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  Jak met my gaze. “Time to tell Majda.”

  “If I tell Majda,” I said, “they’ll focus on Metropoli.” It would take immense resources to search such a heavily populated world, pulling their attention away from Cries, which was probably exactly what Scorch wanted. Maybe she had let me live so I would follow Dayj’s supposed trail to Metropoli and lose him forever.

  “If I go to Majda now,” I said, “I’ll miss Oxil’s meeting in the cavern.”

  “What cavern?”

  “Not sure. Oxil is meeting someone in a cavern. My guess? It’s in the Maze.”

  “You go to the Maze,” Jak said, “you’re going to die.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “That’s right. Because I’m coming with you.”

  “No.” I didn’t want Jak risking his life for my job. “I was hired to do this. You weren’t.”

  “You remember how rizzed you got when I disappeared seven years ago to collect my money? You thought I had died.”

  “Yah.” I would never forget. When he had showed up at the Black Mark after three tendays, grinning and rich as sin, I’d been ready to throttle him.

  His gaze darkened. “I won’t go through that with you.”

  We would see.

  * * *

  Jak and I strolled with the evening crowds, tourists or Cries locals out on the town. Or more accurately, under the town, though just barely. We were on the Concourse, the only undercity locale with businesses the above-city considered legitimate. Cries looked after the Concourse, kept up the lights, did repairs, and even sent bots down here to clean up. The city council had ideas to convert this area into a park. So far they had done nothing more than talk; the undercity bosses had enough influence above-city to push the idea far back in the urban planning queue. The Concourse was supposed to be part of the undercity, but if any of our actual population came up here, the police chased them back to the aqueducts or threw them in jail for the night.

  My beetle had followed Scorch here, but it lost her after she reached entered the Maze below in the aqueducts. I didn’t intend to enter the Maze the same way I had before. Last time I wanted her to know I was coming. This was different.

  Nowhere in the crowds on the Concourse did I see anyone from the aqueducts except Jak and me, and we knew how to blend in with above-city types. Every now and then, someone from the undercity did find employment on the Concourse. They usually spent their earnings here, for supplies or food. We didn’t use money in the aqueducts; the economy worked on barter. Some people spent their above-city chits at Jak’s casino, mixing with the glamour-riz crowds from Cries.

  “No dust rats here,” I said.

  Jak’s voice took on an edge. “Little Jaks and Bhaajs still aren’t welcome.”

  So it hadn’t changed. When we had come here as kids, it had usually ended in trouble. A few vendors just shooed us away, and a cloth merchant had once given me a clean shirt, but such kindness was rare. Most shop owners called the police or used us for target practice, intent on cleaning up the scourge of dust rats.

  We were no angels, either, though. I had done stupid things in my youth, letting hunger cloud my judgment. One time, a cop caught me filching jabo fruit from a café. I told him the truth, that I hadn’t eaten all day, but he didn’t believe me. He said I was too pretty to shoot, that maybe we could work out a deal. When he put his hands where I didn’t want him touching me, I threw him over my hip and ran like hell. I managed to escape back into the aqueducts, which was why I didn’t have a record, but it had been close.

  My strongest memory of the Concourse, however, came from another day. We hadn’t done anything wrong that time. A vendor saw me and Jak running by his stall, two undercity adolescents. We hadn’t stolen anything; we were just two kids out for a lark, enjoying the sunshine streaming through the skylights, a sight so rare for those of us who lived underground. The shop owner fired iron balls at us, pelting our bodies, leaving us bruised, bloodied, and beaten, Jak with two broken ribs and me with a cracked femur, our joy in the sunlight ruined.

  “Do the gangs still fight back?” I asked.

  “Always,” Jak said. “In the shadows.”

  I nodded, remembering how our gang had prowled up here a night, protecting ourselves with numbers. We learned to fight as a form of gang identification, and we were damn good at the rough and tumble. It wasn’t like we had much else to do. None of us had been in school or had jobs.

  “Who trained us?” I said.

  He gave me a quizzical glance. “What?”

  “Our gang. We had incredible discipline.” I couldn’t remember anyone actually teaching us how to fight. “Military almost.”

  He shrugged. “We trained ourselves. What works for military works for rats.”

  I continued to think as we walked. “One reason I succeeded in the army was because I already knew discipline. Hell, it was easy. They yelled at us a lot, sure, but they didn’t kill us for screwing up and we had plenty to eat.”

  His voice hardened. “What, are you saying dust rats should join the army?” He looked as if he wanted to punch the wall. “Give our lives for the people who let us starve? What a way to swell the enlisted ranks, eh? Draft all the rats. Let us die on the front lines. After all, we aren’t valuable.”

  “For flaming sake, Jak. You know I didn’t mean that.”

  He looked like he still wanted to be angry. “So what the hell do you mean?”

  I spoke slowly, thinking it through. “A way to improve the lives of our young people. They need a structure that supports them, one that comes from the undercity itself. The gangs are a start, but they aren’t enough.”

  “We have our own ways,” Jak said. “No interference from above.”

  He was right, mostly. Sure the undercity was rough, but we also had rich, ancient culture. And freedom. We lived unencumbered by above-city strictures. As a child, I would rather have died than give up that freedom. Hell, I almost had more than once, from sickness or violence. That attitude had made sense to me then, but it was a hard way to live. The authorities in Cries didn’t care. They ignored us as long as we didn’t bother them. If we upset the balance, they rounded up a few of us, threw the adults in jail and dumped the kids in orphanages regardless of whether or not they were orphans. A better way had to exist, one that preserved our community and culture without crushing us in poverty or the animosity of Cries.

  A large, bulky man came up alongside Jak. He looked like a tourist out for a jaunt judged by his clothes. I wasn’t fooled. I knew him too well. Under that amiable exterior, he could be as mean as sin.

  “Heya, Gourd,” Jak said.

  Gourd nodded. Then he looked across Jak at me. “Good to see you, Bhaaj.”

  “Yah,” I said. “Good seeing.”

  He spoke to Jak. “Got time?”

  “Enough,” Jak said.

  I could tell Gourd wanted privacy. “Got to go,” I said.

  “No you don’t.” Jak glanced at Gourd. “What’s up?

  “Commander Braze lost a hundred thousand on holo-roulette.”

  Jak gave a satisfied smile. “Good.”

  “Not good. She’s ready to drill someone.” Gourd scowled at him. “Says you got contraband holos in the casino that make people gamble too much.”

  “She can’t do rizz,” Jak said. “Get herself court-martialed for gambling.”

  “She’s got ties,” Gourd said.

  Jak frowned. “What ties?”

  Gourd told him. It seemed Commander Braze had relatives with less than sterling backgrounds and enough connections undercity to add a lot of grief to Jak’s life.

  “She wants her credit back,” Gourd said.

  “Yah, right.” Sarcasm could have dripped off Jak’s voice.

  “Could make it hot for you,” Gourd said.

  “I give in to Braze, every rizzpunk in Cries will think they can take me.”

  Gourd didn’t look surprised. He nodded to us both and took off, headed back to whereve
r they had moved the Black Mark.

  “You got trouble?” I asked.

  Jak shrugged. “I’ll manage.”

  I hoped so. It sounded like Braze’s people could buy him a lot of misery. I doubted Braze cared as much about getting back her credits as she did about saving face over this business with Jak and his blasted holos.

  “Could be a mess,” I said.

  “No worry.” Jak glanced around with that honed awareness of his that could be so unnerving. “How will you find Scorch?”

  “I need another entrance into the Maze. Know any?”

  He shook his head. “Scorch changes doors like I move the Black Mark.”

  “So maybe we make our own door,” I muttered.

  Jak frowned at me. “What are you up to?”

  I tapped the pack slung over my shoulder. “I need a better shroud. Got anything?”

  “Plenty.” Then he said, “At the Black Mark.”

  I didn’t expect him to tell me its location. The less I knew about his operations right now, the better. We couldn’t tell how this would play out, whether I would end up working with the police or in their custody.

  I motioned at a café with canopies over its outdoor tables. “I can wait there. I’ll have a kava.”

  He grinned. “Bhaaj acting like a tourist.”

  “Like hell,” I grumbled. “Go on. Get out of here.”

  Laughing, he said, “Be back.”

  He set off at a brisk walk down the Concourse while I headed toward a bridge that arched over the wide boulevard. Ancient architects had built that span from red-streaked blue stone, and the Cries Parks and Recreation people saw to its upkeep. I had just reached its high point when Jak turned a corner on the throughway below. As soon as he was out of sight, I double-checked my jammer to make sure I was shrouded. Then I jogged back to the Concourse.

  I set out for Scorch’s cavern. Alone.

  * * *

  Seven years ago, after Jak disappeared, I had mapped the cavities above Scorch’s Maze while I searched for him. I knew she had a part in that scheme to cheat him out of millions even if I had no evidence. Given that it involved Jak’s illegal casino, I could hardly take my suspicions to the police. But I had never forgiven Scorch.

  I crawled through cavities barely big enough for my body, with ragged holes everywhere. Spiky mineral buildups encrusted the openings. I wriggled on my stomach with the jammer in the pack on my back. Although it hadn’t shrouded me from Scorch’s security at the old entrance, I wagered it was more difficult to monitor this convoluted network of natural passageways. I was betting my life on winning that wager.

  The infrared enhancements in my eyes bathed the world in a lurid red glow. The hotter an object, the more it glowed red to my IR sensors. Although the stone didn’t generate enough heat to make small details clear, I could see where I was going. I wished I could double-check my location relative to the Maze. My shroud interfered with the weaker signals I could use to explore the caverns, and I couldn’t risk stronger probes because Scorch’s security might pick them up.

  I stopped at a hole deep enough for half the length of my body. If my map was accurate, I’d reached the edge of Scorch’s operation in the Maze. A quick check of my ammo verified I had three full cartridges. I deactivated the EM pulse the bullets released on impact. It could disable electro-optical systems within in a small range, but it was of no use here, where the pulse had nothing to act on but stone. If it did manage to affect equipment somewhere, that would ruin my element of surprise. I was also close enough to the target that the pulse might affect my own equipment. I did make sure, however, that the sonic damper on the jammer was operating. And then I fired at the floor of the hole in front of me.

  The serrated projectiles from my gun tore into the bottom of the well, boring it deeper. Although the damping field muffled the noise, my shots still weren’t silent. Damn. I fired again, drilling even deeper. Debris crumbled from its sides. Gripping my gun in one hand, I eased into the chute I had enlarged. The sides felt warm. When my feet touched the bottom, my head was a handspan below the top. I held still and listened.

  Nothing. No voices or machinery. If I had chosen well, the silence meant I was above an empty cave; if I was wrong, I could drill for hours and never break through.

  With my back against one wall and my boots braced against the other, I scooted partway up the chute and fired at the bottom again. I gritted my teeth as debris pelted my body. Then I hammered the hard, blocky heel of my boot into the bottom of the hole with enhanced strength and speed, over and over. Still nothing. I fired, deepening the chute, then hammered the ground again. I might as well be trying to drill through the blasted planet—

  My heel cracked the bottom.

  Ho! I probed with my foot and pebbles fell away from the crack. They dropped for about as long as I would expect in a cavern before they clattered on the ground. No light came from below, which could mean I had found an empty area. I hoped. I needed extra care here. That scatter of debris wasn’t likely to draw attention; it happened often in these caves. But anything as heavy as me dropping from this height could set off alarms. I worked as quietly as possible, and I managed to widen the opening without more rocks falling. Finally I eased my body down and out, clenching the edges of the opening. So there I was, hanging from the ceiling.

  I had hoped to come out near a rock formation, but the closest was a full body length away, a ridged pyramid standing in a cluster of smaller spikes. My handhold crumbled in my grip, dropping more pebbles to the floor. Blast! I would fall in seconds. With a grunt, I swung toward the pyramid. That effort destroyed what little remained of my grip, and I lost my hold as I moved through the air. I rammed into the pyramid and threw my arms and legs around it while I slid to the ground. I managed to slow my fall enough so that when my boots hit the floor, they made almost no sound. I crouched down and waited.

  Silence.

  After several moments, I reached back into my pack and switched off the damper. Although I wanted its silencing effect, I couldn’t hear enough through its field. Still silence. That didn’t mean I was home free. The last time I had come down, Scorch had known as soon as I entered her empire.

  The hole I had made in the ceiling hid itself by looking like all the other ragged crevices up there. Good. I looked around the cave as I stood up. Crates with military markings were stacked all around me. Scorch was selling illegal arms, tanglers and laser carbines it looked like. The only other exit from this smuggler’s den was a narrow space between two columns of rock on the other side of the cave. A length of canvas hung there like a door. I didn’t see any other escape route, and none of the crates were close enough to my hole in the roof to help me to climb out. I could move them, but it would be noisy and take too long. If Scorch caught me here again, she’d go for a kill.

  I turned the damper back on and tried opening several crates. Nothing worked, including shooting them with my muted gun. Smashing them would make too much noise even with the damper. A fortune in weapons, and I couldn’t steal a single one. Of course, I had my pulse gun. I’d take that over a tangler. If Scorch was selling these to the Traders, I hoped she died a miserable death. Better yet, I hoped they double-crossed her and sold her into slavery. It was probably too late for Prince Dayjarind, but if Scorch had smuggled him to the Trader Aristos, she deserved the worst.

  I loaded my gun with the second cartridge. Then I went to the exit and pushed aside the canvas, my weapon up and ready while I checked the area. A pathway curved by outside. Columns lined the pathway, created in some past age when the tips of the stalactites from the ceiling had met the cones of stalagmites jutting up from the ground. To my left, ripples curved along a wall as if it were a curtain. The barrier looked filmy but it registered on my internal sensors as solid rock.

  Max, I thought. How are my vital signs?

  Fine, he answered. Why do you ask?

  I was wondering if you could monitor other people the way you monitor me.


  Not like you. I get your medical data from the nanomeds in your body.

  They might have nanos, too. Most people who could afford health meds carried them. Scorch’s illegal biomech would certainly include meds.

  I know the protocols for the chips in yours. I don’t for theirs.

  Can you hack them?

  I will try, Max thought.

  Good. Let me know if you find anyone.

  I set off along the path. In my IR vision, crystals glinted on the rocks like rubies. A drop of water fell from above and splashed on my nose. I had grown up on Raylicon and my biomech was programmed to respond to different worlds, so until now I hadn’t noticed the lighter gravity here compared to Parthonia. But I was walking down a steep grade, enough to give me trouble in timing my steps. It slowed me down.

  I have a signal, Max said.

  Who?

  I don’t know. I can’t crack their network. They’re up ahead. Max was quite effectively simulating concern. I advise caution.

  I eased along the curtain of stone, my back to its rippled surface. Ahead on the path, an oval glowed brighter red than the surrounding rock. As I edged closer, I realized it was a canvas door hanging in the entrance of another cave, hiding whatever waited beyond.

  Max, can you tell what’s behind that canvas?

  Someone is either sitting or standing several paces back from the entrance, he thought. To the left.

  Got it. I swept aside the canvas, jerked up my gun—

  And nearly blasted His Highness, Prince Dayjarind Kazair Majda, into oblivion.

  VIII

  Dayj

  He was sitting on a rough pallet by the wall of the cave, staring into what had to be total darkness for him. Although he surely had health meds in his body, I doubted they included military bioware like the IR sensors in my eyes. I could see him, however, and it didn’t take a genius to tell he was frightened. Manacles circled his left wrist and ankle, with heavy chains that stretched to a ring embedded in the wall. A blanket lay bunched up at one end of the pallet and a jug stood nearby. His clothes were simple but clean, dark trousers and shirt, nothing like the expensive garments he had worn in the Majda holos.