Chaos Space - Marianne de Pierres [118]
Jo-Jo hauled the bigger man over the barricade, barely feeling the weight. On either side of them ‘esques and aliens scattered to give them room but he shoved Latourn down the conveyor and out of the main stream of pedestrians until he had him backed up against a structural pylon. ‘What fucking game are you and your boss playing? You’re supposed to be with Berniere.’
Latourn pulled a sullen face.
It was then that Jo-Jo noticed the cuts on him: a fine network of them at the base of his throat and on his forearms where his shirtsleeves were pulled up. He grabbed Latourn’s shirt at the waist and jerked it up to expose his stomach. The mercenary cringed and tried to wrest the material from Jo-Jo’s grasp.
Jo-Jo let it go in disgust. The cuts on Latourn’s stomach were deeper than those on his arms and were neatly connected with stitching like a child’s joining game, excepting where Jo-Jo had punched him. There they were torn and bleeding.
‘If you’ve been in The Hoes then where’s the idiot?’
Latourn fumbled to tuck his shirt in and Jo-Jo noted the glassy eyes. He was stoned as well.
Just as well. Or I— Jo-Jo’s thought stopped there.
Latourn had pulled a blood-sticky knife from his pocket. He swung it in an unsteady arc. ‘Get out of my face, God-man,’ Latourn hissed. ‘Everyone deserves a little downtime.’
Jo-Jo didn’t flinch. ‘Your boss took a little downtime and now Mira Fedor is missing. What’s yours cost us?’
‘She’s gone?’ Latourn’s knife hand dropped to his side.
‘Maybe. Randall’s looking for her. This place is Extro soup, so we’re pulling out.’
Some of the glassiness left Latourn’s eyes. ‘Berniere went ahead of me to a factory in Heijunka. When I got there, I found a dead balol and a lab-rat that had shitted up its lab gear.’
Jo-Jo’s adrenalin spiked so hard that his temples hurt. ‘A dead balol? How long ago?’
‘Less than an hour, maybe. No police but the rat had called them so I pissed off. Took the scenic route back here, to stay low.’
‘Did the lab-rat say where Berniere had gone?’
‘It was jabbering stupid about a Shadow.’ Latourn shrugged. ‘Didn’t think Berniere had the balls to shoot a balol.’
‘He doesn’t. Sounds like he’s got company of some kind,’ said Jo-Jo flatly. Was it Tekton? The news feed fitted too closely for it to be anyone else. But why would Tekton shoot a balol? Smarts didn’t usually get their hands dirty on anything—Jo-Jo knew that from experience. He wanted to go and talk to the lab-rat but that was too risky from how Latourn had described things. Where would Berniere go if he’d got caught in some crossfire? He would run home—to the biozoon and the protection of the mercenaries.
Jo-Jo turned and began to walk away.
‘Hey!’ shouted Latourn. ‘Where are you going?’
Jo-Jo didn’t care to waste his breath on an answer.
TRIN
‘We will have to make part of the trip in daylight, Principe,’ said Juno Genarro.
He crouched near Trin in the wet sand of the last bay island, peering across the Galgos Straits. Tiesha was high but Semantic was on the wane, yet even the softness of their light could not disguise the rough chop of the waves.
‘How far do you think?’
‘Maybe fifteen mesurs. A day and a night on the water.’
‘It took me half of that to get there and back,’ said Djeserit. She had come out of the water and sat next to Juno. Her legs were too weak to stand and he could hear the breathiness in her voice. ‘But I was able to swim the currents.’
‘The yachts are like sinkers in the water,’ said Joe Scali, slapping miserably at the sand fleas that had turned his skin to welts. The fleas worried all of them, but Joe Scali and some of the women suffered worst. Trin had not seen his friend smile in so long that he had almost forgotten that person. This Joe was full of worry and pessimism. Even if they found a place to live and thrive, Trin wondered if Joe would ever be able to see the lighter side of things again. Would any of them?
‘They are buoyant enough,’ Trin corrected him. ‘But they