PENETRATION
1544 4D
Linderus stopped in the tall grass and took a deep, silent breath. This wasn’t working. He had never been really sure of these Novander people; their accent always threw him off, reminded him of the prohyena yips he’d heard so often as a child in the foothills, and now he had to find his way back to the trail north away from the rail line, using only their spoken directions. He felt lost already.
He could trip over government patrols at any time. It didn’t help that the militia trainees were blundering around here, like that wiry little nut a few nights before.
Ti’Ann was dead. Linderus still couldn’t quite make the thought take hold. Would they have buried her body up there by Abridor, or would they have just tossed it out for the tononnsars and the mountain cats to tear to pieces? Could he get back to find out? He ducked through a tent of reeds to enter a wider path; the damp muck clung to the sides of his boots.
He’d have a five-day trek through the plains grass, alone, now. Then the post, and he’d have to turn in his own datasheet with its logs and journal of the current operations, and report the losses at Abridor and the damage they’d done to the militia. But the damage would get discounted; the dead were mostly trainees, and the City would just send in another highly-trained strike team.
He patted his buttpack, where Ti’Ann‘s datasheet nestled under his own. That City Hejji nitwit had had guts. It didn’t matter how stupid he’d been to wander into Novander Wye camp asking for someone in the underground; he’d done something more than decent. Now at least Linderus knew what had happened to the woman he loved, and he’d save these last images of Ti’Ann for the rest of his life, even if it was going to be a short one.
Cries of caolu birds, not far away, told him someone was disturbing their nests. Probably a damn patrol from the militia. He gripped his beam weapon by its skeletal shoulder stock, and stopped to listen. They were nearby; voices, with the odd musical bark of the City in them, discussing the mission.
“We turned left twice, and that should leave us heading back to the rail line.”
“No, it won’t. The trail bent right, so we’re walking the same way as the rail line right now.”
“That’s crap. Look up at the sun. It’s over there. That means the rail line is that way.”
“But it’s afternoon now, bitbrain. The sun has moved.”
“Oh, yeah, it does that.” Some snickering.
Linderus suppressed a bitter laugh. Did these people know anything at all besides how to shoot a beamer?
“Let’s take this path, then,” a more-commanding voice said. It seemed louder; a premonition made Linderus fumble out his own datasheet and hide it quickly, with his beam gun, deep under a mazelike root-knot of the tall plains grass. But the other datasheet, Ti’Ann‘s, snagged in his pack. No time to work it loose; best to just brazen it all out. He prodded some dead grass across the opening he had made, straightened, and walked firmly toward the voices.
“Halt!” Four weapons aimed at his belly. “Identify yourself.” The speaker held rank, probably a barker.
Linderus switched into his Novander Wye accent, bad as it was. “Seelin Wynardi. I live here.” His current dress should reinforce that.
The barker said, “Turn around, Wynardi. I’m going to check your load. Please do not move during the check.”
Linderus stared at him. “Why should you do that?”
“Never mind. We’re doing the patrolling here.” The man’s voice was strained. “Just turn around and follow directions.”
Linderus remembered the grisly murders of a few nights earlier. “Are you searching for more killers?”
“I said, TURN AROUND!” The barker approached; six men and women aimed beamers and ballistics at Linderus.
Cursing to himself over the stuck datasheet, Linderus turned his back and waited. He had wanted to transfer its contents to his own, but there had been no time.
It didn’t take them long. They collected his sidearm; a perfectly legal and acceptable weapon out here, unlike the military beamer he’d hidden. “What’s in this?” the barker asked Linderus, tugging at Ti’Ann‘s datasheet. “You got it wired to you?”
The others all backed away. Linderus gave a deep chuckle. “No. It’s just stuck, I guess. Kind of beat-up. I’d appreciate it if you’d take it out for me.” Maybe that would make them feel a little better, and they would let him go. These people were so afraid of everything out here. Maybe it was his size.
“Sorry, Wynardi. Do it right here, yourself. We’ll watch.” The barker motioned the others to form a near-semicircle around Linderus; they backed away, shoving aside the tall grass.
In the focus of seven gun barrels, he fumbled and struggled until Ti’Ann‘s datasheet came free. “Here it is. Please be careful with it.” His last hope was that they would just look it over and hand it back. At least the files with his face and name in them were encrypted now.
“Why?”
“It’s got a lot of personal stuff in it.”
“We’ll see.” The barker called to a woman with a square pack. “Garienn, plug it in and see what it’s got.”
A cracker. They were going to open the files, and he would be taken in. Linderus knew what City interrogation was: a biological inquisition that left only shreds of a self behind.
For the last four years, he’d been preparing for this moment. Linderus waited, rehearsing each body movement in his mind. As the woman connected the datasheet to her pack, she donned a helm and lowered the visor.
The final chance had been thrown, and he was done. Perhaps, on this very bad day, a good thing might happen: these City warriors would overlook the weapon and datasheet hidden in the roots. Gellin Abinikh Sintherou Duriso. Linderus swiped his own sidearm from the barker‘s hand in one swift move, and shot himself through the heart.
