"I didn't say you did, Baptiste. What I meant was that you and Domi didn't have to go alone. There are people here who could have gone with you."

  "Domi didn't go with me."

  Kane shook his head and crossed arms over his chest. "Going out there by yourself is damn stupe."

  "There wasn't any other way."

  "There's always another way," Kane argued. "Even a seasoned Mag doesn't walk into a situation without backup."

  "You weren't here, Kane. The decision I made was valid."

  "And getting chilled would have given you even more validation?"

  "That's not what I said. Even on my own, that coldheart band spotted me."

  "You should have waited till Grant and I got back," Kane said, trying to understand what had possessed Brigid enough to try something like that on her own. "We're better at this than you ever will be."

  Brigid pushed herself up from the bed, her back ramrod straight. She stood on the floor, the bed between them, trying to wrap the sheet around her and maintain her dignity. The dignity worked, but the sheet cascaded around her briefly, revealing a quick glimpse of her rounded buttocks. Brigid quickly hauled up the sheet and turned to face him.

  "Don't lecture me, Kane," she told him sternly. "I can remember a few times when I put everything on the line to save you and Grant after one of your plans went awry."

  Kane raised his hands in surrender, wondering again what it was about Brigid Baptiste that sometimes kept him on the edge of anger. It would help, he felt, if she would just listen to him. "That's not how I meant it, Baptiste."

  "Yes, it is."

  "Okay, mebbe I meant it, but I didn't mean for it to come out so bald-faced like that."

  "An insult doesn't feel better just because it sounds better."

  "I didn't mean it as an insult," Kane said. "It was an observation. I mean, if something needs to be researched, would you want me and Grant trying to find it?"

  "No."

  "That's all I'm getting at."

  Brigid lifted her chin stubbornly. "I'm better than what you may want to believe, Kane. These last few years have been an education for me. If it hadn't been for a little bad luck, they'd never have known I was there."

  "A little more bad luck, Baptiste," Kane said soberly, "and mebbe you wouldn't be here at all."

  "It didn't happen, so deal with it."

  "What were you doing out there?"

  Brigid's brow knitted in puzzlement. "Lakesh hasn't said anything?"

  "Only that he didn't know where you were. Or why you were there." Kane studied Brigid's face, knowing from her inattention to him that her mind was busy thinking about what he'd told her. "Did he know?"

  "Lakesh could have tracked my transponder."

  "I thought of that."

  "But it's possible he didn't."

  Kane shook his head. "Did you tell him you were going?"

  "No. I didn't expect to be gone more than a day."

  With effort, Kane curbed himself from pointing out Brigid's further lack of planning. "But once you were, and Lakesh would have noticed you missing after a few hours, he'd have checked on you."

  "And what would he have done then?" Brigid demanded. "Sent someone after me and had them haul me back to the redoubt?"

  "He didn't," Kane pointed out. "But you can bet he knew where you were and that you were in trouble. So why didn't he send help?"

  Brigid's tone was more neutral, more evidence that she was thinking the situation through, as well. "Domi was there. If he knew about me, he knew about her."

  "Why was she there?"

  "She claimed she got bored."

  Kane nodded. Where the albino was concerned, he could believe that. "Mebbe. And mebbe Lakesh sent her." "Why?"

  Kane locked eyes with Brigid. "I guess that depends on why you were out there."

  Brigid dodged the question. "What happened in Utah?" Surrendering for the moment, Kane gave her a quick run-down on everything that had happened with Remar, leaving out the details about Carrie and her sister.

  "You're planning on going out to the Western Isles?" Brigid asked when he'd finished.

  "Yes."

  "When?"

  "Tonight."

  Brigid's face hardened. "You just got back."

  "The trail's only going to get cold if we wait, Baptiste. Baron Cobalt's Mags and the Tong are already barking at Remar's heels. If he didn't escape them, he may lead them straight to Falzone and the Lost Valley of Wiy Tukay."

  "I'm in no shape for that kind of trip."

  "You weren't going."

  "Why?"

  "This isn't something you should get overinvested in. Me and Grant are going to be bouncing between Falzone, the Tong and the Mag pursuit group. On top of that, Remar says Falzone's got his own problems with other people."

  "I see," Brigid said coldly.

  "It's going to be a hard trip, Baptiste, not something you want any part of."

  "I'm tougher than you think, Kane."

  Kane nodded. "I already knew that. You don't have anything to prove to me."

  "That's not how it feels."

  "Mebbe not, but that's coming from you—not me."

  Brigid turned and searched the nearby cabinets. The sheet she'd wound around herself came open a little, revealing the glorious expanse of one long leg. The dim light set fire to her red-gold hair.

  "What are you doing?" Kane asked.

  "Looking for my clothes."

  "DeFore threw them out. There wasn't any way of saving them. There's a bag there that has your personal effects."

  Brigid took the bag from one of the pegs inside the clothing cabinet, pulled the sheet more tightly around herself and walked unsteadily toward the door.

  "Where are you going?" Kane demanded.

  Brigid opened the door. "To my room. I can lie here or there, and if I get to choose—which I do—I'm going to do it there."

  "I thought you were going to tell me what you were doing away from the redoubt."

  Brigid eyed him levelly. "Don't worry about it. It's nothing I can't handle." She paused. "It's not something you'd want to overinvest in." She stepped into the silent hallway and left Kane alone in the room.

  "WHERE'S BRY?" Kane demanded a few minutes later. Lakesh turned from the comp monitor he'd been working at. "He's in his room. He's been sick for days."

  "Sick with what?" Kane stayed relentless. He was still angry with the way the conversation had gone with Brigid, and with the fact that he felt like the last one to know what was going on at the redoubt.

  "A viral infection, friend Kane," Lakesh replied. "It's nothing you should concern yourself with. Another day or two and he should return to his post in full health."

  "That's convenient."

  Lakesh blinked innocently. "I beg your pardon."

  "That he's not here now," Kane said, "as we're getting ready to leave."

  "You could go by and see him for yourself," Lakesh suggested.

  "I tried," Kane replied. "I beat on his damn door but I got no answer."

  "Perhaps he's asleep."

  "Mebbe he's not even in there," Kane suggested. "Well," Lakesh said, "there is a quick remedy for that concern." He tapped the keyboard and pointed at the Mercator map on the wall. "Donald Bry's transponder location." Kane watched the map, seeing the blip that showed up suddenly on the topography. He instantly identified the area as the Darks. In the next moment, a screen opened below the Mercator projection, tightening the transponder scan. Cerberus redoubt showed on the screen, continuing to enlarge and shift as the transponder was tracked down through the various room and levels of the complex. When the search finished, the blip beat constantly, flashing in the personnel quarters.

  "Donald Bry is in his room, friend Kane," Lakesh said. "According to the readout, his heart rate is accelerated and he seems to be somewhat stressed."

  "There's no fever?"

  "None that I see. But that could come and go."

  "You have the master key to every room in this redoubt," Kane said. "Let me have it."

  "I can't do that," Lakesh said. "I won't. Each person in this redoubt has the right to privacy."

  "Since when?" Grant asked as he strode into the room, Domi drifting along at his side.

  "Privacy is a creature necessity I willingly honor as long as it doesn't conflict with the most important needs of this complex," Lakesh answered. "I would expect you to honor and agree with that view." A bright smile filled his face as he held out his hands. "Darlingest Domi, how nice to see you again."

  The albino girl raced across the room and took Lakesh's hands. Both of them looked elfin.

  Neither of them, Kane had to admit, looked guilty.

  "Was there anything further you had to say on the matter of Donald Bry's absence, friend Kane?" Lakesh looked up at Kane, still holding delicately to one of Domi's hands.

  Kane briefly considered forcing the issue. "No. I'm done here."

  "Good. Then we can move on to other business." Lakesh reached for an old, weathered leather satchel sitting by the monitor worktable. "I have the comp progs you can take to Falzone and his group of scavengers."

  Kane took the satchel and hung it over one shoulder. 'This stuff all works?"

  "Yes, friend Kane. I guarantee that Falzone will be interested in this sampling of the progs Bry and I have unearthed from the Cerberus archives. After listening to your tale of how his people are searching underwater for the items they're retrieving, I think he'll definitely be interested in this particular batch."

  "We'll find out soon enough," Kane growled.

  "When are you leaving?" Lakesh asked.

  "Tonight. Like I said, there are a lot of miles between here and the Western Isles."

  "As I pointed out, friend Kane, there exists the possibility of using the gateway to jump there and save yourselves considerable wear and tear on that journey."

  "And if Falzone or Remar have a secondary group coming after us?" Kane pointed out. "That country up there gets tight. A number of the mountain ranges are impassable, and we just show up there with someone coming along our back trail, we might as well flush whatever trust we've earned so far."

  "Perhaps you are right," Lakesh admitted.

  "That's an ace on the line. Easy isn't always." Kane turned on his heel and strode toward the door. Grant fell in behind him.

  "Friend Kane," Lakesh called, "please make sure the trans-comm in the wag is in good working order before you leave. Communications may prove impossible along the way at different points, but I'd like to maintain it where and when we're able."

  "Right," Kane growled.

  Chapter 18

  "Things didn't go well with Brigid?"

  Hair wet from the quick shower he'd taken, Kane swung into the jeep's passenger seat. For their long overland journey, the jeep would be more comfortable—and less noticeable— than a Sandcat Like Grant, he'd put on fresh clothing, including a shirt with long, loose sleeves that concealed the Sin Eater strapped to his right forearm. "She's hardheaded."

  "True." Grant smiled as he keyed the ignition. The sound of the powerful engine filled the underground garage. "But that's one of the things we both admire about her."

  "She's also up to something."

  "About Bry?"

  "Mebbe." Kane turned and flipped open the cargo hatch containing self-heats, ring-pulls and extra ammo for their weapons. The cargo box had a false bottom where they stored their black polycarbonate Mag armor. Kane had decided to pock it in case events in the Western Isles turned out to be a cast-iron, one-percenter bitch. There were plenty of people in the Outlands who hated the Mags and the barons they stood tor, but they also feared them. And the armor had stood between him and a lot of damage for years. "DeFore warned me about him, too."

  "What did she say?" Grant steered through the long corridor. "DeFore suggested that Bry might not have been as sick as we've been told."

  "And?"

  "And nothing," Kane said irritably. "I don't think she knows anything more. Did you talk to Domi?"

  "Yeah."

  "What did she have to say?"

  "Little Miss Innocence," Grant replied. "Just happened to be there in time to save Brigid's ass when she got bitten by the snake."

  "Do you believe that?"

  Grant lifted his massive shoulders and dropped them. "Mebbe. Domi said she got bored, noticed Brigid leaving and took off after her, not letting Brigid know she was there. Like it was a game. I can see that."

  Kane studied the massive vanadium door waiting at the end of the corridor. "Me too. But if she was there, she probably saw what Brigid saw. And neither of them is telling us the whole story."

  Grant spoke into his trans-comm. A hidden comm aboard the jeep boosted the signal, guaranteeing that they'd be able to stay in touch with Cerberus most of the trip. "Open the damn door, Lakesh."

  A moment later, the lights went out as the huge vanadium door hummed and slid into the housing beside the doorway. The wag sped through the opening. As the vanadium door slid closed like an accordion behind them, Grant slipped on a pair of NVGs. Kane did the same, letting the lenses strip the night from the surrounding terrain, turning it into a blend of greens and blacks.

  Grant pulled onto the main access road leading down from the redoubt.

  Sensing someone's eyes on him, Kane turned in the seat. With the NVGs on, he could just make out the feminine figure standing on one of the higher mountain peaks where the chain- like fencing ran. She watched until the steep grade took her from Kane's sight.

  "THERE'S NO OTHER WAY but that pass. Unless you want to add a day or two travel time across some really rough country."

  Standing beside the wag, Kane trained his binoculars over the mountain pass. They were long, hard days from Cerberus. Other than two skirmishes with scavenging Roamers and a confrontation in a roadhouse that had turned both bloody and deadly, the trip out west had been relatively quiet.

  "They've got a group of coldhearts working a toll." Kane surveyed the high walls towering over the narrow pass. Even with the wag's four-wheel drive, going over the mountains was out of the question. He focused on the standing crosses, spotting the bodies hanging from them. Three of them looked fresh.

  "We've got the scrip," Grant said.

  "If that's all they're after." Kane put the binoculars away. "Let's roll."

  Grant put the wag in gear and drove up the steep incline toward the pass and the waiting coldhearts. He took a miniUzi from under the seat and laid it just under his thigh for easy access.

  Kane took up a Mossberg pump riot shotgun with a pistol grip from the floorboard. A short bandolier was mounted below the shotgun's action, and Kane had extra shells in the jacket he'd put on against the morning's chill.

  As the wag drew closer, the coldhearts moved into position. Only one man stood in the center of the pass, but Kane counted nearly a dozen blasters trained on their wag.

  Grant kept his foot steady on the accelerator. "Got a hinky feeling about this."

  "Yeah," Kane agreed, cradling the Mossberg in both hands.

  The coldheart in the pass waved them to a halt. Grant stopped short fifteen feet away, one hand on the wheel and the other on the 9 mm blaster beside his leg.

  "No need to be shy, gents." The coldheart was short and scrawny, dressed in remnants of a mil-spec uniform. Gray duct tape was wrapped raggedly around his hard-used boots. He carried a bolt-action .30-06 canted on his hip. Radiation burns had left scarred ruins on the right side of his face, turning his eye milky white with blindness. "We're open for bidness."

  Kane dropped the shotgun muzzle over the man's chest and said easily, "So are we."

  Some of the confident smile left the coldheart's face. "I wouldn't want to open the ball on this patch of trouble, I was you."

  "The last son of a bitch I'd want to be in this situation," Kane said, "is you." He moved the shotgun meaningfully.

  The coldheart paled. "Just doing bidness here, that's all. Can't let you go through for free. We spent some blood getting set up here and deserve something for keeping this pass free."

  "How much is the toll?"

  The coldheart raised his voice. "Morgan? How much for a wag and two riders?"

  "Shit," Grant breathed quietly, "if they don't have a set price, they're either real damn new at this or they haven't been charging the people who have been going through this pass."

  "Yeah." Kane waited, the shotgun's muzzle never wavering.

  "You running jolt or pop-skull?" one of the men taking cover called down.

  "No," Kane replied.

  "You ain't no trader, and you don't look like no settler passing through. What bidness you got out this way, then?"

  "None of yours," Kane said.

  The coldheart standing in the pass tried to take a step back. Kane looked at the man down the shotgun barrel. "Don't move."

  The man froze.

  "The toll's fifty for the wag, twenty-five apiece for riders," Morgan called out. "Brings the total to a hundred."

  "You're too high," Kane replied without hesitation.

  "It's my pass," Morgan replied. "I reckon I know what it's worth to pass through. If you don't have the scrip, we can work out a trade for one of those blasters you're carrying."

  "It's worth fifty to me not to have to go around."

  Morgan was quiet for a short time. "I'll take the fifty."

  "Send your man over for it," Kane instructed.

  "Kelly," Morgan ordered, "go on over there. We got your back."

  Obvious reluctance filled the man as he walked over to the wag. Kane used one hand to take the scrip from his shirt pocket, flipping out the fifty in greasy notes they'd traded for at a roadhouse yesterday. He tossed it onto the ground at Kelly's feet.

  The coldheart licked his lips nervously, then bent to clutch the notes in a dirty, scarred fist.

  "Step aside," Kane ordered.

  Kelly trotted backward, almost tripping himself in his haste. "I got it, Morgan."

  "Let 'em go," Morgan yelled.

  Kane watched the men shifting on the mountainsides, picking up more of them along the towering ridges. His point man's senses flared to life, picking up more movement than he thought was necessary.

 

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