He bit his lips. There was a ghost road behind a warehouse in the next walkway, that went like a straight arrow from H to court. There was no other exit between both ends. He could get there in ten minutes, maybe, if he took it.
But he’d be visible for ages. If anybody was in there—
He ran for the entrance, sweating already.
The Long Straight, they called it. It opened in a hill near St. Kit’s Walk, and was singularly unuseful for much of anything but a hiding place. Forays onto court deck did no good for any ghosts; there were too many guards, and the ghosts were dressed too wrongly. Spider opened the shaft door and looked back as far as he could H-ward, then closed it carefully behind him. He started to run along the ramp. He could feel a prickle between his shoulder blades, and every few steps he twisted his neck and peered behind. He hadn’t been in a ghost road since the night Tal gestured him out of the recycler line.
Ten lifetimes later, he walked out of a hill on court deck—like a creature from an old fairy tale, had anybody been watching. But the hill was screened by birch trees and by the lure of the stream at the bottom that tended to j keep people from this part of the landscaping. Thank God he was still in uniform. He made his way to the entrance to the Cavern of Audience—Adrian was supposed to be creating two new ministers today, and though Spider had never been inside a court building, he knew this was where it happened.
But today there was a crowd of aristos and high admins around the entrance, all talking excitedly, the ladies rustling the first silk dresses of spring, tapping each other with fans, and turning to their escorts with sudden questions. “What’s going on?” asked Spider of a couple standing near the edge of the crowd.
The lady looked him up and down disapprovingly, but said, “The session is canceled. There’s a report of bombs on one of the decks.”
Worse and worse. “Where’s Adrian, then?”
They ignored him. Spider looked around for someone else to try, and his gaze passed over the glass security booth outside the Cavern. Adrian was standing inside, talking through a link.
Spider pushed his way through until he reached the booth. Then he started to hammer on the glass. Adrian looked up just as two City Guards started to haul him away.
The Protector slid open the door and called, “Wait! Corporal Hastings, isn’t it? Let him go, please. Thank you, it’s all right.” The City Guards backed off reluctantly, and Adrian said, “We’re a little busy right now, Corporal Hastings.”
“Tal’s in trouble,” said Spider, the words tumbling out. “I don’t know where he is, but somebody’s holding a gun on him and he said something about getting blown up.” He looked pleadingly at Adrian. He knew he must sound crazy, but this was the Protector, wasn’t it? He could do something, if anybody could.
All expression had left Adrian’s face. “If you don’t know where he is, how can you know this?”
Spider ran a tongue over his lips. Did he have to admit to being bound in Outsider technology, too? There seemed no way out of it. “I have a riccardi,” he said. It occurred to him that the Protector probably didn’t know what that was. “It’s a device—” he began.
“I’ve heard of them,” said Adrian. He was silent for a moment, giving Spider the chance to consider the fact that he’d just admitted possession of proscribed technology to the person most responsible for enforcing the law on the Diamond. Spider decided he was just going to have to strip this uniform off the second he got home—if they let him go home—and try to soak the sweat out. His waking life was really coming to resemble his nightmares more and more. It was enough to make a man consider suicide unless, like Spider, he knew he was going straight to hell at the moment of death.
Adrian motioned him into the booth. “Tell me everything you heard.”
Twenty-five minutes had passed in Bay Orange. Conversation languished. At last Ennis received docking signals from his Opal friends, and he carefully manipulated the passage desk board—with one eye on Tal and Keylinn—to give them entry to the Bay.
It was very small even for a shortie. Ennis guided them to the nearest free Diamond dock and waited while the ship made its connections. A ramp appeared, and three men, none in uniform, walked out carrying light-rifles. “Energy weapons,” said Tal. “Another suicidal group. But I’m sure they haven’t been told.”
Ennis glared at him.
“Only three,” added Keylinn. “You must be popular.”
Just then the emergency exit door to Bay Orange opened. Tal watched, disbelieving, as a score of men poured in, wearing not the red or gray of Guards uniforms, but the gold necklaces of knights, and carrying, God help us, crossbows.
Which were lethal weapons, after all. One of the Opal group fell at once with a shaft protruding from his chest. Tal saluted Adrian’s creativity even as he dived behind a stack of freight boxes.
One of the Opallines raised his light-rifle. He got off a shot toward the knights and everyone there who knew about the bombs braced for death.
It didn’t happen; roulette luck. A second later an arrow sprouted from the thigh of the man with the rifle, and he staggered back up the ramp. The third man followed. Ennis grabbed hold of Keylinn, using her body as a shield, and backed toward the shortie. “Sorry not to take Tal,” he said, breathing hard, “but you’re more dangerous anyway.”
Tal wondered, with a tightness in his chest, if the knights would fire their arrows. Did they even know who Keylinn was, or who was friend or foe? But Ennis treated her so clearly as a
