Текст книги "Main Event"

Автор книги: Джеймс Лонг

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

9

Solaris City , Solaris

4 August 3054

 

Six hours after the shooting, The Pelican stood silent and vacant except for Rose, Dillon, and a Lieutenant Viets of the Federated Commonwealth Police Department. As Dillon went over what little he knew of Jaryl's too short life, Rose sat in what was becoming his customary seat, silently sipping a Conner's, his first since the shooting. With ill-concealed contempt Rose watched the policewoman work. She was beautiful, if somewhat short for Rose's taste, but he had long ago learned never to judge a woman by appearance, either for good or bad. In another circumstance he might have been impressed with her soft features and athletic body, but tonight she was just another officer. An officer he did not care to be around. An officer who, for six hours, had done nothing but ask questions, covering the same ground over and over.

As the adrenaline wore off, Rose went numb from the shock. He was no stranger to death in most of its grisly forms, but he had never been this close to the work of an assassin. The juxtaposition was almost too much for him. People had been laughing and having a good time. People weren't killed the way Jaryl was killed. They died on the battlefield, or in some accident, or at home in bed.

The situation started to play on his nerves before his professionalism and experience took hold and glued him together. Jaryl was a soldier, wasn't she? Not like any he'd ever met, but then most of what he'd been experiencing on Solaris was unlike anything he'd ever encountered. Life in the Com Guards had certainly been more straightforward, if not easier. Dogma and duty his lance-mates had called it, the Twin Dees.

Rose had been questioned for only an hour by Lieutenant Viets. She obviously hadn't learned much, or else she didn't like what she'd learned because she'd ordered the bar closed and made everyone go home. Dillon had howled like a wounded animal when she threw everyone out. He continued to mumble about the lost profits while shaking a weary head. When the questioning was done, Rose drifted back to the bar to sort out his thoughts. Most of the police left within the next few hours after wandering in and out in twos and threes to take evidence, tri-vids, and whatever else police did at the scene of a murder.

Rose observed the proceedings with halfhearted interest. Another lead, another dead end, only this time he could do no better than watch as the woman who'd tried to help him was gunned down. He briefly considered the possibility that he was somehow to blame, but quickly gave up the idea. He doubted that Warwick, or anyone else, would have killed Jaryl just to get back at him for something. Jaryl had obviously been Scoggins' target because of something she had—or hadn't—done, or something Rose couldn't even begin to guess at.

He stared down into the half-empty bottle of Conner's, sloshing the liquid inside. It had long since stopped foaming from the agitation and now simply swirled around in a small whirlpool. This was not the first time Rose had seen death, but cold-blooded murder was different than death on the field of battle.

He glanced again at Viets and Dillon, who were talking quietly behind the bar. Rose guessed that the two knew each other well, at least professionally. Who knew how much further it went? Whatever the situation, Dillon obviously had more patience for her than did Rose, who'd stopped answering even her occasional questions more than ninety minutes ago.

Rose continued to fume into his bottle, silently cursing Solaris, Warwick, Lieutenant Viets, the Clans, and everything else that came to mind. How could a society function when divided into five independent, supposedly equal, governments within shooting distance of one another? How could these governments let a killer walk the streets? How could they ever bring anyone to justice when each sector of the city operated under its own separate police? And how could Viets just sit there when Rose had positively identified the assassin as Scoggins? He'd shouted that very question at her in his best commander's voice.

The lieutenant had been surprisingly polite in the face of his hostility, pointing out that he was, after all, an off-worlder, with no ties to the victim or the alleged assailant. "Of course we'll follow up the lead you've given us," Viets said with a polite smile, "but I'm not sure anything will come of it. Mister Scoggins is a Liao national and likely safe and sound somewhere in Cathay right now." Rose finished his beer in one gulp, then stared again at Viets and Dillon, who were conversing in whispers.

Feelings were boiling in him—his frustration at not being able to find a 'Mech anywhere in Solaris, exhaustion from going without sleep for something like forty-eight hours, and then the horror of Jaryl's murder. Even a man as controlled as Rose was cracking under the strain.

"So, Lieutenant Viets," he said bitterly, "I suppose this means you'll just saunter on back to the station house and fill out your report? Just grab a bite to eat, maybe some nice young cop groupie, and head home for the evening. Nothing more about the so-called 'incident' tonight?"

Viets gazed at Rose, her jaw clenched angrily. The knuckles on her near hand went white as she slowly turned away from Dillon, but Rose continued to taunt her. "You slack-jawed, blue-chested clods are all alike. This bottle has more brains."

"Oh, so the wise MechWarrior wants to show this poor, stupid clod how to conduct a police investigation. Do tell me, wise one, how should I proceed?" Viets scoffed. Rose had expected anger, but not the instant confrontation.

"Wait, I know," she went on sarcastically. "I'll assemble the whole rest of the force and we'll march into Cathay, kick the bejesus out of anything that moves and drag back this Scoggins character you say killed Jaryl Whillins."

"He did kill her!" Rose jabbed an accusing finger at the officer and pounded the bar for effect. The bottle danced to the vibration as it had on the table earlier. Lieutenant Viets didn't even acknowledge that he'd spoken.

"Better yet, we'll just ask the Cathayans to turn him over. That wouldn't be such a problem. 'Yes, that's right. It seems like one of your malcontents shot one of our citizens at a local drinking establishment this evening. Could you just send him over with a note that says you don't mind if we hang him? Thank you very much.' " Rose gripped the edge of the bar and fought against the anger that threatened to overwhelm him. He'd wanted to provoke her, but now she'd turned the tables.

"At least you'd be doing something." Again Viets ignored him. She continued to pace behind the bar, her eyes cast upward as if for heavenly inspiration. Suddenly she clapped her hands and turned to Rose.

"I've got it. We'll just call in those limp-swords over in the international sector. They'd just love the chance to show off all those shiny new rifles they carry around." Rose roared and vaulted the bar, one hand acting as the pivot as his legs came sweeping over the surface. His top leg shot forward and the toes of his boot sought Viets' exposed head. The lieutenant ducked under the blow. With a sharp movement, she struck the inside of the elbow of the arm supporting his weight. Rose's entire body, which a moment ago had been perfectly poised on that one arm, came crashing down. Momentum carried him across the bar's flat surface, allowing him to land mostly on the padded runway. His head, however, bounced off the stainless steel sink just below the bar's surface.

Fighting off the initial dizziness, Rose was attempting to stand when the other side of his head exploded in pain. Stars shot off behind his eyes, but he managed to rise to one knee before something reached under his chin and rocked his head. He felt his teeth chip as his head flew back and forced his body to follow. Flat on his back behind the bar, Rose tried to roll away from the stomp he knew was sure to follow, but the attack never came.

Rose rolled over backward and came up into a crouch, eyes searching for his opponent. He stood slowly as waves of nausea threatened to knock him back to one knee. Just out of the range of his foot stood Lieutenant Viets, her hands easily balancing her tonfa. Rose had seen, and recognized, the martial arts weapon earlier during the interrogation, but he'd mistakenly passed it off as merely ornamental or clumsy. Clearly it was neither. Risking a look away from the weapon, he glanced up at the officer holding it. To his surprise, Viets was smiling.

"You find this amusing, Officer Viets?" Rose began to relax, but only after his opponent shifted her weight firmly onto one foot.

" 'Mechboy, this is my idea of a real good time. Pounding the snot out of you tough guys is a dream come true to us poor, stupid clods."

"Touched" Rose straightened and felt the adrenaline flowing out of his system. His head began to pound from the twin lumps he'd received. He tested the second knot, not surprised to see that his hand came away bloody. He looked over at Viets, who continued to smile as she twirled her tonfa around a seemingly unmoving hand. With a snap of the wrist the weapon was back in its place at her side.

"Dillon, I'm officially off duty. I need something to drink."

"Yes, ma'am. One on the way, and I'll bring some ice for your head, Rose." Rose waved an affirmative without looking at Dillon. A check of his chin revealed that it was bleeding too, but not as severely as the head wound. Rose realized he was lucky to be alive, but that only slightly eased the pain.

"Viets, I've been beaten, stabbed, and twice ejected from an exploding 'Mech, but I've never had a fight go against me that quickly, or that surely." Rose reached for a nearby cloth and dabbed his head. Lieutenant Viets let the silence linger as she crossed to the other side of the bar and took a seat next to the one Rose had only recently occupied.

"Well, Rose, I'm just guessing, but since we're on a planet known for gambling, I'd wager you've never underestimated an opponent so badly, never let an opponent make you so angry, and never fought a ninth danblack belt. But, hey, I'm just guessing. You could have been one hell of a lucky guy all your life." Rose walked around the bar and sat next to Viets. He wondered about Dillon, but the bartender seemed to know when it was time to make himself scarce.

"I'm sorry that I insulted you and your police force. Thanks for going easy on me and giving me the chance to learn from my mistake. It isn't a lesson I'll need again."

"Apology accepted, Mister Rose. Now, if Dillon will only get back here with my drink. Ah, speak of the devil." Dillon emerged from the back room with a plastic bag full of ice, which he gave to Rose, and a small porcelain bottle, which he gave to Viets. Reaching into his apron, he produced a matching porcelain cup that he also handed to the policewoman.

"Now that the two of you are on speaking terms, maybe we can get back to business." Dillon was obviously pleased that Rose was no longer shouting and that Viets was "off duty."

"Lieutenant, can you tell me what's going to happen, and how fast? I know, I know. You don't run the department and there are a lot of things that canhappen, but I've already figured out that you must have a pretty good idea which way this one will go. I really need to know." Rose did his best to make the request humble but not groveling. If he guessed right, and this particular guess wasn't very difficult, Viets was the type of woman who wouldn't respond well to weakness or begging. She might, however, tell him some of what he wanted, or needed, to know if he could convince her it was important.

"I don't know why I'm bothering to tell you any of this. Not only would my butt be in a sling if the captain found out, but you'd just use the information to get yourself killed. That or you'd kill somebody else."

"You think that little of me after such a brief time?"

"You did attack me, remember, 'Mechboy?"

" 'Mechboy? Just what does that mean? You don't know me, what I do or how I make a living." Rose let equal parts of anger and calm slip into his voice. How did she know?

"Oh, 'Mechboy, I know you. I know you and your kind. Strutting around like you own the place. All full of attitude and just itching for a fight with some poor local. I can see it in the walk, the talk, the way you drink your beer. You're a 'Mechboy all right, even without that tin-plated, fusion-powered, death-giving machine you call a BattleMech." Rose was impressed with the passion of Viets' response. He'd met people who didn't like Mech Warriors. He'd even met people who hated them, but he'd never met a person who made the word 'Mech sound like something dredged up from the bottom of a cesspool.

"If you hate us so much, why are you on Solaris?"

"None of your damn business, 'Mechboy." Rose saw the fire in her eyes. Adrenaline was pumping through her again. Rose took a quick mental inventory of both his body and his few assets. He knew in an instant he couldn't take her in a fight, either fair or foul, at least not without a 'Mech. He also knew he had to keep her talking if he was going to accomplish his personal mission.

"Then why are you talking to me?" Like someone throwing a switch and plunging a room into darkness, Rose saw the anger flow out of Lieutenant Viets. She held him in a rigid stare, unblinking for long seconds as she examined him. Rose imagined that with a stare so intent she could look into his soul. He held her eyes with what he hoped was equal intensity. When she spoke, Rose was shocked by the power and conviction in her voice.

"I keep hoping, 'Mechboy, that one of you will turn out to be different from all the rest." She broke the stare, glancing away. Rose unconsciously relaxed, exhaling a long breath. When she turned back to him, the intensity was gone. She stared at him, but it was not the same.

"Since you're new to the area, I'll make this as simple as possible." She poured a cupful of clear liquid from the bottle and held it to her nose for a brief instant before downing it in a single swallow. "If I assume you're right about Scoggins, and I'm willing to do that, I need a sworn affidavit from you that says you saw him murder Jaryl Whillins and are willing to testify to it in court." Viets held up her pinky to accentuate the point.

"I go to my boss, a man known far and wide as an impartial dispenser of justice, and tell him that just before a championship fight, a back-up pilot was killed by a man in the employ of the other stable." Up went the ring finger.

"I fill out more forms than you'll see in ten years and pass them on up the ladder, explaining why Scoggins has to be brought back to the Black Hills for trial." Up went the middle finger. Rose shifted his ice bag, sensing where the lieutenant was leading.

"Eventually the whole thing gets handled by the bureaucrats, and Scoggins does, or doesn't, stand trial, depending on who owes what favors to who or how much money is brought to bear on the issue." Viets' index ringer uncurled from her thumb. "That's what we call a four-step ladder back at base. Any one of the rungs goes and nobody gets to the top."

"So you're saying it won't be easy to bring Scoggins in for trial?"

"Rose, I'd have to take off both boots to count the steps in that ladder, and you'd like it all to be finished by the start of the fight—I can see it in your eyes." Rose tried, with surprising success, to conjure a mental image of Viets without boots, or anything else for that matter. He forced his mind to shift gears and concentrate on the problem. She deserved more respect than a mental undressing. Even with his resolve, however, it took longer than he anticipated to dispel the image. Viets was just finishing her second cup as Rose began thinking aloud.

"So, again time is against me. If I'm right, Warwick is out to get Carstairs' pilots and change the odds of the fight everyone is trying so damn hard to keep the same.

"Even if Scoggins comes to trial, it won't be until long after the fight, and it won't bring Jaryl back or change Warwick's plans." Rose could see the man sitting like a pack rat atop his pile of gold. "Warwick wants this championship and he had Jaryl killed as part of his plan to win it." To Rose the facts were as plain as the pain in his head. He looked at Viets, who only shrugged and poured another drink.

"Maybe so, maybe no."

"Lieutenant, have you ever met Warwick?" Viets absently shook her head. Rose continued although he was only partially sure Viets was even listening to him anymore. As he spoke she stared into the empty porcelain cup, head cocked slightly as if hearing something very far away.

"He's the type of man you meet once and either hate or love. There's no middle ground, just ask Dillon. I found myself falling on the side of the former emotion, even before he had Scoggins murder Jaryl."

"You don't know that."

"You're right, but I know the way Scoggins looked at me before he pulled the trigger. It was like we were sharing a secret, something only he and I knew anything about. I know that Warwick stands to gain a lot more than he loses if one of Carstairs' pilots dies. I also know that after spending ten minutes alone with the man, I can't stand the sight of him. It's probably unreasonable, but I'm going to go with my guts on this. Warwick is to blame, even if there's no proof." Rose stood and started to walk away.

"Where're you going now, 'Mechboy?" Viets looked up from her empty cup. "You going to start something nobody wants to see happen? You going to make my life miserable, 'Mechboy?" Rose could see the challenge in her eyes and hear the frustration in her voice. She deserved better than to have to deal with this, to deal with him. She deserved a chance to do her job without Rose's quest getting in the way, but he'd let events control him too long. It was time for him to seize the initiative and regain control of his life. For all the right reasons he lied to her.

"No, Lieutenant Viets, I'm going back to the hotel for some sleep and a couple of pain pills. I'll not bother you again."

10

Solaris City , Solaris

7 August 3054

 

Light spilled into the street as a single metal door was suddenly thrown open, the noises and commotion from within a sharp contrast to the quiet and deserted street. A single man stumbled out, backing out onto the dimly lit sidewalk. Roars and curses followed him out, but the giant seemed not to hear. As he cleared the doorway, a second figure, definitely female, darted into the street, almost dancing within reach of the man. Within seconds she was halfway up the street.

The giant paused and looked after the departing figure, then back through the doorway with a broad grin.

"Good night one'and all. I'll return on the morrow, prize in hand." Roars of laughter echoed from the room.

"You'll be lucky to survive the night, let alone the match, O'Shea. Elaine is more than a match for your oafish advances." Roars of laughter followed the insult. O'Shea staggered in feigned shock.

"You wound me, but I've no time for the likes of you." O'Shea spun around, as if to leave, but instead lifted his kilt to the building. Pausing only a moment, he jumped out of the direct line of fire as several bottles and a full mug of ale flew through the doorway into the street. Jeers chased the giant as he hustled away, finally catching up with the woman who had followed him out of the bar.

"I swear, O'Shea, one of these nights you'll be plucking glass out of your bum. You've tried that trick once too often."

O'Shea laughed at the memory of his crude jest, and scratched at his full beard as he considered the possibility.

"Perhaps you're right, my dear. Tonight, however, all my parts are glass-free. Perhaps you'd care to make a personal inspection?"

"Restrain yourself, man. You've got a big match tomorrow." She thumped O'Shea's sternum with the flat of her hand to emphasize the point, but as always, O'Shea was unconcerned.

"Am I not Badicus the Bold? Bonnie Badicus? The match tomorrow will be nothing." He started forward again, but his quarry resumed her walk down the street, temporarily eluding him.

"I'm not so sure about this one. Warwick has something up his sleeve."

"That Steiner lackey? He hasn't got the brains to pour water out of a boot with the directions on the heel."

"If you truly believe that, then you've underestimated your opponent." O'Shea and his companion stopped at the sound of the new voice. O'Shea judged the speaker to be in one of the adjacent doorways, but he couldn't be sure which one. Adrenaline kicked in as he reached instinctively for his trusty Sunbeam. Maybe those last three drinks hadn't been such a good idea after all. He slipped the safety strap off the pistol and scanned the sidewalk.

"Knowledge of your foe is half the battle," came the voice.

"Well, well, Mister Expert, what do you know about it? Warwick is a fool, and if he's sent you after me before the match, he's a damn fool. Many men have tried to take on Badicus but few have lived to tell the tale. You'd better kill me quick or run back to your master and tell him you lost your nerve, because you're starting to annoy me.

Badicus was not really sure what to expect next, but he had no doubt that he could deal with it. Despite his size and considerable bulk, he was one of the fastest draws on Solaris. Of course, few men who discovered the fact lived to tell about it. Somebody, probably Warwick, had already killed Jaryl, but the obvious danger hadn't stopped Badicus from having his usual pre-fight "relaxer." If anything, the death of his friend had made him drink even more than normal.

Seconds passed and the stranger remained unseen. Badicus was about to convince himself that the entire conversation, such as it was, was merely a figment of his slightly inebriated imagination when Elaine let out a brief gasp of surprise. Simultaneously, his left hand, which had begun to draw the Sunbeam, went numb and a shower of light and pain erupted from the corner of his left eye. Had he been sober, the blow would have felled him in a heartbeat, but the eighty-proof anesthetic seemed to soften the blow. He was only driven to one knee. Stars danced across what remained of his vision as the big man fought to rise and make his hand work. He side-kicked to his left, but smashed through nothing but air.

"I am sorry, Mister O'Shea, but you have something I need." O'Shea managed to stagger up to both feet and look at his assailant. Whatever features would have been revealed were hidden under the high collar of the man's long coat and the gloom of the night. Badicus shook his head like a dog shaking off water, but his whole world seemed to spin.

"Believe me, there is nothing personal in my actions," the voice said. Then, in a blur of motion, both his hands reached out and clapped O'Shea over each ear. In the fraction of the second he remained conscious, O'Shea could not help but notice that the air trapped in his outer ear made a sound just like that of a landing DropShip. The pitch of the engines increased as the attack forced the air past his eardrums and into his middle ear. When the DropShip landed, O'Shea lay unconscious on the street.

Rose stepped clear as the big man hit the sidewalk.

O'Shea's head bounced lightly off the concrete, but Rose was sure the man was not permanently injured. He knelt down beside him and smiled when he felt a strong pulse.

"Very impressive, mystery man." Rose looked over at O'Shea's girlfriend. He'd spotted her when the pair had first left the bar, but she'd retreated into the shadows when he initially spoke out to Badicus. Rose stood and watched as Elaine stepped back into the glow of the streetlight.

"Your boyfriend will be all right. He should wake up in an hour or so, but it might take longer if he's as drunk as he seems." Rose continued to watch as Elaine emerged fully into the light. She moved with her right arm at an odd angle, which Rose at first thought was merely an unusual way of walking. A closer look at her midsection revealed that she held a slim black needle pistol. The way she clutched it against her blue dress in the shadows of the street, Rose had almost missed it. His shoulders slumped slightly.

"In a city with gun control laws, why is it so damn easy to pack a pistol in this place?"

Elaine laughed lightly, but held the gun rock-steady. "Dangerous times like these require extreme measures," she said. "As a warrior, I'm sure you understand that."

"I didn't hurt O'Shea, so you can put down the gun. I just needed him out of action for a couple of hours, that's all." Rose carefully eyed the gun that didn't move a hair.

"Oh, I'm not worried about O'Shea. In fact, you've just made my job a little easier." Rose felt his stomach drop. The adrenaline that had begun to dissipate after O'Shea's fall began creeping back into his blood.

"Your job?"

"Yes. Mister O'Shea was about to have a terrible accident. Of course, I'd have waited until the morning, but you can't have everything you want."

"So you're not Elaine, his girlfriend?" Rose hoped to keep her talking, but he didn't have much of a plan other than that. He hated needlers. Of all the weapons he had ever encountered, only needlers caused such an irrational fear. He knew he would not be any deader than if a laser or an old fashioned slug-thrower killed him, but that didn't seem to matter. He still hated the weapon, even more now that one was pointed at him.

"Oh, I'm Elaine, all right." Stepping carefully, she closed the distance between her and Rose. From her position, she had a full view of the bar, which was to Rose's back. "I'm also known as his girlfriend, but I'm just a girl who needs a paycheck."

"You really seemed to care for O'Shea back at the bar." Rose kept his eyes on Elaine, shifting his view between the pistol and her eyes.

"I'm a natural actress. Could you really like, let alone love,a man like that? Just look at him. Go on, take a good look." Rose was not at all inclined to take his eyes off Elaine, but the urgency in her voice forced him to reconsider. Inside he was exploding with energy as his heart sent adrenaline-filled blood racing through his veins, but Rose willed his muscles to remain calm. If, and when, it came time to act, he would move quicker if relaxed. One last look into Elaine's eyes and Rose turned to study Badicus O'Shea. A quick glance told him all he needed to know. Next to his prostrate body was the Sunbeam laser pistol he had tried to pull on Rose. Rose doubted that Elaine knew O'Shea had tried to draw the pistol because she'd been on his right and the pistol on the left.

"Well, could you really love someone like that?" Rose was no longer listening. Elaine's voice had risen in pitch and he could hear the decision in her voice. She had already rationalized the need to kill Rose and was about to pull the trigger.

Rose lunged down and to the side just as Elaine triggered two quick bursts at where Rose had just been standing. The first shot, aimed at his chest, caught him in the right shoulder as he tried to lean out of the way. He could feel his jacket pull slightly as the plastic slivers effortlessly parted the threads of the jacket and the skin underneath. The second shot, corrected as the trigger was being pulled, flew past his ear. As his fingers first touched the Sunbeam, Rose shifted his attention to Elaine. Either she did not know Rose had the laser or she was making very sure of her next shot. Although she had the needier pointed directly at him, she did not pull the trigger. As Rose was bringing the Sunbeam up for a single desperate shot, Elaine was aligning her pistol for the kill.

Rose fired without aiming, praying for the first time since he'd left the Highlanders. His lunge had left him completely off balance, lying on his left side. He heard, then felt, the quiet staccato of the needier as plastic skipped off the sidewalk and raked his left ribs.

He brought his pistol back in line, aimed, and fired before he realized Elaine was already falling backward. The second shot struck her fully in the chest, hastening her backward flight. The needier fell from lifeless hands as her body crumpled into a heap.

Rose tried to stand, stopped short at the pain in his shoulder and chest, then continued the motion. He crossed quickly to Elaine, who stared sightlessly at him. He held a finger to her neck and discovered the entry point of his first shot, just under the chin. From his angle on the ground, the shot must have passed up into the woman's brain, killing her instantly. Two centimeters to the right and Rose would have missed her completely. He drew back bloodless fingers from the already cauterized wound. Behind him he heard a man shout and a woman scream. Without so much as a backward look he fled into the night.