The Pharoah Contract

Ruiz moved cautiously, making less noise than the occasional zephyr that fluttered the leaves. The trees, Ruiz noticed, had silver leaves, with an almost metallic reflectivity, so that when disturbed they scattered the starshine in tiny pinpoint sparkles. It was a pretty effect. The woods had a restful, lulling effect, and Ruiz supposed that subsurface harmonic generators were skewing his perceptions. If the security technology of this paddock matched the sophistication of its design, he was probably already discovered. But Ruiz took heart. The Pung seemed to be running a simple and unpretentious operation here; perhaps that simplicity extended to the security measures, which would be their responsibility and not that of the paddock’s leaseholder.

As he neared the lake, the woods gave way to gardens, somewhat informal and rustic, but beautifully maintained. Here he heard voices, and he quickly hid behind a nearby statue, which depicted a native of Corvus carved in some glassy black stone. The wings of the statue drooped in an attitude of defeat, providing Ruiz with a perfect lurking place.

Two figures came toward him through the darkness of the garden. They murmured together as they strolled the path of white stone, and Ruiz saw that they were a man and a woman, amorously involved. Mentally Ruiz urged them past his hiding spot; perversely they settled on the bench in front of Ruiz’s statue.

“I speak my mind,” said the young woman. “Your compassion is the wonder of the sept.”

“Compassion? She’s my soul companion.” The young man’s voice was light, teasing.

“A travesty. What could the Septarch have been thinking of, to pair you with her? She is drab, her hair springs forth like a nest of sea spines, she dances the fulgura like a frog in hip boots.”

The young man laughed. “Your opinions are quite colorful. But in some respects I’d have to agree. Certainly you show more understanding of my qualities than ever she did.”

“Yes…. “And for some minutes Ruiz was forced to listen, at close range, to the consummation of their tryst. At some point in their exertions, they rolled off the bench onto the grass. Presently they slept.

Ruiz pondered. Their clothing was scattered invitingly about the nearby shrubbery. His own crude tunic was certain to draw attention at the center of the paddock. Quickly he stripped it off. He crept about collecting the young man’s garments, and shortly he was appropriately clothed, though the jacket was tight across the shoulders and the pants too short. A broad velvet cap covered his naked scalp and obscured Ruiz’s fading tattoos.

Ruiz drew a deep breath and set off for the lakeshore. Above him, invisible in the soft darkness, Corean’s spy bead followed.

Chapter 20

Corean gave all her attention to her spyscreen. She watched Ruiz assembling the snoring swain’s outfit, and laughed.

At her side, Marmo the cyborg rested on his floater, uncommunicative. But when Ruiz, equipped in his stolen garments, turned toward the lakeshore, Marmo spoke. “Are you certain this is wise? The Farelord Preall takes his little world seriously. He’ll be put out if your unknown damages it.”

Corean kept her eyes on Ruiz’s progress through the garden. “Preall is nothing to me. Besides, Preall fears me, as he should. If the unknown should take a sledgehammer to Thera, if he should poison the sea meadows, if he should net Preall’s darlings and hang them all on hooks and take holos for the folks back home and write on all the walls, “This is Corean’s fault,’ Preall wouldn’t say a word to me. And if he did, I’d tell him to complain to the Pung. After all, it’s their compound. They’re the ones who maintain the snapfields.”

“You’re right, yes,” Marmo said. His vocoder was turned down to a whisper. His lips pursed.

On the screen, Ruiz sidled delicately through a patch of shoreside bushes.

“Look, Marmo. He’s an elegant sort of snake, isn’t he?” Corean smiled.

“He doesn’t appeal to me. You knew he was the one, back when he saved the phoenix from the yokels — why didn’t you deal with him then? Freeze him down, ship him off Sook, and leave him where no one will ever find him. It’s always worked before.”

“Ah, but Marmo, what if he’s too quick for us? What if he manages to die before we get him frozen, and a signal goes out? What then?” She shrugged. “And anyway, he’s entertaining to watch.”

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Corean knew she was right to treat the unknown with caution. If he was a League agent, as seemed likely, there was an excellent chance he was fitted with a death net; if she were to simply kill the man the consequences might be fatal for her. At the moment of death, a burst of data would flood the tachyon strata, activated by the unknown’s death trauma. The burst would carry the unknown’s location and the immediate circumstances of his death back to the League.