Sharon Lee: Adventures in the Liaden Universe

“And you think Kore knows.”

“Yes.”

“But Kore’s been taken by the chairman,” Midj pointed out, trying to keep the thought—and its implications—from reaching real nerve endings. “If he’s as ruthless as they say, he’s already cracked Kore’s head open and emptied out everything inside.” Including my name, my ship’s name, and the factthat I was coming for him. That did touch nerve, and she picked up her cup, swigging down the last of the cold coffee.

“The chairman tried to do exactly that,” Sambra Reallen said. “Mr. Zar’s defenses are formidable— also, as I discover from my study of the session transcript, he wasn’t asked the right question.”

“You got my name from the transcript, then.”

“No.” The Juntava shook her head. “I got your pinbeam receiver ID from the transcript. Mr. Zar could not be persuaded to part with your name, though he was obviously experiencing some ... discomfort for withholding the information.”

The receiver ID was enough to sink her—present company being evidence—but she’d made it extra easier for them by coming on-world—and the joke was on her, if she’d taken an honest warnaway for code.

“So, what do you want from me?” Might as well ask it straight out, though she thought she had an idea what it would be.

“I want you to pull him out of custody. I can provide you with his location, weapons if you need them, and a safe place to bring him to.”

Yup, that was it. Midj shook her head.

“And what do I get?”

The Juntava pushed the untouched sandwich away and leaned her elbows on the table.

“What do you want!”‘

Just like that: Name a price and the Juntavas would meet it. No problem. She felt a hot flash of fury, felt the words, I want my brother back rising and kept them behind her teeth with an effort. Sat for a couple of heartbeats, breathing. just that.

When she was sure she could trust her voice, she met the other woman’s bland eyes.

“What I want is Kore, free and in shape to leave, if that’s what he still wants. And I want us both to have safe passage out of here, and a guarantee that we won’t either of us be pursued by the Juntavas after.”

There was a pause.

“I could promise you these things,” Sambra Reallen said eventually, “but until I hear what Korelan Zar has to tell me—if he will tell me anything—I can’t know if my promise will hold air.”

She raised a hand, palm out. “I understand that you have no reason to love the Juntavas, Captain. The best I can promise at this point is that, if Chairman Trogar leaves the game, I will do my best to ensure that your conditions are met.”

About what she’d figured; as good as she was going to get, and no time to negotiate anyway, wit h ^^ggKore’s life on the line.

“Why hasn’t the chairman killed him?” she asked.

The Juntava shrugged. “It could be that the chairman thinks Korelan Zar still retains some potential for amusement.”

Right. Midj, sighed.

“I’ll need a diversion. If Kore’s high-level, then there are high-level people interested in him who’ll have to be drawn off.”

Sambra Reallen nodded. “I’ll call a department chair meeting.”

Midj blinked. “You can do that?”

The Juntava smiled, letting a glimmer of genuine amusement show. “Oh, yes,” she said, “I can do that.”

Getting out the door hadn’t been so hard after all, though there was going to be hell to pay if—well, there was going to be hell to pay; it wasn’t any use thinking there could be a different outcome to this.

He was sorry he wouldn’t be on hand to see the finish of it, since he’d been in on the beginning. It had been a grand, beautiful scheme, so logical. So—simple. Introduce a Justice system into Juntavas structure. Feed and nurture and protect it and its practitioners for twenty, thirty, fifty Standards—they hadn’t been sure of the timing, but hoped to see results within their lifetimes—easily that. Lately, he thought they’d been optimistic—and not only of the timing.

Still, he had a gun, courtesy of a guard even stupider than he was, and he knew where he was, and where he was going, more or less right down to his final breath. It was... freeing in a way. He felt at peace with himself, and with his purpose. If he could kill Grom Trogar, then he could depart as happy as a man filled full of pellets could be, and the plan—his plan, that he’d given up his life of small happinesses to see through—would have a second chance at continuing.

It was convenient that his holding room was in the chairman’s building. Convenient that he had committed the layout of that building, along with several others, to memory years ago. He knew where the secret stair was and the code that opened the hatch. He eased the panel shut behind him and began to climb.

He paused to catch his breath just below the fourteenth landing. Only one more landing, if his memory could be relied upon—and since he’d already decided that it could why worry about it now? The hatch opened in what used to be a supply closet in the chairman’s suite. He steeled himself for the unpleasant truth that he might need to kill blameless people before he got to his target. He wasn’t an assassin; even killing Mr. Trogar himself, much as it was needed, wasn’t going to be a home joy. The important thing was not to freeze, not to hesitate. To acquire his target and shoot. He might only get one shot, and it was important to make it count.

Leaning against the wall, he once again went over his stolen gun. It was a good gun, loaded, well-oiled, with an extra clip of pellets riding in the handle. The guard had taken good care of his weapon.

Points for the—

Above him and to the left, where the ongoing flight angled off the landing, there was a noise. A very slight noise, not immediately repeated, as if someone had scuffed a boot against the edge of a step.

He went to one knee on the step, raised the gun in two hands, and waited, breathing slow. Easy ...

Another scuff, and a dim shadow on the dim wall of the landing. His finger tightened on the trigger. Silence—

And a sudden appalling rush of sound, as a dark figure hurtled down, hitting the landing flat-footed, gun out and pointing at his head. He had a moment to feel anger, then—

“Kore!”

He blinked. Stared up into a pale face and dark brown eyes, short dark hair showing a blaze of gray going back from the temple.

“Midj?” Slowly, he lowered the gun. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Back atcha.” She lowered her own weapon and stood, a little stiffly, he thought. “But it’s gonna hafta to wait. I’m supposed to be getting you out of here, to a safe place.”

He frowned. “Safe by whose standards?”

“Woman by the name of Sambra Reallen.”

He thought about it, shook his head. “Can’t trust her.”

“Can’t not trust her,” she countered. “She picked me up in port. Could’ve just as easy been the chairman, the way I hear it. She wants him gone and she don’t want to ‘Jinx the High Judge’s play, if he has a play. Which you’re supposed to tell her.”

He snorted. “She wouldn’t believe me.” He thought again. “How were you supposed to get me out of here?”

“Same way I came,” she said, jerking her head up the stairs. “We walk up to the roof. There’s a monowing waiting to lift us out.”

“OK,” he said, and came to his feet. He smiled, then, and it felt like his soul was stretched so wide it might burst a seam.

“Midj. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

They were two steps below the fifteenth landing when the alarm sounded. Kore threw himself onto landing, fingers moving rapidly on the code bar. The panel slid open as Midj came up beside him.