It was Jenifa’s third interview that morning. They were using two of the eight cells on basement level one for interviews, with the Eliter suspects crammed into the remaining six. Rasschaert had known a surprising number of people, so after spending a night with nine other people in a small space with only two cots and one shared toilet, the suspects were now crabby as well as frightened. It wasn’t a good combination.
Terannia was led in, and the handcuffs removed before the guard pushed her down into a chair. The club owner was taller than Jenifa, and probably weighed twice as much. If their positions around the table had been reversed, Jenifa might have been quite intimidated by that. As it was she took a minute to check through Terannia’s file again, make the suspect wait. It didn’t seem to unsettle Terannia. She looked tired and bored rather than cowed. Which was interesting.
“Do you know why you’re here?” Jenifa asked.
“I can think of several reasons. But everyone you’re half suffocating in the cell says it’s about Rasschaert.”
“What are the other reasons?”
“The PSR doesn’t have a gram of imagination, so you blame Eliters for everything. It’s pathetic, you know.”
Jenifa glanced at the file, seeing Terannia had been brought in for questioning a dozen times in the last fifty years. No charges had ever been brought. They were all routine investigations into Eliter radicals. “The PSR protects Bienvenido. If you’ve done nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear.”
Terannia let out a bitter laugh. “I’m being told that by a brainwashed child. Giu help us all.”
“Do you deny you knew Rasschaert?”
“I don’t remember him specifically, but if you say he’s been in the club, I’m not going to dispute it.”
Jenifa slid a photograph of Rasschaert over the table. “To help your Eliter memory. He didn’t simply visit your club; he worked there for three months. I also have a copy of his employment record, which you filed.”
Terannia glanced down at the photo, and cocked her head to one side. “Nine years ago. He was behind the bar. Not much good.”
“Is that why he left?”
“Seriously, girlie? A reason from nine years ago? How many people have worked at the club since then? Is that in your records?”
“Seventy-two,” Jenifa answered immediately, enjoying the startled look that sprang across the woman’s face. “Actually, I don’t care why you got rid of him, but I’m pleased you do remember, because this next question is critical.” She took out the photo of Florian. “Did Rasschaert bring this man into the club? Did they ever meet there?”
Terannia stared at Jenifa for a long moment before studying the photo. “This is Florian, isn’t it? The one you’re all after. He looks young, just a bit older than you.”
“Yes, that’s Florian. Did he visit your club?”
“No.” She sighed. “He’s never been to the club.”
Jenifa studied her keenly. “You’re sure?”
“Yes,” Terannia said decisively, then hesitated. “This picture was taken nine years ago?”
“Seven. It’s from his regimental service file. Why?”
“So what does he look like now?”
“Much the same, apparently.”
“Oh. Okay. Still a no, then.”
“So what about this week?” Jenifa asked. “Has there been any talk about him in the club?”
“Ha! Are you kidding, girlie? The way you lot have disrupted the city, nobody’s talking about anything else.”
“Did anyone say where he might be?”
“It’s got to be Port Chana.”
Jenifa lifted an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Well, he must be, right? Nobody would stay in Opole with this kind of hunt going on. You’d be crazy.”
“The city is sealed.”
“He got in, didn’t he?” Terannia smirked. “He beat you, girlie.”
“One, he has not beaten us; we are preventing him from carrying out his subversion. Two, don’t ever call me girlie again. You can go back to your cell now.”
The amusement vanished from Terannia’s eyes. “How long for? I have a business to run. I answered all your questions.”
“Until I say you can go. Which will be when we’ve finished cross-referencing everyone’s statements.”
“But there’s dozens of us. It’ll take you all day.”
“Yes.” Jenifa tidied the papers on the table. “It will. The PSR is very thorough. Don’t ever forget that.”
The phone on Yaki’s desk had a speaker attachment. Chaing sat on one side of the desk, trying not to show Yaki how discomforted he was by Stonal’s voice.
“Do you even know if Florian and the girl are still in Opole?” the director of section seven asked.
“I’m reasonably certain,” Chaing said. “The checkpoints around the city are secure.”
“It’s a wide perimeter, and you have the river to consider as well. A small boat at night could go unnoticed, as Florian has already demonstrated.”
Chaing glared at the innocuous Bakelite speaker grille with the blue secure line light shining below it. “It’s not possible to guard the exit routes with any greater degree of security, sir. If he’s gotten past us, it was with considerable help.”
“Opole has a large Eliter population.”
“It does, sir,” Yaki said. “But there is one piece of information we received last night that would indicate Captain Chaing is correct.”
“Which is?” Stonal asked.
Chaing gave Yaki a grateful nod. “Gorlan’s assets reported that the Eliters have started broadcasting general calls for the Warrior Angel to help Florian. They’re telling her the PSR is persecuting him.”
“I see. Interesting.”
“She might be coming here.”
“Which is inconvenient, to say the least. I cannot leave the capital right now. Besides, we would require a considerably longer lead time to lay a trap for her.”
Chaing shuffled to the edge of his seat. “Sir. With respect, I don’t think we can afford her coming to Florian’s aid. They cannot be allowed to join up.”
“Then you have a simple task, don’t you, Captain? You must acquire Florian before the Warrior Angel.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I find it hard to comprehend why you released Castillito. She is his major possible contact point in Opole.”
“He can’t contact her if she’s in our custody,” Chaing shot back. “I have her under constant surveillance.”
“If Florian hasn’t contacted her by now, after four days in Opole, he isn’t going to. Someone else is sheltering him. Someone who is willing to risk everything. To me that speaks of a very close bond.”
“We have had considerable success bringing in Rasschaert’s known associates,” Yaki said.
“And have they produced any leads? No? Then bring Castillito in again. Extract the name of Florian’s father from her. That’s where you’ll find him.”
“Yes, sir,” Chaing said. Crud!
The tenement block was on Quilswith Road, just off Broadstreet, but at the opposite end of the thoroughfare from the PSR offices. Ironic, Jenifa thought as the car pulled up outside. She got out and looked up at the blue-brick façade of the elegant old building. Unlike a lot of the city’s tenements, this one was fully occupied and well maintained. Perfect for a civil rights so-called leader; no living in the slum-zones with the lower orders for her.
A van parked down the road had a couple of PSR officers inside, watching the front of the block. She knew another van was covering the alley at the back. A command post had been set up opposite, with cine-camera lenses focused on Castillito’s window. Neighboring apartments had been used to place listening devices against her walls. The sound wasn’t good, but they could still hear most of what went on. And a tape recorder in the basement was wired into her telephone line.
Jenifa went into the big lobby. The floor was black-and-white marble tiling; large brass and crystal lights hung on long chains from a high ceiling. A house manager came out from his office to stand at the polished reception counter.
“Can I help you?”
Jenifa simply held up her PSR badge. “Castillito. Which apartment?”
“Third floor, number four.”
She climbed the wide curving stairs. Far above, the afternoon sunlight was shining brightly through a circular lantern window. It was easy to imagine Void-era aristocrats living their decadent lives in such a place. Her disapproval of Castillito grew with every step climbed.
Jenifa took a second to straighten her uniform and compose herself before knocking on the door to number four. People always judged her by her size and youthful features, never quite respecting her, which was a constant source of anger. Although the PSR uniform sometimes mitigated that casual disregard.
Not with Castillito, who looked her up and down with a dismissive expression. “Yes?”
“You really want to do this in the corridor?” Jenifa asked flatly.
“Come in, why don’t you.”
The apartment was as Jenifa expected—large, clean, and bright, furnished with perfect antiques.
Castillito walked into the lounge, standing in front of the tall balcony windows, preferring to look out onto the street rather than at Jenifa. “What is it now?”
“We need more information from you, and we need it fast. So this is how it goes. You either tell me now, or I take you in to the PSR office where I will personally extract the information from you.”
“What was it with you, I wonder?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re all very damaged people, so I’m wondering what happened to you to make you like this. A relative abused you during your childhood, perhaps? That’s quite common.”
“It’s not me sheltering a Faller! That’s what I call damage.”
Castillito turned from the window and smiled contemptuously. “The recruiters deliberately seek you out. Did you know that?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The PSR recruiters. They sift through court cases, looking for a specific type of victim. People who have had their moral compass broken. They’re no different from your original abusers, you know; you’re still being used.”
“This is ridiculous,” Jenifa said. “The only reason I joined up is to protect Bienvenido from Fallers.”
“Really? In that case, look me in the eye and tell me Florian is now a Faller. Can you do that?”
Jenifa was instantly cross with herself for the traitorous flush coloring her cheeks. “Who is his father?”
“Is that what all this is about? One of your forms I didn’t fill in properly?”
“His father must be sheltering him. Who is it?”
Castillito chuckled. “That’s the best the PSR can come up with to excuse your failure to find him?”
“Who is the father?”
“All right. I can see you’re serious about this, so I’ll offer you a deal.”
“We don’t make deals, especially not with you. Florian will face the full consequences of his actions.”
“The deal doesn’t concern Florian.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you here and now on one simple condition. Aren’t you even going to ask what it is? Even you won’t be able to force the answer out of me straightaway in your torture chambers. Can you afford to lose that time?”
“What’s the condition?” Jenifa ground out.
“I want you to deliver a message to your boss, Captain Chaing.”
“What message?”
“So you will do it?”
“I’ll report everything you say to me. Believe that.”
“Very good. The message is this: I know why Chaing sent you instead of coming himself.”
“That’s it?”
Castillito gave her a sardonic grin. “See, that wasn’t so difficult, now, was it?”
“The father!”
“Rafferty.”
Chaing, Yaki, and Jenifa stood in Ashya Kukaida’s shiny white office as clerks hurried in with files she’d requested. Each folder was opened, and the contents spread methodically across her pristine desk. When they were all laid out, she would put on her thick glasses and slowly scan the paperwork.
Chaing knew that, just like him, Yaki wanted to shout at the old woman to get a move on, but even she held her tongue in this realm. Everything depended on Kukaida.
What do we do when she gets too old for this? he wondered. Is she even training a successor? And there was another, more uncomfortable, thought nagging away in his head. Does she have that amazing memory because she’s an Eliter?
He watched as Kukaida ran a finger down a column of reference numbers, then beckoned a clerk over. The man was given an index code, and he hurried off into the records hall.
She can’t be. Can she?
He’d been tense ever since Jenifa had returned in triumph from Castillito’s with the name. And the message. She’d been puzzled by it, but Chaing knew all too well what it meant. Castillito wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily.
The clerk returned with another gray cardboard folder. Kukaida painstakingly gathered up the sheets on her desk and returned them to their file before the new paperwork was put out for examination.
“Ah,” she exclaimed. An index finger tapped the guilty line of typing.
“Who is he?” Yaki demanded.
“Fetch this one,” Kukaida told a clerk before looking up. “Rafferty isn’t an Eliter, which is why we didn’t have an open file on him. I thought that was odd.”
“But Florian and Lurji are still Eliters, aren’t they?” Jenifa asked.
“In eighty percent of cases, when an Eliter has a child with a non-Eliter, the offspring are functioning Eliters,” Kukaida said. “The other twenty percent are mules; their macrocellular clusters don’t work. They’re dying out, you know: Eliters. In a thousand years there’ll be none left.”
Which explains a lot, Chaing thought miserably. It must have been Mother who was the Eliter.
“Irrelevant to this case,” Yaki said sharply. “What’s Rafferty’s story?”
“Castillito defended him in three court cases. Standard acts of petty civil disobedience. It would seem Rafferty was something of a hothead thirty years ago.”
“Like father like son,” Jenifa muttered.
“That’s Lurji,” Chaing said. “Not Florian.”
“Where is he now?” Yaki asked patiently.
“The Cannik Mine in the Transo Mountains—that’s a yellowcake operation. Castillito couldn’t get him off the last case; he was organizing a blockade at the rocket engine factory to call attention to some perceived injustice against Eliters. The judge took a very dim view of that. It was a fifty-year sentence.”
“Crud, so he’s still there?”
Kukaida pulled a face. The clerk came back into her office, holding a slim folder. Chaing groaned when he saw it; the cover had a big scarlet DECEASED stamp on the front.
“He was buried there,” Kukaida said, opening the proffered folder. “Yellowcake is radioactive. Not many survive ten years, let alone fifty. He died from radiation sickness seventeen years ago.”
“Again!” Chaing protested. “That crudding Florian has done it to us again.”
“I don’t think having your father die of radiation poisoning is exactly a victory,” Jenifa said.
“But it helps him.”
“Not for long,” Yaki said. “There are records. Not as detailed as the ones we keep on Eliters, but we can track down Rafferty’s family. It has to be one of them sheltering Florian. There’s no one else.”
“There’s another possibility,” Jenifa said. “Rafferty was Castillito’s client. She’d probably know he was dead. And now we can’t confirm he was the father. Not from his mouth.”
“She did it to deflect us,” Yaki said. “Florian is her son, after all.”
“No,” Chaing said as a sudden sense of guilty relief flooded through him. This was going to be a disaster for the case, but with Castillito gone…
“Why not?” Yaki said. “It makes perfect sense to me.”
“She knew we’d suspect the parentage as soon as we discovered Rafferty is dead,” he said. “So she knows what we’ll do to her now. She wouldn’t risk that.”
“Unless…” Jenifa groaned as she realized the deception. “She knows how desperate we are to find the father. I made that pretty clear. This was all to buy herself time.”
“Time for what?” Chaing asked, trying to sound genuinely bewildered. Then he made a show of wincing. “Oh, crud!”
Chaing and Yaki were in the lead car, with the rest of the convoy following hot behind, all of them racing along Broadstreet with lights flashing and sirens wailing. They’d already radioed ahead to the surveillance team to check if Castillito was still in her apartment.
Strangely enough, Chaing felt remarkably calm. Even the pain in his wrist seemed subdued. With Castillito gone, the threat to him had vanished with her. Ruining one PSR officer wouldn’t save her now; she would have to stay in hiding for the rest of her life. He was in the clear.
So he kept a calm expression in place as they pulled up outside the tenement on Quilswith Road. One of the surveillance team officers was hurrying out of the entrance, looking scared.
She’s gone! And she has the contacts to make sure there’s no trace of her.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the officer blurted. “We were watching the building the whole time. I don’t know how she got out.”
“I need your operation logs. Now!” Chaing shouted at him. “We need to trace every vehicle that used this road this morning,” he told Yaki.
“On top of hunting Florian?” Yaki muttered darkly. “We don’t have the resources. Not for a fast result.”
“Crudding Uracus!”
Yaki watched the other PSR cars pulling up, blocking the street. “Get our people inside. I want every apartment, every room, every bussalore hole in that building ripped apart.”
“I’m on it.”
“Stonal will go crudding crazy! You were specifically told to bring her in.”
From some weird distance, Chaing heard himself saying: “Yes, that’s what Corporal Jenifa was ordered to do.”
Yaki stiffened, giving him a surprised glance. Both of them looked at the second car; Jenifa was just climbing out of the back.
“Seriously?” Yaki asked.
“I logged the order,” Chaing said. Making it official that the order was to be carried out as Stonal instructed. What wasn’t in the log was his suggestion that Jenifa threaten Castillito to get the father’s name quickly. That would now be her own initiative.
Jenifa hurried over to them.
“She’s gone,” Yaki said. “Corporal, were you told to bring the suspect in for questioning?”
“I…” Jenifa gave Chaing a sideways glance. “I was told to find the father’s name.”
“Castillito was our last valid lead to the fugitive,” Yaki said coldly. “She fed you false information in order to escape.”
“You were perfectly happy with what I did,” Jenifa said hotly.
“Until I realized just how big a mistake you made. Corporal Jenifa, as of now you are suspended, pending an inquiry into your actions.”
“That’s—” Jenifa stopped herself from saying anything more. Her face was flushed with anger. “Yes, Director,” she said formally.
“Report back to the office. We’ll try and salvage something from this mess.”
Jenifa turned, not making eye contact with Chaing, and walked back to the convoy of cars. She stumbled on the curb.
“Too harsh?” Yaki asked.
“Not at all,” Chaing assured her.
“So what the crud do we do now?”
“What the PSR is good at. All those people Rasschaert knew that we have in custody: Stop playing nice with them.”
Yaki gave him an intrigued look. “You want to begin increased interrogation on all of them?”
“No. Just send a sheriff team to each of their homes. Tear them apart. Florian has to be somewhere.”
Essie had spent most of the day eating. She had always been hungry, but this new phase was worrying Florian badly. The cravings were strong enough to overcome the constant growing pains and joint aches. She ate her food, then his. Matthieu brought some more, then a further batch.
The food processors were working almost nonstop, and they were struggling to keep up. She now ate all the fruit directly, using it to graze between the batches the cylinders churned out.
“Perhaps you should stop for a bit,” Florian suggested at midday. Her stomach was badly distended, making him think of a pregnant eight-year-old—a perturbing thought, given her body wasn’t exactly normal. She was sweating copiously, too. And the med kit reported her temperature was high.
Essie’s lower lip trembled as she gave him a remorseful stare. “I’s so hungreee, Dad.”
“I know sweetheart, but you’ll make yourself ill if you eat too much. Don’t do that, please.”
“I’m hardly Daniel Lambert,” she said in a suddenly clear voice.
“Who?” She was doing that several times a day now, coming out with strange little phrases or names in a perfectly rational voice that made him question if he was the stupid one for not understanding.
“One more apple, Dad, please. I’ll stop then. Promise.”
The pleading, adorable smile she hit him with was an unstoppable force. “One, then, that’s all.”
“Thank you. You’re the best dad ever. Much better than Marcus.”
“And you’re the best daughter in the world. Uh, who’s Marcus?”
“Daddeee,” she crooned, snuggling up against him.
He took an apple out of the wicker basket and handed it to her. As she munched slowly he gathered her hair up into cute braids and used a strip of fabric as a ribbon to tie it. “You look lovely,” he told her.
Her hair was matted and greasy, like his. Washing was tricky in the mod-stable, and Matthieu hadn’t brought a lot of soap to them since they’d arrived. And the sink in the corner was tiny, anyway.
She finished the apple and lay on the bedroll, wheezing. Another cause for concern—though when he applied the diagnostic sensor pad from the medical kit, it reported her lungs were okay.
You’re getting far too paranoid, he scolded himself.
As the afternoon wore on, Florian became aware of loud noises echoing along the passage back to the office. It sounded like furniture was being smashed up. He held his breath while Essie slept on blissfully. Sure enough: the distinctive sound of glass breaking. Raised voices, one of them Matthieu’s.
They’re in the club! They’re here for us.
His u-shadow armed the defense bracelet. Its targeting program went active, and he pulled up his shirtsleeve. Staring at the pearl-white alien band around his wrist made him all the more determined not to let them capture Essie. He was wearing a weapon from the Commonwealth. It’s all real. She can save us, if she just has the chance.
Tactically, the mod-stable was a disaster. Only one way in or out—and even with the Commonwealth weapon, breaking through a room of armed PSR officers would be nearly impossible. He glanced up at the window. Essie could fit through; he probably wouldn’t. He started examining the floor. The old wooden boards were firm and dry. He had no idea what was underneath. If he had an ax it would take barely a minute to chop through. If he had an ax…He glanced at the bracelet again. Will it be able to shoot through wood? If it can, they’ll hear it.
But the sounds of the club being broken up were diminishing; they hadn’t found the passage entrance. He sat at the top of the short ladder into the mod-stable and listened for a long time. All the noise had died.
Essie woke up an hour later. He let her eat another meal from the processors, which finished the last of the food Matthieu had brought. He was getting hungry himself now.
Light was starting to fade from the window above when he heard the distinctive sound of the panel door in the office being opened. He woke Essie, who looked around in concern when he put his finger to his lips. Someone was crawling along the passage. He pushed Essie behind him and held his arm out rigid, ready for battle. Slim violet exovision targeting graphics sprang up around the top of the short ladder.
Aunt Terannia stuck her head up through the hole. “Only me,” she said briskly. Then blinked. “What is that on your arm?”
“E-beam pulsor,” Essie said matter-of-factly. “Far Away’s favored Saturday-night special.”
Florian hurried over to help his aunt up. “Are you all right? Matthieu said the PSR had taken you.”
“They did. I met a nasty little girl in there who’d better pray to Giu she never sees me again. They let me go an hour ago.”
“What did they want?”
“As we suspected, Billop ratted Rasschaert out. But that’s not surprising. Nobody can hold out against the PSR in the end. So they rounded up everyone Rasschaert knew to see if they know where you are.”
“Crudding bastards!”
“Smart and efficient bastards, actually. They got close this time, Florian. Next time…”
“I heard people in the club earlier. It sounded like they were smashing the place up.”
“A sheriff raid; they did the same for everyone they’d taken into custody. And yeah, they knocked the club about.”
“I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”
“Stop saying that. It’s not their first visit here; it won’t be the last.” She gave him a gentle hug. “You can’t stay here, Florian. Not anymore. They came close today. And if they take me in again and go to work on me, I won’t be able to hold out. It’s not safe for you and Essie.”
“Are bad people coming?” Essie asked.
“Not here, darling, but we have to get you away to be sure.” Terannia gave Florian an anxious look. “Besides, Matthieu and I don’t think it’s only the PSR that’s looking for you now.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“There’s been an upsurge in encrypted file traffic, similar to just before Chaing exposed Xander Manor.”
“There are Fallers hunting me?”
“Nobody can say for sure, but it’s best to be safe.”
“They can’t be that well organized, can they?”
“Come on, Florian, you’re not a kid anymore. We all know the Faller Apocalypse is coming.”
“But…that’s the one thing the PSR are good for, taking out nests.”
“Yes,” Terannia said. “And they probably uncover ten a year, have been for decades. It’s a good record they have, no one is disputing that. But, tell me, where do those nests come from?”
“What do you mean? It’s the eggs. There’s a Fall from the Tree Ring just about every week somewhere on Bienvenido.”
“Yes, there is. And you served in a regiment. How many eggs did you find?”
“I didn’t. But one of the squads on our sweep did, once. They’re real, Aunt Terannia.”
“Very real. So is our Air Defense Force. They’re good, those flyboys, and the Space Vigilance Office as well. Nothing lands on Bienvenido these days without us knowing about it. The squadrons are scrambled in time to reach the eggs when they Fall through the atmosphere, and the guns that blessed Mother Laura designed for us blast the alien cruds apart before they even reach the ground. Officially, it’s only about one in fifty that ever actually lands intact.”
“Yeah,” Florian nodded earnestly. “It’s true, too, not just propaganda.”
“So where are all the nests coming from? Do the math, Florian.”
“Well, they’re…” He stopped, frowning, suddenly and unnervingly uncertain. “Uh, the breeder Fallers?”
“Yes. The Fallers that are here are reproducing, Florian; they were doing that even back in the Void. Their numbers are growing despite everything the Air Force and regiments are doing; even the Liberty flights are just about irrelevant. They’re here, Florian; they’ve been here for centuries. Back in the Void we were better off. Our telekinesis and psychic sight gave us an advantage, and we managed to contain them. Without those assets out here in the real universe, all we have is guns and PSR paranoia. It’s not enough.”
“Great Giu,” Florian groaned.
“We don’t even know how many Fallers there are. The worst-case figures the Eliter Council came up with are terrifying. And they’re organized, Florian. There are nests in every city. Their children are spreading out, safely—because everyone knows the eggs are destroyed before they land and the PSR is just mopping up any stragglers. But they’re not stragglers, they’re the vanguard. The nests that orchestrate the attacks on places like the rocket factory, they’re the expendable ones. Take out one, and three more quietly start up to finish their work.”
“But the government…”
“Is truly terrified. Prime Minister Adolphus even has an evacuation plan for the People’s Congress and their families; the Varlan Regiment and three squadrons will retreat with them to Byarn. They think—they hope—the island’s free of them. They’ve been building fortified bunkers there for the last thirty years.”
“That’s…How can they do that? What about everyone else?”
“We think the IA-509s will atom bomb the whole Lamaran continent if the Fallers have overridden it. It’s called Operation Reclaim, which is a big fat stupid government lie-name. It’s actually a scorched-earth policy. Bienvenido will wind up like Macule, all radioactive desert and glaciers.”
“They wouldn’t!”
“Survival makes people desperate—not that it’ll do them any good. Faller eggs must have been landing on all the uninhabited islands like Rachweith and Tonari while we were in the Void, and we know Fallers mimic the bigger animals the same as they do us, so presumably they can copy the creatures that live on the polar continents, too. Crud knows how established they are across the rest of this world, because we don’t venture outside of Lamaran. Even the old Captain’s government had an isolationist policy; Slvasta just carried that on. For all we know, humans are already in a minority on Bienvenido.”
Florian shook his head, feeling the tears welling behind his eyes. “No. That can’t be right.”
Terannia glanced at Essie. “She really is our last chance. Matthieu told me where she came from. She and the Warrior Angel are all we’ve got left.”
Florian let out a long breath; there really wasn’t a decision to make. “All right. We’ll go. Keeping her safe is the only thing that’s important. Another three weeks, that’s all.” He put his arm around Essie. “Did you hear that, sweetheart? We’re going to go somewhere else. Somewhere nice.”
“Where, Daddy?”
“Near the seaside,” Terannia said. “You’ll like that.”
Florian bowed his head. “Okay. When can you do it?”
“Tomorrow. Matthieu had to get someone else out fast today, but our friends in the underground railway will be back in place in the morning.”
“Thank you.”
This time she hugged him tight. “You stay ahead of them, you hear me? And when the time is right, you and Essie shake this world so hard it rattles.”
“I will. I promise.”
Chaing opened the door to his flat and saw Jenifa sitting at the small kitchen table. Crud!
She glared at him. “You never said a crudding word to help me. Not one, you bastard!”
He closed the door and took a few steps toward her. She’d risen to stand rigid-backed, her face all belligerent. Seeing her like this, so angry, with her body all tense, he was surprised to find he was getting very turned on. “Half the office was there outside Castillito’s place,” he retorted, refusing to give ground. “What else could I do? If I’d had an argument with Director Yaki in front of everyone, we both would have been backed into a corner with no way out. Is that what you wanted? Because you damn well know what the inquiry is going to find. You shouldn’t have left Castillito; you shouldn’t have given her the chance to escape. She made you look ridiculous. The PSR is a laughingstock because of you.”
“Me? It was your crudding idea!”
Chaing ducked forward and kissed her. Jenifa pushed him away hard, then grinned viciously as she slowly unbuttoned her uniform blouse. “That bitch has got something on you, hasn’t she? That was the real message I carried back.”
Chaing never took his eyes from her small black bra. “You screwed up, Corporal. Don’t try and blame me.”
“You messed up somewhere and she knows about it,” Jenifa sneered back at him. “You’re running scared from a filthy Eliter, Captain.”
He grimaced at the raw truth, then grunted in shock as her hand closed around his balls, squeezing roughly. With a yell he tugged her bra off, tearing the clips. She slapped him. He lunged forward.
They fucked right there on the kitchen table. It was anger sex, hot and turbulent, both trying to climax first, to win. The table legs scraped across the floor as they writhed about, a screeching sound blotted out by her sharp cries and his animal grunts.
Chaing didn’t care about the noise, or who heard them; he laughed in triumph as an orgasm claimed him. Losing Florian, being outsmarted by Castillito, none of that mattered now. This was real victory. Beneath him, Jenifa spasmed in pleasure.
They lay on the tabletop for a long time, panting almost in unison, clothes tangled, sweaty skin pressed together, limbs at awkward angles. Then the slow extrication began, like undoing a tricky knot of sticky flesh.
“So what happened after I was dismissed?” Jenifa asked. She frowned in annoyance at the ripped buttons on her uniform skirt as she slipped it off.
“Nothing,” he admitted as he eased his ruined shirt over the cast on his arm. “Castillito made a very clean getaway. It was impressive considering how tight the observation team was.”
“What about the raids? I heard the sheriffs were starting as I left the office.”
“A few of them turned up some petty crud, but nothing connected with Florian. We still haven’t got a clue where he is.”
“What about Castillito’s friends and associates? Are you bringing them in?”
“Procedure says we should, but we both know that’s going to be a waste of time. First, there’s hundreds of them. And she won’t have implicated anyone.”
“This is Falling into a grade-A crudstorm.” She shook off her blouse so she was standing completely naked in front of him.
“Somebody knows where he is. I’ll find them,” Chaing said resolutely. His eye patch had slid around to his cheek; he took it off carefully, fingers probing at the sore flesh around the eye where the bruise was now coloring up.
“Uracus, you look terrible.”
“Thanks.”
She pressed her fists into the small of her back, arching her spine as she tried to work the knots out of her muscles.
He enjoyed the sight of her flexing body for a while, then asked: “Why do you do it?” genuinely curious.
“Do what?”
“Build your muscles up like that.”
She looked down proudly at herself. “I want to be strong, to be exceptional. Not just my body, but my mind, too. This job we have—if we’re weak we fail. It’s that simple.”
“And being physically strong…”
“The two are connected; one feeds the other. I need to be strong enough to withstand anything that can happen to me. And I am.” She tossed her head and put her hands on her hips, staring at him defiantly with her wide hazel eyes. “Why? Don’t you like it?”
“I like it very much.”
“I admire you, Chaing.”
“Admire me? Is that all?”
“What do you think? I’m crudding furious with you, right now. But yes, you’re so obsessed with catching Florian, you even sacrificed me. That’s a kind of strength.”
“I didn’t sacrifice you, I diverted Yaki, that’s all,” he lied. “The only testimony that’ll matter at your inquiry will be mine.”
“I can’t be pushed out of the PSR. You know that, right? It’s everything to me, my whole life. We’re all that stands between Bienvenido and the Faller Apocalypse.”
“You’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”
“You want to screw again?” she taunted. “Are you strong enough for that?”
Chaing gave her a greedy look. He was playing with fire now, and he knew it—which was what made it so exciting. “Oh, yeah.”
“Get onto the bed.”
He lay down, trying not to smirk.
Jenifa clambered onto the mattress beside him. With a dirty grin, she licked the length of his cock. “When are you going to talk to Yaki about me?”
“Tomorrow.”
“I want to be reinstated.”
“I know you do.” He sighed in delight as her tongue flicked out again.
“And fully vindicated.”
“Oh, Giu! Yes. Yes, you will be. Just…Don’t stop.”