Others had had one eye sewn up too, and one man, an officer by his uniform, had had his mouth and both his eyes surgically closed. He had to be led around the Car by a sighted helper and his only mode of communication was through the Order’s private touch-code, the sender’s fingertips playing over the back of the receiver’s hand as though on a fleshy keyboard.
A Land Car. She remembered Miz mentioning he’d had some cargo stolen from one, but that had been on Speyr, in bandit country. This was Golter, and nobody attacked a Court-licensed vehicle unless they were suicidal or mad. Even Geis couldn’t help her now.
The bounty hunter son came to see her after dawn. Close up he was a pasty-faced, unhealthy-looking individual. He grimaced as he sat down on the fold-down seat across the soft-floored padded cell from her. He kept a stun-pistol pointed at her. She sat cross-legged on the bunk, dressed in the Land Car’s prison overalls. She still had a headache caused by whatever gas they’d used in the grenade.
“I just wanted you to know there’s nothing personal in this,” the man told her, grinning feebly. He was in his late twenties, maybe, thin and clean-shaven.
“Oh,” she said, “thanks.” She didn’t bother attempting to disguise the bitterness in her voice.
“I know all about you,” the man said, coughing. “I always read up all I can on our marks, and I kinda admire you, really.”
“This is all making me feel a lot better,” she told him. “If you admire me so fucking much, let me go.”
He shook his head. “Can’t do that,” he said. “Too much at stake. Told the Huhsz we have you; they’re expecting to trade at Yada. If we don’t turn up with you, they’re going to be awwwful peeved.” He grinned.
She looked at him, drawing her head back a little. “Get out of here, you cretin.”
“You can’t talk to me like that, lady,” he said, scowling. “I can stay and I can talk all I want. I could use this gun,” he said, gesturing with the stun-pistol. He glanced at the door, then back at her. “I could gas you again; I could do anything I wanted to you.”
“Try it, fuckwit,” she said.
The man sneered. He stood up. “Yeah, proud aristo, eh?” He held his hands out. The skin on them was angry and blistered. “I held the Passports in my hands, lady. I seen them. I seen what’s going to kill you. I’ll be thinking of you and all that pride when they put you to death; slowly, I hope.”
She was frowning.
The man buzzed the door. It opened. “Good long journey to Yadayeypon, lady,” he said.
“Wait,” she said, holding up one hand.
He ignored her. “Plenty of time to think about what them Huhsz’ll do to you when they get you.”
“Wait!” she said as he went out of the door. She jumped off the bunk. “Did you say-”
“Bye,” the bounty hunter said, as the deaf-mute Son of Depletion outside closed the door again.
The Lesson Learned rolled across the savannah of the Chey Nar peninsula all day, heading north on ancient drove-ways between the crop fields. By the evening the Land Car had reached the foothills of the Cathrivacian Mountains and started the long detour round them that avoided a heavily tolled pass, heading up through the light forests of Undalt and Lower Tazdecttedy, rising on its suspension to brush the tops of the small trees with its underbody as it climbed through the clouds for the plateau of High Marden.
Traffic stopped on the Shruprov-Takandra turnpike the following morning while the Car passed over it, each set of wheels raising themselves above the turnpike fence and then setting down again to rumble over the road itself.
Somebody in the halted traffic-there was usually at least one-decided to have some sport by jumping the lights and driving underneath the Land Car, timing their approach so that they passed between the sets of wheels. The driver on this occasion failed; his small car caught the edge of one of the Lesson Learned’s nearside tyres and spun, bouncing off the inside of the wheels on the other side and ending up underneath the edge of the Land Car; the the Lesson Learned’s tyres rolled on over the automobile, crushing and compressing it into a half-metre high sandwich of junk.
The Land Car didn’t stop or even slow down; the Order had indemnities against that sort of thing.
It forded the Vounti River near Ca-Blay in a rain storm and turned south-west, setting a course that would take it across the plateau towards Mar Scarp and the downs and valleys of Marden County on the borders of Yadayeypon Province.
They brought her meals on trenchers or disposable plates. She tried to get the guards to bring her something to write with but failed; she made ink from some nuts that had garnished a meal and used one of her bite-sharpened nails to write on the other side of Miz’s note, then put it in the door slot just before that evening’s meal. It was still there when her meal appeared. She buzzed the door, but nobody answered. She checked every part of the cell; there didn’t seem to be any way out without help or equipment. There was no screen. She spent a lot of time just looking out of the small window.
The bounty hunter had said he’d held the Passports in his hands. And he had looked ill. She had known for some time what the symptoms of radiation sickness were; it had been one of the first things the doc had told them about when they’d joined the anti-Tax Navy.
There had been a fashion, millennia ago, for assassination by plutonium amongst the governing classes of the system-pens, medals and articles of clothing had been the favoured delivery systems-and for centuries nobody in a position of power would ever be without a personal radiation monitor, but the practice had been abandoned, banned and outlawed in that order long ago, and only a few Corps, administrations and old Houses with long memories still bothered with such precautions.
It had not even occurred to her, Miz or any of the others that the Huhsz would simply ignore the fact the Passports had been irradiated. She hadn’t thought to tell anybody.
No wonder the Huhsz missions had been able to move so swiftly. They hadn’t bothered with any containment mechanism; they had simply taken the Passports round as normal, and let the energy-broadcasting Holes they contained infect whoever came into range with their soaked tribute of ancient poison.
But why hadn’t Geis noticed? He seemed to have been following all that had gone on pretty closely; why hadn’t he spotted what was going on? She couldn’t understand. He must have known…
It didn’t matter. Whatever had happened, it came back to her. She had done it again. She had caused-was causing-people to die of radiation. Again. Eight years after Lip City and the Lazy Gun’s self-destruction.
“Cursed,” she whispered, when she realised. She thought-hoped-she had probably spoken too softly for the cell’s microphone to pick up.
Cursed, she thought, shaking her head and turning to the tiny barred window again, refusing to re-live that instant of realisation in the dawn-lit hotel room eight years ago, when bliss had been forever contaminated by guilt.
The Land Car moved more slowly in High Marden, where the landscape was cut and parcelled into small units, the countryside was littered with villages and towns and there were many detours to be made round both those and estates and enclaves that would charge the Car a toll.
The Lesson Learned was continually crossing walls in Marden. When the walls were especially high, the big wheels underneath her cell were lifted so far up they blocked her view.
The villages and hamlets passed by; houses were white and coloured dots speckling the green hillsides. The Land Car took to rivers twice, bumping and twisting down their courses, ducking under bridges, splashing through shallows and bridging over the deeper pools, rigid links between the carriages supporting each one in turn.