I heard his tinny voice say, “She said something about your ribs.”
“Previous attack.”
“I hope you’re dishing it out as well as taking it.”
“I hope so, too.”
“They’re healing crooked. Want me to break them?”
“No. Will they hinder me before I’m done with my contract?”
“About five percent, but you’re taking cumulative damage here. Those on one side, the arm on the other. You get degraded and lose capability.”
“Can’t be helped. Am I in danger of another pneumothorax?”
He had an ultrasonic scanner and looked. “No, it’s going to hurt, though. I’ll follow up on the tendons in a couple of days. That’s all for now.”
He stood, and Silver handed him a grand in cash. I presumed that was on top of any down payment. He nodded and left.
“I’m going to sleep now,” I said, and passed out.
CHAPTER 22
I snapped awake, an involuntary stretch of each leg raising my blood pressure and forcing alertness. The stretches were mostly internal; I didn’t move more than a fraction. It hurt when I did. Something was bothering me.
Silver looked worried.
“You were talking in your sleep. Something about Pony Three.”
“Ah,” I said. “Fire support gone bad on Mtali. UN arty blew up a few of their own people and almost zeroed us, too.”
“I heard stuff like that happened,” she said.
“It did. Occasionally our people screwed up, too. The trauma must be acting as a trigger.”
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Pained, but better. How long was I out?” I was too groggy to check the time myself.
“Most of a div. I let you sleep.”
“Thanks. But we need to be back on the chase.”
“You’ll work better when rested.”
“So will he.”
“What, then?”
“I’m assuming he’s headed for the surface, on that flight you mentioned. There are a few targets out this way, but most will be there, and anyone in a different jump point will be most easily reached through system, or out and around. Our best interception is from the surface in that case.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked, and I could hear a tremor in her voice.
“No. I don’t see much choice, though.”
“Okay. I’ll book travel.”
“Book us completely separate for this leg. Different terminals. I’ll do my own.”
She nodded. “Got it.”
We’d patterned as couple or companions. We needed to change that.
If she was scared, I was terrified. Logically, I should be safe enough, fifteen Earth years later, looking different, with different ID, some of it official and real and clean, with the common story that we’d all died in the war. Part of me still feared what would happen if I were IDed, and another part was on the precipice of flashbacks to the worst mayhem in human history. Mine.
Then, the local cops were already looking for me under other ID, with prints. We had a limited supply of imitation pads I could wear, but their efficacy was limited and of course, one time per ID, mostly Freehold. After that we’d have to fabricate back stories for new IDs, and try to fake a trail to explain how a person with those prints had gotten through port and bond without leaving them. This was the worst place in the universe for espionage. As I knew. I’d done it before.
That helped a little. Or I told myself it did. I knew it was all rationalization, but it was all I had.
With improved shuttles, the trip insystem would only be six days. I used my arm gently, stifling pain as needed, and tensed up as I reached security. I wasn’t wearing the necklace chip. Silver had programmed a spoof one into my phone, but it wouldn’t look quite right. Even in my chest pocket, it sent a signal, told them I was someone, and that matched the ID I used. It should; it was coded through my own phone using their protocols.
The process was similar to entry, and holding my arms up to be scanned hurt like hell even in low G, but I didn’t dare admit it. Once again, they didn’t recognize my face structure by scan. They were bored, busy and let me through, probably assuming tourists meant money.
Luckily, it’s common for passengers to take tranks or sedatives to relax or sleep on the trip insystem. I mixed a cocktail that gave me long days, short, deep sleep periods with my senses semiaccessible while I slept behind a locked and barricaded stateroom door with a notepad in hand for use as a club, blissfully icy calm and wired sensitive all at once. In six days, I was three kilos lighter and rather nauseous, but I hadn’t been apprehended.
We were a day from Earth when a news load reported that Ministry of State Undersecretary Boulain had been killed in front of her house, in front of her children. Someone had burned her down to a smoking greasy spot with a linear energy release gun. Nothing like a concentrated beam of superhot radiation to make a hit with the kids.