around. “Three people? Isn't that a bit short for a special ops team?”
A brief hesitation from Jagr. She doesn't look at me. “There used to be more of us.”
“Where are they now?”
Ignoring my question, she points a slender finger at the new woman. “This is Braden. She's our aviator, and the best damn pilot I've ever flown with.”
Braden is taller than the others, but there's no mistaking they are clones. She wears a white, sleeveless hooded top and the same tight combat suit, pulled down and tied around her waist. Wide braces hold up the suit, and long black fingerless gloves with a lot of buckles with no discernible function cover her lower arms. She's a regular goth fashion icon. The top does a poor job of hiding the curves of her toned upper body, and the tight combat suit reveals another curve. There's a swelling bulge at her crotch.
