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CHAPTER TWELVE


The first step in any target hunt was to put the clues together. This was no different, I decided, except that in this case the person in question wanted to be found.

“Let’s start with the names,” I told Selene as we pulled out our info pads. “We’ve got Franck and Bonno. See if you can find anyone in the Rosselgang City population listings who could conceivably be given those nicknames.”

“You mean like Franckbonno?” she asked, working at the pad.

“Exactly,” I said. “Remembering that whoever might have been listening in on her side of the conversation doesn’t know we know the Franck part.”

“So then maybe Bonno Franck?”

“Yes, but probably not that obvious,” I said, keying in my own search to focus on the other hints Nikki had fed us.

I wasn’t expecting much from the three day/five day inconsistency. There’d been no reason for Nikki to give us an incorrect or clue-heavy number before she left the Ruth, and whoever was with her right now would presumably have heard the latter number, so she probably couldn’t do anything with that. The maybe even six comment, though, had possibilities.

First check was a city calendar to see if anything special was happening in six days. I got the info pad sorting the list from most publicized to least, then started a check of every restaurant, café, or street stand that featured human-style barbeque. I’d delivered that cue straight onto her plate, and someone with Nikki’s intelligence would hardly have failed to pick it up and run with it.

“I think I may have it,” Selene spoke up. “What do you think of Francksibon Picker?”

“I think that parents who gave a child a name like that ought to be prosecuted,” I said, running through the possibilities. Both Franck and Bonno would work as a nickname for a name like that. “It’s also exactly the sort of jawbreaker that no one in his right mind would use in daily conversation if there was something easier available. Quick question: Can you check and see how many Badlands given names end in -bon?”

“Looks like quite a few of them,” she said, tapping her pad. “There are also several families whose names begin with Bon.

“So calling him Bonno wouldn’t have been distinctive enough to raise any eyebrows among her captors,” I concluded. “I think we may have a winner.”

“Maybe,” Selene cautioned. “The problem is that there are five Francksibons listed.”

“You’re kidding. Five of them?”

“Could be a family name,” Selene offered.

“Or they’re all named after some famous criminal we’ve never heard of,” I said. “Still wouldn’t burden a dog with a name like that. Any of the five identified as gunsmiths?”

“Did she say her contact was a gunsmith?” Selene asked, her pupils frowning. “I never heard that.”

“She didn’t, but I doubt she came here for a packet of candy curls,” I pointed out. “What else could he be except a gunsmith?”

“A security expert?” Selene suggested. “A break/enter toolmaker? An explosives maker?”

“Okay, fine—there are other options,” I conceded. “Let’s start with gunsmith anyway.”

“None of them are listed with that specialty,” Selene said. “One is listed as a pawnshop owner, one buys real estate, one runs a restaurant, and the other two aren’t connected to any particular business.”

“What kind of restaurant?”

“A Najiki pondo.”

I scowled. About as far from human-style food as you could get.

And, of course, even criminals secure inside a criminal enclave weren’t stupid enough to openly advertise their skill at blowing things up. “New tack. Any of their addresses have a six in them?”

She worked at the pad. “No,” she said. “But two of the addresses have threes.”

I shook my head. “No good. There was no reason for Nikki to have folded a clue into the number of days she originally gave us.”

“Unless she was already anticipating trouble.”

“Well . . . yeah, I suppose,” I said, scowling at my own pad. “Which then begs the question of why she would want to come here in the first place. Okay, let’s try this. Here’s a map of all the barbeque places in the Badlands. See if any of the Francksibons are within six blocks of any of them.”

“All right,” she said, peering at the map I’d sent and getting to work. “But I think it begs more than one question.”

“Such as?”

“Who in the Badlands has suddenly decided to bother her?” Selene asked. “Before she left the Ruth she seemed comfortable with the idea of going outside. Furthermore, her use of a nickname for Picker suggests she knows him reasonably well.”

“I assume you’re adding her scent during that last conversation into that calculation?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, as if it was obvious. Which it probably was. “She was very calm. And if someone is threatening her, why is she still able to call us without interference?”

“And without a very specific script in front of her,” I said, nodding. “Because the phrasing, tone, and cadence matched the way she’s been talking the whole trip.”

“Plus there’s the barbeque reference.”

“Plus that,” I agreed. “Anything?”

“I don’t know,” she said, her pupils looking puzzled as she gazed at her pad. “The Picker pawnshop is close to one of the street carts. But the carts move every day, so I’m not sure that does anything for us.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. “But most of the street carts I’ve seen don’t move all that much. In fact, a lot of them are required by local regs to stick to the same corner or at least stay on the same street.”

“Yes, they are,” Selene said, with a sudden cautious enthusiasm as she tackled her pad again. “And if this cart stays on the same street . . . ”

She looked up at me, her pupils clear and determined. “That would put it between five and six blocks from the Francksibon Picker pawnshop.”

“Really,” I said, pulling up a local map. “Mark it for me, will you?”

The two marks appeared on my pad, currently five blocks apart but with the potential to be six. “Looks like we have a winner. So next question is, what do we do about it?”

“What do you mean?” Selene asked, her pupils frowning. “We rescue her, don’t we?”

“That’s certainly what Gaheen and Cherno would want us to do,” I agreed. “My question was, why us?”

“Why not us?” Selene countered.

“Lots of reasons,” I said. “Start with the fact that Nikki’s an assassin. On a lot of Commonwealth worlds, as you yourself pointed out once, just the fact that we’re carting her around would tag us as accomplices.”

I waved a hand to take in the area around us. “Now, there are probably a lot of people in the Badlands who wouldn’t care about that, especially since they’re more or less immune from trouble from the badgemen in here. So why didn’t she call one of them for help?”

“Maybe she did,” Selene said. “Maybe they all turned her down.”

“Given the size of the money stack she can offer?” I shook my head. “Unlikely.”

“Then it’s because she doesn’t trust any of them.”

“Yeah, that’s where I landed, too,” I said grimly. “Which leads to the unpleasant possibility that someone’s ready to offer more for her skin than she can outbid.”

“That would have to be a lot of money,” Selene pointed out. “At half a million per job, even if she only does one a year—”

“Like I said: a money stack,” I agreed. “So who could offer more than her nest egg is worth?”

“And why does she think we would turn it down?” Selene added. “Does she think we’re too honorable to betray her?”

“More likely she thinks we won’t know about the offer because we won’t get the memo,” I said, pulling out my phone and keying for bounty hunter notices.

Unfortunately, all the stories about the Badlands and its magnet effect for the scum of the Spiral were right. There were at least fifty pending notices that named Niskea and Rosselgang City. I glanced down the list, but didn’t spot Nikki’s name. “Do me a favor and sift through this after you lift,” I said, standing up and keying the list over to her. “See if you can find something that connects to our wayward passenger.”

“Wait a minute,” she said. “I’m leaving? I thought I was going with you.”

“I wish you were,” I said. “It would make finding Nikki a whole lot easier. But if that call was being listened in on, they might get suspicious if we don’t take her up on her suggestion to go touristing. So you’re going to head up and out, do circles around Niskea for a couple-three hours, then come back. If we’re lucky, that’ll be long enough for me to find her and spring her from whatever vultures are perched over her.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Let’s just hope it is,” I said. “As my father used to say, Always look on the bright side of life except when it ruins your night vision. Give me five minutes to get off the ship, then call control and take the first lift slot they’ve got. I’ll wait inside the south gate until you’re off, then head out.”

“How are you going to get off without them seeing you?”

“If they’ve got eyes all around the Ruth, I can’t,” I said. “I’m hoping that when Nikki said they were monitoring spaceport operations she meant someone was just watching the electronics from a distance. Regardless, I’ll just have to risk it.”

“And if there are people waiting outside the fence for you?” she persisted, her pupils showing nervousness. “You won’t have any Expediters around this time to protect you.”

“Unless Nask decided to have one of them keep me on a short leash,” I pointed out. “It would be a very Patth thing to do.”

“But you won’t know if you have backup until you need it.”

“There’s that,” I admitted. “But I don’t see what else we can do. Anyway, I know how to disappear into a crowd. And it’s easier alone than if you were with me.”

“I know,” she murmured, reaching up to touch her white hair. “All right, if you think it’s best.”

“I don’t think it’s best, but I think it’s the hand we’ve got to play,” I said. “I’ll be okay.”

“I know,” she said again, her pupils about as unenthusiastic as I’d ever seen them. “Please be careful.”

“I will,” I said, heading for the dayroom hatch. “And watch the approach when you come back. The crosswinds make landing kind of tricky.”

* * *

Sixteen minutes later, I stood just inside the spaceport’s south gate and watched as the Ruth roared its way into the sky.

I waited until it had disappeared beyond the sprinkle of high clouds. Then, trying to convince myself this was of course going to go smoothly, I passed the operations office—this one had a stone-faced human at the desk instead of an Ulkomaal—and once again headed into the Badlands.

After the reception Selene and I had gotten on our last jaunt outside the perimeter fence, I was expecting that trouble would start gathering around me within the first block. To my mild surprise, no one at this end of town seemed to be paying any particular attention to me whatsoever. Certainly there were no lingering looks, surreptitious phone calls, or people fingering weapons. Either the denizens in this part of the Badlands were less curious or lethal toward strangers, or else word of what happened to the last batch of toughs had made it this far and no one wanted to volunteer for the encore performance.

The barbeque street cart Selene had tagged was about three blocks south of me and two blocks east, with the pawnshop that was my ultimate goal two more blocks south and one west. Assuming that Nikki had gone straight to meet Picker there was no reason for her to have made a point of noticing a barbeque cart two blocks off her direct path. That suggested that the cart owner might be another acquaintance, possibly someone who could give me more information.

Detours through potentially hostile territory could be dangerous. But then, so could diving into trouble with a shortage of hard intel. I flipped a mental coin as I hit the third block, weighed the risks, and turned east.

The street was long and wide, clearly one of the Badlands’ major thoroughfares, with at least eight street carts spaced out along the relevant two-block section. I started along the walkway, keeping my neutral, minding-my-own-business expression in place and watching for the sign that would mark my goal. I passed a stir-fry cart, then a gelato vendor, spotted the barbeque cart’s sign up ahead—

Roarke?” a surprised voice came from behind me.

I turned. Standing there, looking as astonished as he sounded, was Trent.

* * *

In retrospect, it shouldn’t have been a surprise. Selene had already told me she’d picked up his scent.

But that was before we’d been attacked, watched a pair of Expediters take out our attackers, had an awkward conversation with Nask, and been tasked with rescuing our murderous passenger. Frankly, I’d forgotten about Trent.

“I thought it was you, but I didn’t believe it,” he continued. “What in Salmon Hill are you doing here?”

“Being a tourist, of course,” I said. “I read somewhere that the Badlands were one of the great attractions of the Spiral.”

“If you mean they attract scum, you’re right,” he said, his surprise giving way to a knowing smile. “You sly and clever dog. You’re hunting again, aren’t you? Who’s your target?”

“No, really,” I assured him. “Well, okay, I’m here to do some recon. But I don’t have a target.”

“In that case, you are the luckiest jackdaw I’ve ever met,” he said, his knowing look turning into cheerful anticipation. “I’ve got a target—a huge one—and I could really use your help. You in?”

“Really, I can’t—”

“You, me, and two other hunters,” he cut me off. “One target, known location, practically nonexistent security.”

“Except the security of being in a place that doesn’t like hunters.”

“One reason I could really use a fourth on this one,” Trent said. “Bounty is two million, which works out to half a mil for you. What do you say?”

“I say it’s very tempting,” I agreed, thinking fast. Whatever trouble Nikki was in, having three other hunters with me could make the extraction a whole lot easier. Assuming, of course, I could keep Trent and his buddies from figuring out who they were helping me spring.

As my father used to say, There are two ways of keeping people in the dark: pointing the light somewhere else or blasting it straight into their eyes. “But I need to finish my own sweep first,” I continued. “Who’s your target, and when are you planning to move on him?”

“On her,” Trent corrected. “And brace yourself. The target is Nicole Schlichting.”

I’d been prepared to act surprised with whatever name Trent dropped. In this case, I didn’t have to act at all. “You’re kidding,” I said. “You talking about the Nicole Schlichting? The assassin?”

“The one and only,” he assured me. “You’re next going to ask who in hell puts out bounty notices on assassins. Answer: I don’t know, and I don’t care. He pays well; end of story.”

“He certainly does,” I said, grinding my teeth. So much for getting Trent to help me rescue her.

Unless we could spring her from her current trouble, and then she and I could manage a double-reverse and get her away from Trent?

I gave a silent sigh. Against Trent alone, maybe. Against Trent plus two other hunters, not a chance. Nothing I could do now except short-circuit this whole thing, and the faster the better.

Fortunately, I knew exactly how to do that.

“Well, under the circumstances, I think my recon can wait,” I said. “You said you know where she is?”

“Mostly,” he said. “We’ve got it narrowed to a single block a couple of streets south of here.” He pointed behind me and across the street at a seedy-looking taverno. “I was just talking with Beeks and Jingo about how to narrow that down when I spotted you through the window. Come on, let’s see if their search has come up with anything.”

We crossed the street and made our way back and into the taverno. The main seating area was only sparsely occupied, but apparently even that level of privacy wasn’t good enough for Trent. Instead, he led me upstairs to a small private room with a single door, two small round tables with four chairs each, and a sidebar with several bottles of beer and a couple of unused glasses. The wall had a single wide window looking out onto the street, presumably the one Trent had spotted me through.

There were two large men seated at one of the tables as we entered, a glass of beer in front of each of them. Their eyes followed me as I made my way to the empty chair Trent gestured me to. “This is Roarke,” Trent told them as he sat down at the remaining chair, where another half-full beer glass awaited him. “This is Beeks; that’s Jingo. Beeks, get him a beer, would you?”

“Sure,” Beeks said, giving me a speculative look as he stood up and crossed to the sidebar. He picked up one of the bottles and one of the glasses and started pouring.

And with one-third of my opposition now standing with his back to me, it was time to make my move. I looked idly out the window and let myself stiffen. “What the—?”

“What?” Trent demanded, half standing up to look past Jingo’s shoulder. Jingo, with his back to the window, had to turn all the way around in order to see.

“That woman across the street,” I said, pointing with my left hand. “That’s Schlichting,”

And in that moment of misfocused attention, I neatly flipped the three knockout pills I’d surreptitiously pulled from their hiding place into the three glasses of beer sitting momentarily unattended on the table.

“You’re kidding,” Beeks said, my beer glass still gripped in his hand. “That’s Schlichting?”

“How would you even know?” Jingo asked suspiciously. “No one’s ever seen her face.”

“Trust me,” I said. “Maybe we haven’t seen her face. But the Patth have.”

“Who says?” Jingo demanded.

“Like I said: the Patth,” I said. “I was aboard one of their ships not two hours ago. They showed me her picture and some video clips.”

Who showed you her picture?” Trent asked. “Which Patth?”

“No, wait a minute,” I said, letting myself wilt. “False alarm—it’s not her. Her gait is wrong.”

“Her gait?” Beeks echoed. “What is she, a racehorse?”

“And what are you, her trainer?” Jingo added, clearly impressed by his own wit.

“Which Patth?” Trent repeated, more insistently this time.

“I told you, they showed me videos—”

Which Patth?

Unfortunately, there was no way out of it. “His name is Sub-Director Nask,” I said. “Master of the ship Odinn. Why, is that important?”

He eyed me a moment, then gave a small shrug. “It isn’t,” he said. “I was just curious. Ah,” he added as Beeks set my glass in front of me and resumed his seat. “So. All the more reason to be glad I spotted you. We had a vague idea what she looked like, but it wasn’t nearly definitive enough. We were going to have to let her make the first move, and hope we survived it. Now that you know what she looks like, we’ve got both the numbers and the initiative.”

He lifted his glass. “A toast, gentlemen. To Lady Luck for setting up our target and for sending Roarke our way. May she continue to smile on us.”

We all raised our glasses. “To Lady Luck,” we said in unison, and drank.

I had set my glass down and was preparing to launch into a long-winded scheme for getting to Nikki when the world suddenly went dark.


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