by Jayne Castle
But due to their close proximity to the ancient alien metropolises, the Old Quarters all possessed one strong, vibrant, economic underpinning that kept them from sliding into complete decay: a lively trade in alien antiquities, both real and fake.
Interspersed with the cheap apartment houses, dives, and forlorn storefronts here in the cramped streets of Cadence’s colonial neighborhoods, Cooper saw small shops purporting to offer relics from the Dead City and the Early Colonial era.
When he had made quiet inquiries a few months back to assure himself that Elly was not living in a dangerous neighborhood, he had been told that her shop was in one of the newer, recently gentrified sections of the Old Quarter. Today when he had driven slowly down Ruin Lane, he had been relieved to find out that his information had been solid.
True, the area wasn’t as neat and tidy as the street where she had lived back in Aurora Springs, but he didn’t see conventions of drug dealers, cop cars, and prostitutes on the corners, either.
“There’s Bertha’s shop,” Elly stated. “Go around the corner. We’ll park in the alley.”
“I seem to be spending a lot of time in alleys tonight.”
“They’re considered a scenic attraction here in the Old Quarter. Very atmospheric.”
He eased the Spectrum slowly into the narrow service lane behind Newell’s Relics, parked, and climbed out. The fog was getting thicker, he noticed.
Elly, with Rose on her shoulder, emerged from the front seat before he could get around to the passenger side.
She removed a key from the depths of her tote and went quickly toward the rear door of Newell’s Relics.
“Hang on a second,” he said quietly. “I want to be sure the Spectrum is still here when we come back.”
He sent out a little pulse of psi power through his amber, using it to grab some of the ambient energy drifting through the night. Concentrating briefly, he formed a tiny ghost and anchored it to the rear license plate of the Spectrum. The little UDEM flared to life, illuminating the plate in a faint, green glow.
“That should do it,” Elly said dryly. “Can’t imagine anyone dumb enough to steal that car now.”
He shrugged. “In my experience, it’s excellent insurance against grand theft auto.”
Okay, so it was a little flashy, he conceded silently. Very few dissonance-energy para-rezzes were strong enough to anchor a ghost, even a small one, outside the catacombs. But replacing the Spectrum would be both expensive and inconvenient. The little UDEM sent an unmistakable message: Touch this car, and the owner will hunt you down and fry your brains.
Elly opened the door of the darkened shop and switched on the lights.
He followed her inside and found himself in a back room filled with small green quartz artifacts. There was nothing that looked particularly valuable, as far as he could see. Most of the relics were the sort of simple tomb mirrors, undistinguished urns, and unexceptional vases that were found in low-end antiquities shops in every Old Quarter.
“Where’s her rat hole?” he asked.
“Same place mine is, in the cellar. Stairs are over there.”
“You’ve got an entrance to the catacombs beneath your shop?” he asked, surprised.
“Yes. Pretty cool, huh? Doesn’t do me much good, of course, but I let my friend Doreen use it. She takes me down with her sometimes.”
“Who’s Doreen?”
“She’s another ruin rat. A tangler. Very fashionable. She went shopping with me shortly after I arrived and helped me pick out a new wardrobe.”
“I did notice the new clothes,” he said neutrally.
“Doreen has a shop and apartment directly across the street from mine.”
“I see.”
He followed her down a cramped flight of steps into the depths of a damp, dark cellar.
“You know, this isn’t how I had planned to spend my first night in the big city,” he remarked.
“That’s the trouble with you Guild bosses, you’re not spontaneous,” she said.
Chapter 5
THE RUSH HIT HIM BEFORE HE GOT OUT OF THE CATACOMBS, rezzing all of his senses, making him fully aware of his power.
It had been a close call tonight. Thanks to the stupid, weak-stomached chemist, the old woman had nearly escaped. Those damn ruin rats were hard to kill.
By the time he had arrived on the scene to clean up the mess, Bertha Newell and her utility sled had vanished, leaving only a pool of blood on the green quartz floor. The woman had evidently come back to her senses long enough to climb aboard the sled and drive off into the maze of tunnels. She had probably been terrified to return to the surface, fearing that someone would have been waiting for her. She had been right. Now that they knew she had seen the lab, she could not be allowed to live.
Luckily, the chemist had noted the frequency of the amber-rez locator on Newell’s sled. It was the only smart thing the fool had done tonight.
He tightened his grip on the wheel of his sled. If it weren’t for the fact that the chemist was the only one who knew precisely how to transform the psi-bright herbs into enchantment dust, he would have gotten rid of him long ago. But without the damn chemist, the herbs were just so many dried weeds.
It had not been difficult to track Newell’s sled through the tunnels. Unfortunately, by the time he had caught up with her, she had abandoned her utility vehicle and crawled off into a corridor laced with myriad chambers, antechambers and mazelike passages.
He had hoped to find a trail of blood leading from the sled to the woman’s hiding place, but there had not been one. She had somehow stopped the bleeding long enough to conceal her trail.
In the end, he had been forced to abandon the hunt.
He regretted the fact that he had not been able to make absolutely certain that Newell was dead, but he had used his para-rez talent to ensure that, even if she did survive, she would never be able to return to the surface.
There was little possibility that anyone would send a search-and-rescue team in after her, he told himself. Ruin rats were notoriously secretive. Most eventually became full-blown paranoids. They worked alone, rarely trusted anyone with their personal amber frequencies, and never told others about their excavation locations for fear of being ripped off by the competition.
But even if, by chance, someone did miss Newell and send a team in to search for her, there wouldn’t be a problem. The amber-rez locator on the woman’s sled no longer functioned. Not that anyone was likely to attempt a search-and-rescue operation. Who would give a damn about a lost ruin rat?
He left his sled in the green quartz chamber where he always stored it and headed for the surface as swiftly as possible. He was really on fire this time. He had been forced to use the blue stuff. The afterburn was tearing through him in hot, thrilling waves.
He had to find a woman before the crash came. He couldn’t have her, not yet at any rate, and the other one was out of town.
He would have to make do with a street whore, he thought, climbing swiftly up the steps to ground level.
He found just what he was looking for a short time later in a twisted little lane. She was a cheap-looking blonde in a skimpy red dress, huddled in a dimly lit doorway, pulling on a synch-smoke cigarette.
He was desperately thankful for the fog, which was so heavy now that even if someone noticed him talking to the woman, he could not possibly be identified from a distance.
With a supreme effort of will he managed to summon enough control to conceal the feverish lust beneath his public mask. It wasn’t easy.
“You look cold,” he said, walking toward her.
She lowered the cigarette and gave him a professional perusal.
“You want to warm me up, handsome?” she asked.
“It would be my pleasure.”
“It’ll cost you seventy-five bucks. Cash up front.”
He reached into his pocket for a small packet. “Got something better than money.”
She took the packet, opened it,
and inhaled gently. In the pale light of the vestibule he could see the sudden anticipation that animated her once-beautiful features.
“The chant will cover it, all right.” She rose and opened the door. “What do you say we go upstairs to my place?”
“I’m in a hurry,” he said, following her through the doorway.
“I know. They all are.”
HE BARELY MADE IT BACK TO HIS HIDING PLACE BEFORE he collapsed. The effects of the bad afterburn made him feel like a vampire. After the initial euphoric rush of heated lust came the inevitable crash into a deep, heavy slumber that could not be denied.
When he awoke the next morning, he reached for his journal. It was time to make another modification in the elaborately detailed plan he had constructed several months ago.
But first he made a careful note of the two recent deaths. He put a little question mark beside Bertha Newell’s name because, although he was certain that she would not make it out of the catacombs alive, he had not actually seen the body. He liked to be precise.
He had no doubts about the fate of the hooker, however. The dose of chant that he had given her had been especially prepared by the chemist to be used in case of just such an emergency. No one could have survived it.
Chapter 6
ELLY REZZED IN THE CODE OF THE HIGH-TECH LOCK THAT Bertha had installed on the concealed steel door. There was a faint snick of sound as it released.
“I’ll get it.” Cooper shifted the flashlight to his left hand, grasped the heavy handle with his right, and pulled the door inward. The hinges groaned. “This thing is old. Looks like it might be Early Colonial.”
“My rat hole dates from Colonial days, too,” she said. “All the buildings on Ruin Lane were put up around the same time.”
They went through the steel door and down another long flight of steps. At the bottom a familiar green glow rimmed a jagged opening in the green quartz wall of the tunnel.
Elly knew that nothing human had created the rips and tears in the nearly indestructible green quartz. Some experts assumed that the openings had been made by the aliens themselves, using the same machines that they had used to construct the catacombs. The other theory was that at some point in the planet’s past, massive earthquakes had done the damage.
An invisible current of psi energy flowed out of the opening. It whispered across all of her senses. On her shoulder, Rose stiffened with anticipation.
Cooper examined her curiously in the emerald light. “You can feel it, too?” he asked. He sounded surprised.
“Of course. I can sense psi power when there’s a lot of it around,” she said briskly. “Most people can. Why do you think the Old Quarters of the cities have all the most popular nightclubs, casinos, and restaurants? Tourists love the little buzz they get from psi energy.”
“Is that how it feels to you? Like a little buzz?”
“No,” she said, reaching into her tote for an amber compass. “If you want to know the truth, it feels like I’m looking through a dark mirror. I can sense shapes and shadows moving on the other side, but I can’t quite see them. It’s frustrating. That’s one of the reasons I haven’t used my own hole-in-the-wall very much. I’ve gone into the tunnels a few times with my friend, Doreen, but that’s about it.”
“You never talked about what it was like not having the same kind of strong para-psych profile that everyone else in your family has.”
“There were a lot of things you and I never discussed, Cooper.” She started toward the rip in the wall.
“I’ll go first.” Cooper eased her aside and moved through the opening ahead of her.
Typical hunter, she mused. Get one underground, and he immediately took charge. Then again, that’s what they were all trained to do, she reflected. The safety of the exploration and excavation teams depended on the strong-willed hunters who, in an emergency, could deal with the impressive egos and the research fever that often overtook the academics they were hired to protect.
She followed Cooper into the dimly lit green hallway.
Cooper contemplated the seemingly endless corridor that stretched out in front of them, assessing the multitude of vaulted openings and branching passageways.
“Let me see that frequency number that your friend gave you,” he said, drawing a small, palm-sized amber-rez locator out of his pocket.
No hunter worth his amber went anywhere without an amber compass and an amber-rez locator, Elly thought wryly. Her father and brothers even carried them when they dressed for formal occasions.
She handed the slip of paper to him and waited while he coded the frequency of Bertha’s utility sled into the device.
“I’m not getting anything,” he said, frowning. “Are you sure about the frequency?”
“Yes. But maybe the sled’s locator was disabled for some reason.” She rummaged in her tote. “Bertha also gave me the code for her personal amber.”
“Let’s try that.”
She read the second frequency number to him.
He entered it and nodded once, looking satisfied.
“Got a fix,” he said. “Not too far away.”
“Thank goodness.”
“Let’s go.”
He went forward, all business now, moving so quickly that Elly had to hurry to catch up with him.
The jagged opening in the wall behind them vanished after they made the first turn. Elly looked back over her shoulder, startled, as she always was when she went underground, to realize how quickly the catacombs became a disorienting maze. The softly glowing labyrinth distorted all sense of direction. Even though they had only traveled a short distance, the odds were good that, without amber, they would never be able to find their way back to Bertha’s cellar or any other exit for that matter.
In spite of the stimulation of the psi energy that emanated from the tunnel walls, a shiver tightened the skin along her spine.
“Whenever I get a chance to come down here, the experience always makes me think about that children’s book, The Adventures of Alice in Amberland,” she confided.
Cooper checked his compass and turned a corner. “Never read it.”
“You’re kidding. It’s a classic. It’s supposed to be based on an old Earth story. It’s about a little girl who falls down a dust bunny hole and winds up having lots of adventures in the catacombs. Didn’t your mother read the book to you when you were a boy?”
He turned another corner. “Maybe that was the year she read me Nishikawa’s A History of the Closing of the Curtain.”
“No offense, but that’s one of the biggest, dullest books ever written. Not exactly childhood reading material.”
“I liked it.” He led the way into a long, curving corridor. “But then I’m a Guild librarian, remember? History is my thing.”
“Once upon a time you were a librarian,” she said coolly. “Now you are a Guild boss. And I’d sure like to know how you made that jump, by the way.”
“You know how I got the job. Your father and the other members of the Council elected me to the position.”
“I’ve never, ever heard of a Guild librarian getting promoted into the executive office.”
“First time for everything. If you had such a big problem with my promotion, why did you agree to become engaged to me?”
“Because we had already started dating, and I thought I knew you well enough to take the risk.”
He turned his head to look at her. “Are you sure it wasn’t because your parents and everyone else in your clan pressured you into agreeing?”
She was temporarily shocked speechless. It took her nearly three full seconds to find her tongue.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped.
He shrugged. “You said, yourself, that high-ranking Guild marriages are usually arranged for reasons of politics and connections. Having a daughter enter into a Covenant Marriage with a Guild boss would be considered a good move by most clans.”
“I’m not saying my family wasn’t wildly enthusiasti
c about the idea of the two of us marrying, but if all they cared about was having an alliance with the head of the Guild, they would have pushed me to accept a date with your predecessor.”
That got his sudden and complete attention. “Haggerty wanted to date you?”
“I think he was angling for a Covenant Marriage, if you want to know the truth. After his last Marriage of Convenience expired he made it clear that he was looking for a permanent replacement and that he considered me an excellent option.”
“Your father didn’t go for it?”
“No, and neither did anyone else in the family. But most of all, I wasn’t interested.”
“Mind if I ask why? Haggerty was the right age. Old Guild family. Strong para-rez. Well educated. Polished.” He hesitated. “I was under the impression that women liked him.”
She grimaced. “And he liked women.”
“That’s a bad thing?”
“It wouldn’t have been if he’d had anything resembling a moral compass. But it was no secret that Haggerty was a dreadful womanizer. In the five years that he was in charge of the Guild, he contracted three Marriages of Convenience, each with a different woman. Heaven only knows how many mistresses and lovers he had on the side.” She shuddered. “He was definitely not what my family or I considered good husband material.”
“Huh.”
“You seem to be having a small problem processing that data,” she observed. “Did you really think that the only reason I agreed to get engaged to you was because my family was putting pressure on me?”
“After you left town,” he said quietly, “I wondered.”
“Well, stop wondering. I agreed to the engagement because, for a while, I thought we were meant for each other.”
“But you changed your mind.”
“Only after I realized that the Guild would always come first for you.”
“Tell me,” he said, “does it ever occur to you that you might have gotten the wrong impression about me?”