Minder Rising: Central Galactic Concordance Book 2 Page 21

  They must be close to the sector block she’d mentioned earlier. “No, but we could try that street coming up.” He waggled his wrist. “I’ll check for public stations.”

  He busied himself on his percomp, monitoring the incoming reports. He took the opportunity to insert a false record of someone reporting they’d found a lost twelve-year-old boy with brown skin who said his name was Seezay. He added coordinates that were north of the condo, hoping they’d think Derrit might have been going against the crowd.

  “Let’s try this way.” Imara pulled on his elbow. “I think there’s something behind that ground hauler.” As they turned down the walkway, she held out her hand to Derrit. “I think your face is clean enough, matalino binata.”

  Derrit put the bandanna in her hand, grinning. “Clever, huh?”

  “Yes, you are.” She folded the bandanna and put it back in her pocket. “Let’s see what Uncle Rackkar’s done for us.” She slowed a little and looked back, so Lièrén did, too. All he could see was the angled side of the big ground hauler that had the Spires city logo. With a wave of her hand across the biometric reader, the forward cab door opened, and she motioned Derrit to get in. Lièrén hesitated, then followed.

  She dropped her backpack in a bin and threw herself into the center driver’s seat. Her hands were moving like lightning across the control panel. Lièrén looked around for some place to sit, but it wasn’t intended to be a passenger vehicle. He didn’t think he’d ever been in a ground hauler.

  “Agent Sòng, back here,” said Derrit. He grinned excitedly as he flipped down two panels that turned out to be jump seats, similar to those found on interstellar ships. “Strap in, ‘cause it’s gonna be a fusion ride.”

  Lièrén shoved his gym bag into a holdfast, then pulled the seat’s webbing across him, barely getting it connected before the ground hauler accelerated quickly. He hadn’t known ground haulers could move that fast or quietly. He’d always assumed they’d be as slow and noisy as they looked.

  Two smooth turns, and they were on surprisingly clear roadways. They must be headed north, or they’d be running into the TSAC march. He checked the time. He’d been away from the Testing Center office for close to two hours. He sent an apologetic ping from his prepaid percomp to tell the front desk he was delayed by the TSAC march and would be back as soon as he could.

  On his CPS percomp, he caught up on the recent communications. “Trouble,” he said loud enough for Imara to hear. “Ghisolfi figured out Derrit left the march. They’re getting traffic pattern analysis now.”

  “Damn. We’re off grid, but only for six more blocks. Anyone smart will see the hole.”

  Presumably, the unnaturally clear course they were taking. She waved a hand on the console. “Rackkar, I need Plan C in five… make that six minutes. Sending coordinates now. Backfill behind me if you can.”

  “Rackkar’s bad with numbers,” said Derrit. “That’s why she always sends them direct.”

  “Who is Rackkar?”

  “One of Nanay’s crew chiefs. They started on the same day. He looks scary, like he wants to detonate you, but he’s got a melty center.”

  Lièrén nodded, then went back to his percomp. He was dismayed by the number of resources the Testing Center was freeing up to hunt down one twelve-year-old boy. The data manager hub received an automated request from Ghisolfi to append Imara Sesay’s address in a tip to the Spires police, telling them a fugitive was holding her at gunpoint. It was clever—even if Derrit wasn’t there, it would keep her pinned down.

  “Imara, the Testing Center wants the police to visit your home,” he said. “What coordinates should I send them?”

  “Hell, don’t…. wait, I know.” She rattled off coordinates, and he dutifully entered them.

  “Where did we send them?”

  “You remember that High Command general who said the minders killed last year in the riots were part of a terrorist minder uprising? He’s got a home office in Half Spires.”

  Lièrén’s smile faded when he went back to monitoring. “More trouble.”

  “Dammit. What now?”

  “They’re sending a traffic override to stop all ground haulers. One of the surveillance cameras caught Derrit’s back. They think he’s with a man in a hooded rain jacket. Me.”

  “Farking hell!” She was still a moment, then waved the console again. “Rackkar, I need two aircars at the transfer point.” She listened a moment. “No, Derrit’s staying with me.”

  “Imara,” Lièrén said urgently, “I only know how to fly shuttles.”

  She gave him a startled look, then turned forward. “Rackkar, change of plans. One aircar and as many cabs as you can route. I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

  Lièrén might not be a fixer or know how to operate aircars, but he could do something about her cashflow issues. He whipped out his prepaid percomp and, in thirty seconds, set up an anonymous account. “What’s your ping ref?” he asked. She rattled it off to him, and he set it to the account. “I’m sending you an account code. It’ll cover the cost of the cabs. Passphrase is the name of my cousin’s restaurant.”

  “Incoming!” she shouted, and something slammed into the side of the ground hauler, knocking it off axis for a few seconds. The seat webbing cut into his thighs. “They’ve got a farking tank?!” She regained control of the ground hauler, then slammed on the brakes. The back end of the hauler started to drift alarmingly, but apparently, that’s what she wanted it to do, because she steered with it, then applied forward power. “Let’s see you make that turn, chitsiru!”

  An awful crunching sound came from behind them, and a flash of fire licked the side window. Lièrén was very, very glad he couldn’t see what was happening. Interstellar jack wars were considerably less stressful than this.

  “Derrit, come here.” Imara sounded cool and collected. Derrit disconnected the webbing and ran forward. “When I tell you, hit the grid switch. Lièrén!”

  He fumbled with the webbing and stood. “They’ll shut us down fast, so we have to rig the door first. Bring that pry bar.” She pointed to the wall.

  He pulled it out of the holdfast and took it to her. She pointed to the lower corner of the sliding door. “Soon as it opens, jam that in there.” She pressed a plate. “Sesay Imara one four zero dot five six. Pause. Movement sensor override. Confirm.”

  A light blinked. She waved her hand over the biometric. The door slid open, and he used all his strength to slam the pry bar straight into the track. A warning alarm started wailing.

  “Grab your bag,” she yelled over the wind noise, as she reached for hers. He ran back and pulled it out of the holdfast and slung it over his shoulder. “Derrit, brace yourself and hit the switch!”

  The ground hauler shuddered under their feet as it began a rapid but controlled deceleration. Lièrén bent his knees and leaned against the pull of the momentum, then took cautious, sliding steps toward the door.

  The ground hauler hadn’t finished stopping by the time she was jumping out, then turning to catch Derrit. Lièrén followed, pulling up his hood as he ran after them. Up ahead, he could see a cluster of at least twenty cabs, some secure, some commercial, some tourist. Judging from the knot of angry, shouting people, Imara’s friend Rackkar had somehow hijacked cabs in mid-flight and converged them on the intersection.

  Lièrén slowed to a fast walk, letting Imara and Derrit get ahead of him, mindful of the fact that he might be a magnet for trouble. He reached in his deep pant pocket and slid the shockstick out, then thumbed it on. The end extended downward, and a little light signaled its ready status. He activated his sifter senses, watching for flaring talents and the haze of violence. Derrit’s shields made him a black hole. Luckily, he hadn’t extended it to Imara, though he’d probably wanted to.

  Suddenly, to the right, he felt violence and a flaring ramper and shielder. It was Ghisolfi, even if he couldn’t see the man yet. How the hell had he gotten here so quickly? Lièrén let his talent guide his direction to
intercept Ghisolfi while trying to keep an eye on Derrit and Imara at the same time.

  Finally, he saw Ghisolfi, who was looking at something in his hand, then up, then back to his hand. A pedestrian jostled Ghisolfi, and Lièrén saw he was holding a tracker. It wasn’t standard issue, so it was probably unauthorized mercenary tech. It was leading him straight to Imara and Derrit.

  Lièrén could have kicked himself for being so stupid. They’d put a tracer in Derrit’s jacket for insurance. Fortunately, Ghisolfi was so intent on his tech toy and the hunt that he forgot to shield and pay attention to what was behind him. Lièrén slid into his wake, waited for a clump of people to pass, then jabbed Ghisolfi’s knee hard with the shockstick. The stunned leg collapsed and Ghisolfi tumbled forward, the tracker flying forward. Lièrén dropped the shockstick and bent over Ghisolfi.

  “Ecco, lascia che ti aiuti, testa di cazzo,” he said quietly. Let me help you, dickhead. He flooded Ghisolfi’s brain with happy endorphins, which made it much harder for his rage-fueled ramper talent to operate. He got a chuckling Ghisolfi to his feet, then gave him a gentle push toward a cab.

  “I think he’s chemmed,” said Lièrén to the only woman who’d noticed anything. He shrugged one shoulder and frowned. “I told him to go home and sleep it off.” She nodded and turned away.

  Lièrén casually picked up the shockstick and started to turn it off, then had a better idea. He took a few steps forward and stopped, then dropped the shockstick so it landed directly on the tracker Ghisolfi had been holding. They destroyed each other with a satisfying electrical crackle.

  He’d lost sight of Imara and Derrit, and he needed to tell them about the tracer. Suddenly, a huge, ugly man stepped in his way. Lièrén looked up.

  “Looking for someone?” His voice sounded like a gravel pit, and his fist tightened around a spanner wrench.

  Lièrén started to shake his head even as he flared his sifter talent again, then hesitated. “Are you Rackkar?”

  “Yeah. Come with me.” He spun and plunged into the crowd. People wisely stepped aside once they got a look at Rackkar’s snarling face. The big man led Lièrén to a grounded secure cab. A lanky black man nodded at Rackkar. “That him?”

  “Nah, Wallo, he’s the farkin’ Polly Lamby. Of course it’s him. Strap bag, pirate jacket, Chinese, knew my name.”

  An older woman wearing coveralls came around the corner of the cab. “That’s Dalai Lama, ziftbrain.” She nodded to Lièrén. “They’re back there.”

  Lièrén followed her direction and saw Imara and Derrit standing in front of a nondescript aircar. Derrit saw him first, and he drew a big breath to speak. Fortunately, Imara caught him in time and put a gentle hand over his mouth. “He sees you. No need to shout.”

  “You’re okay!” he whispered, then grinned.

  “Yes,” Lièrén said. “I stopped to help a man up who had fallen.”

  Imara raised an eyebrow, apparently intuiting there might have been more to it than that.

  He pointed to Derrit. “Our recent playmates put a tracer on Derrit’s jacket. Best to leave the whole thing here.”

  Derrit looked a little frightened as he rapidly unsealed the jacket and started pulling it off. He handed the jacket to his mother, then turned back to Lièrén. “Can I keep the hat? I like the colors.”

  Lièrén smiled. “Yes, of course. I’m pleased you like my small farewell gift.” He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep himself from grabbing them both into a tight hug. They meant a great deal to him, and they weren’t out of the comet trail yet. There were more things he needed to do to ensure their safety. “I’ll be missed if I don’t get back soon, and that will bring even more playmates.”

  Imara’s smile faltered, and she put her hands on Derrit’s shoulders. “We owe you everything. Thank you.”

  “It was an honor. And thank you. You’ve given me more than you know.” He gave them each a short, respectful bow. “Please give my regards to Rayle, and to your admirable crew.”

  He kept his face serene and his body language relaxed, even though walking away from them again was ripping his heart to ice-laden shreds.

  CHAPTER 22

  * Planet: Concordance Prime * GDAT 3238.225 *

  Imara shook her head and pointed to Derrit’s head. “You won’t need that on the ship. It doesn’t rain in space.” Derrit made a face, but pulled the hat off. She’d told him several times to pack it, but somehow, it never seemed to end up in his luggage. After she’d taken the precaution of darkening and trimming his distinctive hair, he’d been wearing Lièrén’s silver-blue rain hat any time he thought someone might see him. She didn’t know if he was ashamed of his haircut or liked being a pirate.

  The last four days had uprooted their lives dramatically, and the changes were still coming. After escaping the “Autocab Apocalypse,” as the Spires newstrends called it, she and Derrit had hidden for a day in the tiny Rim apartment of a friend of Rayle’s, and stayed in a new place every night.

  After the Testing Center agents had packed her into the prepaid secure cab that had taken her home, she’d packed everything she and Derrit would need to live on the road for at least a month, and spent the next twelve hours making plans, arrangements, contingencies, and converting everything she could to cashflow, because she needed every resource she could get her hands on.

  After what Lièrén had told her about the Testing Center practices, she knew she’d have to prepare for war. Her only advantages were speed and unpredictability, which is why she’d been learning to use her talents in every spare moment. She had enlisted Derrit for that, getting him to look up the various talents and come up with techniques for her to try. She made a deal for a used aircar that she could fix when it broke down. She and Derrit would move to the other side of the continent, if necessary, and take cashflow-only day labor jobs so they wouldn’t starve, and stay in the shadows until the CPS forgot about them.

  Rayle’s call last night had given her an option that not even the great forecaster Ayorinn himself could have anticipated.

  “I won the lottery!” Rayle was bouncing up and down with excitement, meaning his head went in and out of the holo view.

  Rayle must have found a new lover. “That’s wonderful. What’s his name?”

  “No, no, no, the lottery lottery. Remember those people who tipped me in lottery tickets? The Argosy Planetary Jackpot?”

  “Which one was that? You get lottery tickets about once a week.” She loved Rayle, but she still had a dozen details to take care of.

  “The frontier planet homestead lottery. I’m giving it to you.” He beamed at her in delight.

  “You’re… what?” She sat down quickly and stared at the holo. “You can’t… You could sell it for megacreds and never have to worry about rent again. Hell, you could start your own dance company.”

  Rayle shook his head. “Non-transferrable for cash. I’m only allowed to use it myself, and that won’t happen, because there’s no place to dance on frontier planets, or give it away, and it has to be to a person or a family, not a business or a charity.”

  “What kind of screwy rules are those? It’s probably a scam.”

  “That’s what I thought, so I asked my brother to check it out.” His brother, the stuffy finance king in New Geneva, who Rayle only reluctantly talked to once a year for propriety’s sake. “It’s granite. Some exploration scout from sixty or seventy years ago thought poor people should have a chance at homesteads, and she didn’t want them tempted by the money. You’d have to follow the same rules if you accept it.”

  “You have other friends…”

  Rayle shook his head, his expression becoming serious. “They don’t need it. You do. Let me do this for you and your son.”

  She was silent for a long moment. “I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”

  “You can repay me by being happy.” An impish smile crossed his face. “And inviting me to your new-home blowout bash, and nursing me through the hangover, and introdu
cing me to the best-looking men in the neighborhood, and teaching me to evade a tank in a ground hauler.”

  Her maneuver had been caught on high-def vid. Her authorized road-crew ground hauler had cleared the turn with only a meter to spare. The “observer only” military tank had lost control and destroyed an entire sector block. Central Command said the incident was under investigation. The CPS was blustering. The city was outraged. Journalists were in heaven.

  It was idiotic to spit in the eye of fate, her grandmother used to say. “I accept your incredibly generous gift. Tell me what we need to do…”

  Derrit’s voice brought her back to the present. “Are we going to eat when we get to the space station?”

  “Yes, the sandwiches are in my backpack.” From what her customers said, space station food was expensive and inedible. She hoped the meals on the interstellar ship the lottery foundation arranged would be better. It was a charter, so she couldn’t find any details on it.

  They were waiting for Rayle, who was bringing a new percomp that her friends had all chipped in to buy. The CPS agents had stopped pinging them for her whereabouts a couple of days ago, but she had no doubt communications and movements were being monitored. Which was why she and Derrit were meeting Rayle in the maintenance loading area of a quiet transfer hub in the Rim. From there, she and Derrit would take a few hops to the flitterport where she’d booked a last-minute cheap shuttle to the space station. Thank Neptune their family name was as common as sand, and her cashflow account was flush from selling the aircar for a profit, after she’d fixed its annoying whine.

  A luxury secure autocab approached from the south, right on time, and slid into the clamps. She pulled Derrit back with her into the shadows and extended her talents. She knew right away it wasn’t Rayle in the cab.

  Lièrén stepped out onto the dock.

  Derrit looked up at her with entreaty in his eyes. She nodded, and he launched himself like a rocket toward Lièrén and wrapped himself around the man like an octopus.