Charles Stross - The Clan Corporate

"Let me help-"

"No." She managed to half sit up, then discovered her corset wouldn't let her. "Yes." What the fuck are you doing here? she wondered.

A hand under her left armpit gave her the support she needed. Her right hip hurt and her back and stomach felt bruised. She stood gasping for a minute, then turned and stared, too tired and bewildered to feel any surprise. He was wearing hiking gear and what looked like an army-surplus camo jacket under a merchant's robe, obviously picked up on his way here. It was simply the final ironic joke to cap a whole day of petty horrors. "Tell me what you're doing here," she said, trying to keep her tone level. Think of the devil and he'll drop by to say hello…

"I don't know," he said shakily. "It wasn't meant to go like this. I was just sent here to have a quiet chat with you, gunfights weren't on the agenda." He stared at the body and swallowed.

"The agenda," she said tartly, forcing herself to ignore it. "Are you still working for the DEA? Would this happen to be their idea?"

He cleared his throat. "I'm still a DEA agent, yes. In a manner of speaking. But there are chain-of-command issues." He shook his head. "Any idea why that guy was trying to kill you?"

She felt an inane giggle trying to work its way up her throat, stifled it ruthlessly. Three years older, three years wiser. The last time she'd seen Mike she'd told him to scratch her name out of his address book. She'd been half-convinced he was a psychopath. Now she'd met some real psychopaths and she wasn't so sure. "People just sort of keep trying to kill me around here. It seems to be the national sport."

"Poor Miriam." His tone was mock-sympathetic, but when she looked at him sharply his expression was anything but light. "I was sent here to have a little talk with you. Our intelligence was that this was a royal garden party: do they always blow the place up for kicks?"

"No. But the king was supposed to be announcing a royal wedding." She glanced over her shoulder again. "The groom's brother seems to have taken exception."

"If this is their idea of a wedding party, I'd hate to see a divorce. Who're the happy couple?"

"That's the groom, over here." She nodded at the window, at the darkness and flames beyond. "This was meant to be my engagement." That's right, oversimplify the situation for him, she mocked herself. "Only it seems to have turned into the excuse for a coup. I reckon this bastard was one of Egon's thugs."

"I'm sorry."

"No, that's all right," she said numbly. "It was an arranged marriage. They like to deal with uppity women by marrying them off." She stared at him fixedly. I can't believe I'm standing in a burning palace talking to Mike Fleming! "So this is DEA business, right? I guess Matthias spilled his guts in return for protection?"

"DEA-Matthias-" He stared at her tensely. A thought struck Miriam: hoping he wouldn't notice, she clasped her hands together in front of her, trying to unobtrusively unfasten one cuff.

"How well did you know Matt?" Mike asked.

"He tried to kill me, and murdered my-" She bit her tongue. "It's a long story."

"I'll bet."

The sleeve was coming loose. She looked him in the eye. "Well?"

"Are you happy here?" he asked cautiously. "Because you don't look it…"

"Am I-" The laugh from hell was back, trying to get out again. "The fuck I am! If you can get me away from here-" Her voice broke. "Please, Mike! Can you?" She hated the tremor of desperation but she couldn't stop it. "I'm going mad!"

"I-I-oh shit."

Her heart fell. "What is it?"

"I." His voice was small. "I don't think I can."

"Why not?"

"We're moving in over here," he said, in a voice that sounded like he was trying to figure out how to give her some bad news. "We need world-walkers."

"You've come to the right place. Except the folks outside want them all dead; I think this could be a civil war breaking out, you know?"

"We need world-walkers." He looked troubled. "But what the organization is doing with them-I'm sorry, but I've got to ask-"

"Yes, I'm a goddamn world-walker!" Miriam vented. "That's my mother you want to blame-she ran away decades ago, then they came and fetched her back and found me. Why do you want to know?"

He seemed to relax, as if coming to a decision. "I've got to go now," he said.

"Can you put me in the Witness Protection Program?" she asked.

"I'd love to-I'd like nothing better than to get you into a safe house and a debriefing program. But listen, I'd also say-and I'm not supposed to-you should wait a bit. They're using world-walkers as mules, Miriam. I mean, the folks I work for now, big-hat federal spooks. I was supposed to try and convince you to work as an informer for us, if that's possible, but I guess this shit means it's not…"

"It wouldn't have worked anyway," she said heavily. "They don't trust me."

He paused. "I can't say I'm surprised. But at least I can report that. Identify you as a sympathizer, I mean. That'll make things easier later on." A longer pause. "If you can get over to Boston, do you still have my home number?"

"Damn," she said bleakly, staring at him. The old Mike would never have given a smuggler an even break. "It's that bad, is it?"

He nodded minutely. "There's a turf war inside the bureaucracy. Cops like me are on the down side at present. Things are really bad. Matt created quite a mess."

"I can imagine." Miriam certainly could. She'd brainstormed a lot of things a determined world-walker could do; like reach the places other terrorists couldn't reach, and escape to do it over again. If the government thought they were dealing with more than just a ring of supernatural drug smugglers… "Listen, this wasn't my idea." She thought about the locket. "Do you need a lift out of here?"

"No." He turned, his back to the window. "This was supposed to be a quick in and out, with maybe a friendly chat in the middle. I've got my own way out of this. Take my advice, Miriam: get the hell away from these people. They're pure poison. Go to ground, then phone me in a week or so and I'll see if there's a way to get you into the program without the spooks shutting you down."

"Easier said than done," she said bitterly, her shoulders shaking. They've got me over a barrel, they've got Mom-and this seemed to be her night for meeting unexorcised ghosts. "They've got my mom."

"Oh." He paused. "That makes things difficult, doesn't it?" He took a deep breath. "I've got to go now." He glanced at the locket she was dangling openly. "On foot, through the shit going down outside. Look, you get the hell out of here. Use your magic whatever. Call me. I won't be back for a week or so, but I'll see what I can do."

"I'll remember that."

"Right." He began to back toward the window. "Oh, and stay down until you world-walk. I don't want you getting shot by accident."

"Okay." She held her hands up.

Some impulse made her ask, "Do you still have the hots for me, Mike?"

"In your dreams."

Then he was gone. Miriam began to notice the screams and moans from the building, the pops and crackling and quiet roar of fire. And found she could smell smoke on the nighttime breeze.

I am in a burning building, she thought madly. The king's just been shot. The man I was supposed to marry is dead, there's a bomb behind me, the crown prince is holding a coup and shooting world-walkers. She tittered in disbelief. And not only did James Lee make a pass, but I just ran into an ex-boyfriend who's working for the DEA.

She raised a fist to her mouth, the locket clenched tightly inside it. If I run away, they'll think Egon's men got me, she thought slowly, trying to gather her scattered wits. That means Mom's off the hook! And-

If she could remember Mike's phone number, she could defect. There was something happening there, okay. It had already started, so it wouldn't be her fault if she sought sanctuary, the feds were already able to reach the Clan at home. "I could do it," she told herself. "All I have to do is world-walk away from here. Then pick up the telephone."