Shadowkill

3

Kikun drifted about the bridge, touching things, sniffing at them, occasionally standing with his eyes closed, swaying a little, humming softly under his breath.

Rose glanced up from the control pad she was studying, frowned at the screen. “Hey, look at this.”

Something strange was emerging from the top of the worldship. A blob of glowing white fog wobbled out of the lock, separated from it, and floated pulsing and flickering above it. A black speck arced over the blob, cast a line at it, and began towing it toward the marina.

As it drew closer, she saw dark objects floating in the plasm. Bodies. Hundreds of them. “Weird.”

Kikun ambled over, stood behind her, his hands on the back of her chair. “Yes,” he said. “I see. What is it?”

“I don’t know. Never saw anything like that. Never heard of it either.”

He leaned closer to her, she could feel his breath against her neck. “Shadow’s in there. Alive.”

“Oh.

“We have to follow that.”

“Can you? On your own?”

“I don’t know. For a while, maybe.” He moved away. She swung the chair around, scowled at him.

He’d gone across the room and was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, his back against the wood-paneled wall. His eyes were closed, but he felt her watching and cracked them to look at her. “Be ready,” he said.

She snorted, turned back to the control bank.

Sweet ship, as nearly idiot-proof as anything she’d come across. The previous owner must have liked to pilot himself now and then, maybe when he was going places he didn’t want people to know about. Like here.

She disengaged the tethers, walked the ship on pressors from its slot. With a wary eye on the blob, she eased the ship along behind the others tethered in that row until she was drifting at the sunside of the tieup, fingers crossed that the ship the tow wanted was down the other end.

Yes. Yes. That big sucker. Z’ Toyff, they came prepared for a hefty cargo. Whoever.

Followed by two smaller ships, the large transport moved free of the marina, sucked in the blob as soon as it was clear, then the three ships hung together without moving or giving any sign of life for ten minutes, twenty, thirty…

Abruptly they shot up, arcing high over the marina, heading for the sun.

So what does one do now? Digby, Digby, wish I could call you. No. We’ll play this out first, there’s no time. No time…

Autumn Rose waited until they dropped out of sight, then went after them, hanging far enough back so they wouldn’t spot her.

Kikun sang to himself. He’d found a clipboard somewhere and was slapping at it, drumming himself into the hunt trance, getting the Spirit Hound ready to go snuffling on the trail of the ships running ahead of them.

A flare behind them.

She read the monitors. Not the sun. Must be Koulsnakko’s blowing. Bastards set it to go Nova. She shivered.

Goerta b’rite for Kuna’s visions.

The ships ahead hit the Limit and dropped into the insplit.

With Kikun’s song and his drumming filling the bridge around her, she dropped after them.

Prisoner 1: Ginny In Chains

Two men came through double doors, walked toward a workstation on a dais; its screens were retracted, the sensor pads shrouded in plastic covers. Their footsteps echoed hollowly on the black and white squares of the marble floor.

It was an immense domed chamber and they were alone in it.

There were other workstations, smaller and less complex, ranked around the walls, over fifty stations, closed down now, hooded and silent, chairs empty. This was a holiday, a rest day for everyone but them.

The one with the manacles on his wrists and the leg irons was a little man with thinning gray-brown hair combed across a bald spot, a forgettable face and eyes like dead leaves. Ginbiryol Seyirshi, prisoner and not liking it-though he didn’t let his anger surface. His hands hung at his sides, relaxed, loosely curled, as he stepped onto the dais and stood beside the lefthand seat, waiting with an appearance of mild interest for something to happen.

The other was an Omphalite, muffled in heavy black robes with a cowl shadowing his face. A big man, twice Ginny’s size. There was arrogance in the set of his shoulders, in the boom of his distorted and deepened voice. He set a hand on Ginny’s shoulder, pushed him down into the seat, and closed more fetters over his arms and legs.