Takeshi Kovacs - Broken Angels Part 30

"On Latimer." He smiled again, remembering. "I wasn't much older than you, I suppose. During the Soufriere Uprising, I was part of a reconnaissance squad across the swamplands. Walked around a tree and bam!" He brought fist and cupped hand together. "There he was. I shot him before I realised it. It blasted him back ten metres and cut him in two pieces. I saw it happen and in that moment I did not understand what had happened. I did not understand that I had shot this man."

"Did you take his stack?"

"Oh, yes. We had been instructed. Recover all fatalities for interrogation, leave no evidence."

"That must have been fun."

Deprez shook his head.

"I was sick," he admitted. "Very sick. The others in my squad laughed at me, but the sergeant helped me do the cutting. He also cleaned me up and told me not to worry about it too much. Later there were others, and I, well, I became accustomed."

"And good at it."

He met my gaze, and the confirmation of that shared experience sparked.

"After the Soufriere campaign, I was decorated. Recommended for covert duties."

"You ever run into the Carrefour Brotherhood?"

"Carrefour?" He frowned. "They were active in the troubles further south. Bissou and the cape-do you know it?"

I shook my head.

"Bissou was always their home ground, but who they were fighting for was a mystery. There were Carrefour hougans running guns to the rebels on the cape-I know, I killed one or two myself-but we had some working for us as well. They supplied intelligence, drugs, sometimes religious services. A lot of the rank-and-file soldiers were strong believers, so getting a hougan blessing before battle was a good thing for any commander to do. Have you had dealings with them?"

"A couple of times in Latimer City. More by reputation than actual contact. But Hand is a hougan."

"Indeed." Deprez looked abruptly thoughtful. "That is very interesting. He does not behave behave like a man of religion." like a man of religion."

"No, he doesn't."

"It will make him. Less predictable."

"Hoy. Envoy guy." The shout came from under the port rail, and in its wake I caught the murmur of motors. "You aboard?"

"Cruickshank?" I looked up from my musing. "That you, Cruickshank?"

Laughter.

I stumbled upright and went to the rail. Peering down, I made out Schneider, Hansen and Cruickshank, all crammed onto one grav bike and hovering. They were clutching bottles and other party apparatus, and from the erratic way the bike held station, the party had started a while ago back on the beach.

"You'd better come aboard before you drown," I said.

The new crew came with music attached. They dumped the sound system on the deck and the night lit up with Limon Highland salsa. Schneider and Hansen put together a tower pipe and powered it up at base. The smoke fumed off fragrant amidst the hung nets and masting. Cruickshank pa.s.sed out cigars with the ruin-and-scaffold label of Indigo City.

"These are banned," observed Deprez, rolling one between his fingers.

"Spoils of war." Cruickshank bit the end off her own cigar and lay back across the deck with it still in her mouth. She turned her head to light up from the glowing base of the tower pipe, and hinged back up from the waist without apparent effort. She grinned at me as she came upright. I pretended I hadn't been staring with glazed fascination down the length of her outstretched Maori frame.

"Alright," she said, commandeering the bottle from me. "Now we're running interference." we're running interference."

I found a crumpled pack of Landfall Lights in a pocket, and lit my cigar from the ignition patch.

"This was a quiet party until you turned up."

"Yeah, right. Two old dogs comparing kills, was it?"

The cigar smoke bit. "So where did you steal these from, Cruickshank?"

"Armoury supply clerk at Mandrake, just before we left. And I didn't steal anything, we have an arrangement. He's meeting me in the gun room," she shuttled her eyes ostentatiously up and aside, checking a retinal time display. "In about an hour from now. So. Were Were you two old dogs comparing kills?" you two old dogs comparing kills?"

I glanced at Deprez. He quelled a grin.

"No."

"That's good." She plumed smoke skyward. "I got enough of that s.h.i.t in Rapid Deployment. Bunch of brainless a.s.sholes. I mean, Samedi's sake, it's not like killing people is hard hard. We've all got the capacity. Just a case of shedding the shakes."

"And refining your technique, of course."

"You taking the p.i.s.s out of me, Kovacs?"

I shook my head and drained my gla.s.s. There was something sad about watching someone as young as Cruickshank take all the wrong turns you took a handful of subjective decades back.

"You're from Limon, yes?" Deprez asked.

"Highlander, born and bred. Why?"

"You must have had some dealings with Carrefour then."

Cruickshank spat. Quite an accurate shot, under the bottom of the rail and overboard. "Those f.u.c.kers. Sure, they came around. Winter of '28. They were up and down the cable trails, converting and, when that didn't work, burning villages."

Deprez threw me a glance.

I said it. "Hand's ex-Carrefour."

"Doesn't show." She blew smoke. "f.u.c.k, why should it? They look just like regular human beings 'til it's time for worship. You know for all the s.h.i.t they pile on Kemp," she hesitated and glanced around with reflexive caution. On Sanction IV, checking for a political officer was as ingrained as checking your dosage meter. "At least he won't have the Faith on his side of the fence. Publicly expelled them from Indigo City, I read about that back in Limon, before the blockade came down."

"Well, G.o.d," said Deprez dryly. "You know, that's a lot of compet.i.tion for an ego the size of Kemp's."

"I heard all Quellism is like that. No religion allowed."

I snorted.

"Hey." Schneider pushed his way into the ring. "Come on, I heard that too. What was that Quell said? Spit on the tyrant G.o.d if the f.u.c.ker tries to call you to account Spit on the tyrant G.o.d if the f.u.c.ker tries to call you to account? Something like that?"

"Kemp's no f.u.c.king Quellist," said Ole Hansen from where he was slumped against the rail, pipe in one trailing hand. He handed the stem to me with a speculative look. "Right, Kovacs?"

"It's questionable. He borrows from it." I fielded the pipe and drew on it, balancing the cigar in my other hand. The pipe smoke slunk into my lungs, billowing over the internal surfaces like a cool sheet being spread. It was a subtler invasion than the cigar, though maybe not as subtle as the Guerlain Twenty had been. The rush came on like wings of ice unfurling through my ribcage. I coughed and stabbed the cigar in Schneider's direction. "And that quote is bulls.h.i.t. Neo-Quellist fabricated c.r.a.p."

That caused a minor storm.

"Oh, come on on-"

"What?"

"It was her deathbed speech, for Samedi's sake."

"Schneider, she never died."

"Now there there," said Deprez ironically, "is an article of faith."

Laughter splashed around me. I hit the pipe again, then pa.s.sed it across to the a.s.sa.s.sin.

"Alright, she never died that we know of that we know of. She just disappeared. But you don't get to make a deathbed speech without a deathbed."

"Maybe it was a valediction."

"Maybe it was bulls.h.i.t." I stood up, unsteadily. "You want the quote, I'll give you the quote."

"Yeahhh!!!"

"Bright!!"

They scooted back to give me room.

I cleared my throat. " 'I have no excuses,' she said. This is from the Campaign Diaries, not some bulls.h.i.t invented deathbed speech. She was retreating from Millsport, f.u.c.ked over by their microbombers, and the Harlan's World authorities were all over the airwaves, saying G.o.d would call her to account for the dead on both sides. She said I have no excuses, least of all for G.o.d. Like all tyrants, he is not worthy of the spit you would waste on negotiations. The deal we have is infinitely simpler-I don't call him to account, and he extends me the same courtesy I have no excuses, least of all for G.o.d. Like all tyrants, he is not worthy of the spit you would waste on negotiations. The deal we have is infinitely simpler-I don't call him to account, and he extends me the same courtesy. That's exactly what she said."

Applause, like startled birds across the deck.

I scanned faces as it died down, gauging the irony gradient. To Hansen, the speech seemed to have meant something. He sat with his gaze hooded, sipping thoughtfully at the pipe. At the other end of the scale, Schneider chased the applause with a long whistle and leaned on Cruickshank with painfully obvious s.e.xual intent. The Limon Highlander glanced sideways and grinned. Opposite them, Luc Deprez was unreadable.

"Give us a poem," he said quietly.

"Yeah," jeered Schneider. "A war poem."

Out of nowhere, something short-circuited me back to the perimeter deck of the hospital ship. Loemanako, Kwok and Munharto, gathered round, wearing their wounds like badges. Unblaming. Wolf cubs to the slaughter. Looking for me to validate it all and lead them back out to start again.

Where were my excuses?

"I never learnt her poetry," I lied, and walked away along the ship's rail to the bow, where I leaned and breathed the air as if it was clean. Up on the landward skyline, the flames from the bombardment were already dying down. I stared at it for a while, gaze flipping focus from the glow of the fire to the embers at the end of the cigar in my hand.

"Guess that Quellist stuff goes deep." It was Cruickshank, settling beside me against the rail. "No joke if you're from the H World, huh?"

"It isn't that."

"No?"

"Nah. She was a f.u.c.king psycho, Quell. Probably caused more real death single-handed than the whole Protectorate marine corps in a bad year."

"Impressive."

I looked at her and couldn't stop myself smiling. I shook my head. "Oh, Cruickshank, Cruickshank Cruickshank."

"What?"

"You're going to remember this conversation one day, Cruickshank. Someday, about a hundred and fifty years from now, when you're standing on my side of the interface."

"Yeah, right, old man."

I shook my head again, but couldn't seem to shake the grin loose. "Suit yourself."

"Well, yeah. Been doing that since I was eleven."

"Gosh, almost a whole decade."

"I'm twenty-two, Kovacs." She was smiling as she said it, but only to herself, gazing down at the black and starlight dapple of the water below us. There was an edge on her voice that didn't match the smile. "Got five years in, three of them in tactical reserve. Marine induction, I graded ninth in my cla.s.s. That's out of more than eighty inductees. I took seventh in combat proficiency. Corporal's flashes at nineteen, squad sergeant at twenty-one."

"Dead at twenty-two." It came out harsher than I'd meant.

Cruickshank drew a slow breath. "Man, you are in a s.h.i.tty s.h.i.tty mood. Yeah, dead at twenty-two. And now I'm back in the game, just like everybody else around here. I'm a big girl, Kovacs, so how 'bout you cut out the little-sister c.r.a.p for a while." mood. Yeah, dead at twenty-two. And now I'm back in the game, just like everybody else around here. I'm a big girl, Kovacs, so how 'bout you cut out the little-sister c.r.a.p for a while."

I raised an eyebrow, more at the sudden realisation that she was right than anything else.

"Whatever you say. Big girl."

"Yeah, I saw you looking." She drew hard on her cigar and plumed the smoke out towards the beach. "So what do you say, old man? Are we going to get it on before the fallout takes us down? Seize the moment?"

Memories of another beach cascaded through my head, dinosaur-necked palms leaning up over white sand and Tanya Wardani moving in my lap.

"I don't know, Cruickshank. I'm not convinced this is the time and place."

"Gate got you spooked, huh?"

"That wasn't what I meant."

She waved it away. "Whatever. You think Wardani can open that thing?"

"Well, she did before, by all accounts."

"Yeah, but she looks like s.h.i.t, man."

"Well, I guess that's military internment for you, Cruickshank. You should try it some time."

"Back off, Kovacs." There was a studied boredom to her voice that woke an updraft of anger inside me. "We don't work the camps, man. That's government levy. Strictly home-grown."

Riding the updraft. "Cruickshank, you don't know a f.u.c.king f.u.c.king thing." thing."

She blinked, missed a beat, and then came back balanced again, little wisps of hurt almost fanned away with heavy cool.