The Devil's Heart - Carmen Carter [39]
He wondered what it felt like.
END OF VOLUME I
THE DEVIL’S HEART
by Carmen Carter
Volume II of Three Volumes Pages i-ii and 159-344
For special distribution as authorized by Act of Congress under Public Law 89-522, andwiththe permission of the copyright holder.
Produced in braille for the Library of Congress, National Library Service for the Blind and Physically Handicapped, by Braille International, Inc., 1996.
Copyright 1993 by Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved.
THE DEVIL’S HEART
CHAPTER 12
For one hour every night, the Due or Die was closed for a perfunctory cleaning. Grumbling patrons were pushed off the premises or carried out into the corridor if they lacked the ability to walk by themselves; it was an open secret on the starbase that the synthehol served at the bar had an unusually potent effect on anyone who slipped a hefty tip to the bartender.
Other branches of Camenae’s business, however, were open at all times. So while Orlev wiped stains off the pitted countertop, Camenae perched on a barstool, waiting patiently for the arrival of one of her operatives.
“We’ve been very busy lately,” said the bartender as he gathered up an armful of dirty glasses.
His breathy, sibilant complaint reflected her own train of thought. She sighed in agreement.
“For ten years we laughed at that old Vulcan woman and her quest for a mythical treasure. But now, it seems the joke is on us. She found that damn Heart—and disrupted this entire sector.”
Of course, the greedy scramble after the relic had also fattened Camenae’s coffers, but she distrusted these windfall profits. They were short-lived and unpredictable, not to mention that her overhead had also risen sharply.
For instance, there was the matter of Thomas Grede.
She had promised to transport him to safety, and she was in the habit of keeping her word. After all, broken contracts were bad for business.
A warning whistle from Kajima announced the arrival of someone at the threshold of the bar.
“It’s the Squib,” announced the guard after he checked the image coming from the security camera.
Camenae nodded and slipped off the barstool.
The Norsican knew to wait for her retreat into the back office before he released the lock on the entrance.
She was seated in her customary place when she heard the clicking sound of chitonous legs on the metallic deck. Krtakk scurried forward to greet her with a customary wave of its eye stalks. As a longtime operative, it knew not to waste any more time on extraneous civilities.
“As you suspected, Camenae,” it said in a chittering voice. “Lord Reyjad@an stole the transport papers from Grede and obtained free passage on the Villareal all the way to Smelter’s Hold.”
“After that?”
To her disgust, Krtakk bobbed its hard-shelled body up and down, a submissive gesture that signaled failure. “I could find no trace of the unDiWahn after leaving the Villareal.
He has gone into hiding somewhere on the Hold, but it will take time and money to determine who is sheltering him.”
“Continue the trace, whatever the cost.”
The Squib chirped its acceptance of the task.
“There is one item more Grede was supposed to erase all traces of the alien’s transmissions, but the new tech in communications was able to recover a scrap that escaped overwrite.”
Krtakk executed a rapid series of nervous bobs. “Unfortunately, the price for commissioning the effort was exorbitant and the result disappointing.”
“Let me hear it anyway,” said Camenae with a sigh of resignation at the escalating cost of her revenge.
A tentacle looped up over the table edge and dropped a small vocoder into the palm of her hand. Camenae pressed a control switch and sound issued forth from its speaker.
“… seeking has ended. The Gem has been uncovered, and it is again …”
That was all. Such a small scrap and yet so very revealing.
“Thank you, Krtakk. You have done well.”
The Squib squeaked, surprised by her praise, then scuttled away with a churring prattle of self-congratulations.
Camenae played the short recording over several times, listening carefully to