Haze hesitates, not knowing what to answer. ‘Stairs,’ he says finally. ‘And lights. I didn’t climb all the way.’
The lights start after twenty paces. It goes: walk-through wall, one twist of stairs into darkness, and then little glow bulbs that hang from the ceiling, giving off a greenish light. I’ve seen them before, on Paradise, the prison planet where General Jaxx sent me once as a joke.
The steps are worn enough to tell me the tunnelling isn’t recent. And the glow bulbs, that come on as Neen and I get near and turn off as we leave, tell me there’s a power source somewhere.
While most of my crew huddle for warmth round a fire made from roots, in a cave on some godforsaken planet settled by ex-humans, there is a power source strong enough to run chameleon camouflage and light a spiral of stairs.
It does nothing for my temper.
‘Go back,’ I tell Neen. ‘Get the others.’
‘And Franc?’
‘Obviously.’
Having saluted, he slips away.
I sit so long that the light above me switches itself off, and remains off until Neen and the others return.
We climb in silence.
My old lieutenant would tell me the lights are saying something deep, about life, light, darkness, and death. But then he was full of shit.
We climb, and keep climbing.
The air gets warm and the steps become ceramic. There is paint on the walls now, and a door that looks new. At least, it looks recently replaced, because the metal frame around it is dark and pitted, while the door itself is shiny.
It is unlocked.
There’s carpet on the other side.
‘Take point,’ I tell Neen. ‘And take this.’
He catches the distress pistol from the plane. As I watch, he breaks it open and drops out the flare, checks the barrel and slots the flare back into place. He toggles a safety switch, and then snaps the pistol shut. He does all this quietly and I notice his breathing has steadied.
Neen is a natural. That’s why he’s my sergeant.
Not his fault I’m angry, not theirs . . .
And I will keep my fury in check around them, provided they shut up, do what they’re told, and have the sense to stay out of my way.
‘Me second,’ I say, thinking through the order. ‘Haze third, Rachel fourth, Shil takes rear.’ One less thing for Neen to worry about if we hit trouble. And we are going to, because I’m going to make damn sure we do.
‘Take Franc,’ I tell Rachel.
Lifting the body onto her shoulder, Rachel climbs in stubborn silence. At the next landing, Haze offers to swap. Rachel shakes her head and he doesn’t ask again. When we near the top, I know what I am going to find.
This has U/Free written all over it.
‘Ready?’
Neen nods.
‘On my count.’
I hold up five fingers and reach for the door, not quite touching the handle. When the count hits two, I close my hand round the knob and twist.
The door is unlocked. There’s no alarm.
Their arrogance is staggering.
Zero . . .
At my nod I throw open the door and Neen goes through, pistol drawn and sweeping the room. Three people, two men and one woman. The woman I already know, the men I hate on sight. ‘See,’ says one. ‘Told you.’
The other smiles.
Only to lose his smile when Neen stamps towards him.
Hooking out the man’s feet, my sergeant shoulder-slams him to the ground and drops on top of him. When Neen stops moving, his distress pistol is tight against the stranger’s right eye.
‘Move,’ says Neen. ‘And I’ll fuck you.’
As the woman steps forward, Neen tightens his trigger finger.
She stops, turns to me, saying, ‘Sven, enough. You know there’s-’
‘Whose idea was this?’
Her gaze catches mine and Paper Osamu’s smile falters.
‘It was my idea,’ says the man behind her. ‘Jaxx said you were resourceful. I wanted to be certain.’ He’s tall, dressed in one of those long robes the U/Free wear to impress lesser races with their casual restraint.
‘My corporal is dead,’ I tell him.
He looks at me, glances at Paper. ‘What’s a corporal?’ he asks.
A single step takes me to where he stands. He’s fast, but I’m faster, and I do this for a living. Head-butting him, I grab his skull and twist until his neck is just short of breaking point and he shits himself.
‘A corporal comes above a trooper and below a sergeant,’ I say. ‘Have you any fucking idea how hard it is to find someone that good with a knife?’
Of course he hasn’t.
‘Fuckwit.’
The last thing he sees is my smile.
After he’s dead, I boot him anyway. My first breaks ribs, the second ruptures his heart. I have no idea what the third does, other than land with a wet thud.
‘Sven . . .‘
‘Shut it.’
Paper Osamu opens her mouth to protest and closes it when I jab my finger at Franc’s body. ‘You did that.’
She shakes her head.
‘Take this,’ I tell Rachel, tossing her a blade. ‘If she opens her mouth again, cut her throat.’
‘My pleasure, sir.’
Their observation room is large, floored with marble that is warm to the touch. It has these weird walls with a gap at the top and bottom, so it looks like they are floating.
Unless they are floating, of course.
Vast screens show live feeds of the wilderness outside. One is a satellite shot, taken from high space. Seems the rest of this planet isn’t much better than the bit we’ve already seen.
‘Sven . . .’ Paper’s voice is calm. As if talking to a child.
‘Rachel.’
‘Sir?’
‘What did I say?’
The U/Free ambassador flinches as Rachel grabs her head, yanks it back and puts a knife to her neck.
‘You can’t,’ says the man Neen’s guarding.
‘Actually,’ I tell him, ‘I can.’
‘Sven,’ says Paper, as Rachel steadies her blade. ‘Listen. We can bring your trooper back.’
Rachel keeps the edge tight against Paper’s throat and wraps her fingers tighter into Paper’s hair to tell the U/Free she is not out of trouble yet.
‘And him?’ I say, nodding to the man I killed.
‘Morgan?’ says Paper. ‘Of course.’
‘Guess there’s a downside to everything.’
Paper doesn’t think it’s funny. But then I don’t mean it as a joke. Moreover, I still haven’t decided whether I’m going to let her live. We’ve been played with, fucked over and I have killed one of my own. There never was an ammo dump to destroy. This isn’t even the real Hekati.
I look at Paper, and she smiles.
It is a sweet smile, despite the fingers tight in her hair and the knife at her throat. It reminds me why I don’t trust the U/Free. And that reminds me that Ms Osamu asked for us personally, by name. A request from a U/Free ambassador is a command from anyone else.
‘The general knew Morgan wanted to test us?’
‘Of course.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘That someone would get hurt.’
‘Next time,’ I say, kicking the body, ‘tell him to listen.’
Chapter 7
Paper Osamu lives on the hundred and twenty-seventh floor of a glass and carbon tower in a city called Letogratz. The city is five times the size of Farlight. She lives in its most expensive area, with a view of a vast harbour leading to a curving horizon beyond. Her windows are huge, except the window in her bedroom. This is beyond huge. It’s a wall made entirely of glass. Far below lies a promenade lined with golden palm trees and scarlet bushes that curl themselves up into tight balls when darkness comes in.
Out on the harbour, jet boats skim the waves like flying fish. They don’t seem to be actually doing anything except looking pretty. Apparently, that is enough in this city.
Paper dragons ride the updraught beyond Paper’s window.