Odd Girl Out

Over the next half hour or so the bar's patrons dribbled back in, talking in the subdued tones of people who've just seen something horrific. At the same time, though, I could sense the excitement and relief that something had happened to shake up their otherwise boring routines. This evening, I guessed, would be fodder for barroom conversations for months to come.

Still, despite the excitement, the free dilivin continued to take its toll. Soon after returning to the bar, most of the patrons began wandering back out again or else joined the ones already snoring away. McMicking was one of the latter group, pillowing his head on his folded arms on the bar.

By the time Bhatami returned, the place was down to the sleepers, the Fillies, me, and maybe four other conscious patrons.

The lieutenant looked tired and angry and bitter. "I take it whatever happened out there wasn't good news?" I suggested as he pulled out one of the chairs at my table and dropped into it.

He tried to glare at me, but fatigue was starting to overwhelm the anger and all that made it out past his eyes was a sort of pensive annoyance. "We found Sergeant Aksam and Officer Lasari," he said, glancing up at the cop still standing guard over me. "Or what was left of them."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I will point out, though, that I was right here when that blast went off."

"Which means nothing at all," Bhatami pointed out grimly. "Actually, it means nothing in two different directions. If the investigators find the remains of a timed fuse, it won't matter where you or anyone else was when the car was actually set on fire."

"True," I conceded. "What's the other direction that it won't mean anything?"

His eyes were steady on me. "We'll have to wait for the full postmortem to be sure," he said. "But the preliminary exam indicates they may both have been killed before the fire started."

I pursed my lips. "Any idea how?"

"Not yet," Bhatami said. "But we'll find out." He cocked his head. "Meanwhile, what exactly are we going to do with your

I shrugged. "Well, frankly—and I'd say this even if it wasn't me—I don't see that you have any legal grounds for detaining me."

He snorted. "Please. A good prosecutor can always find grounds to detain someone." He raised his eyebrows. "Such as if you impeded our investigation by, say, refusing to give me the name and whereabouts of the legal representative you mentioned earlier."

With an effort, I managed not to look at McMicking. "His name's Joseph Prescott," I said. "I don't actually know where he is right now."

"What's his number?" Bhatami asked, pulling out his comm.

I gave him McMicking's number. There was no point in stalling or pulling a fake one out of the air—Bhatami could easily confiscate my comm and get the real number from my call record.

"Thank you," he said, punching it in.

There was, of course, no telltale ring from the other end of the room. McMicking was way too professional to walk around with his comm on anything except silent mode. Bhatami listened half a minute, then keyed off and put away his comm. "No answer," he said. "Your lawyer keeps odd hours."

"He's a lawyer," I said, as if that explained it.

He pursed his lips, studying my face. "Let me see that Hardin Industries security card."

I pulled it out and handed it over. For a minute he just sat there, his eyes tracing across every word and copyproof squiggle on the thing. "I don't know much about Hardin Industries," he said at last, handing it back. "But a person doesn't get to be a multitrillionaire without having good people on the payroll."

He looked me square in the eye. "Do you know what happened to Sergeant Aksam and Officer Lasari?"

I hesitated. How much of this mess did I dare tell him?

Not much, I reluctantly decided. "I have a theory," I said. "But I don't have anything solid to back it up."

He cracked about a tenth of a smile. "Don't worry, there aren't any defense attorneys present," he said. "Let's have a name."

Out of the corner of my eye I could see the Fillies had abandoned even the pretense of conversation. "Sorry," I told Bhatami. "I can't throw names around without proof."

"Even under threat of an obstruction charge?"

"Even so," I said.

"Is he a friend, then?" Bhatami persisted.

I snorted. "Hardly."

"An acquaintance? An enemy?"

"He's certainly not a friend," I repeated.

Bhatami's lip twisted. "This is not what I would consider cooperation."

"I know, and I'm sorry," I said. "But right now, this is the best I can do."

He nodded and stood up. "I trust you won't try to leave New Tigris until this matter is settled?"

"Don't worry," I assured him. "I like it here."

He snorted gently at that one. "In that case, I'll say good night." He caught the eye of the cop still standing behind me and nodded toward the door. "One other thing," he went on as the cop headed across the floor. "The two dead police officers in the burned-out car? Their sidearms were missing."

I remembered to demonstrate some surprise and shock. "Both of them?"

He nodded. "And both men's extra clips, too."

"I don't suppose you had security trackers on the guns."

"We did," he said. "They've been disabled." He raised his eyebrows a little. "If you give me a name, I can offer you protective custody. You and any of your associates."

One of the Fillies at the table behind him had a hand in his tunic, his fingers resting somewhere in the vicinity of the tailored pocket where they typically kept their contract pens. Like I'd needed a reminder. "Sorry," I told Bhatami. "Not until I can also hand you some proof."

"Then it appears we're at an impasse," Bhatami said. "Good luck, Mr. Donaldson."

"Thank you," I said. "But I doubt I'm going to have very much of that unless you give me back my gun."

Bhatami shook his head. "Sorry. As I said earlier, your carry permit has been revoked."

"And as I said earlier, Mr. Veldrick has no authority to do that," I reminded him.

"You're welcome to argue that in court tomorrow," Bhatami assured me.

"I may not make it to breakfast, let alone judicial office hours," I said. "Besides, if I'm not mistaken, the burden of proof is on Mr. Veldrick to show he can issue such an order, not on me to prove that he can't."

Bhatami eyed me a minute. "You really believe your life is in danger?"

I nodded. "Mine, and the lives of several others. At least two of whom are New Tigran citizens."

Slowly, he pulled the Beretta from his belt. "We have severe punishments here for the misuse of firearms," he warned as he set it down on the table in front of me.

"I'll try very hard to keep innocents out of the line of fire," I promised.

"Nice to know Hardin's employees have a sense of civic responsibility."

"Hardin's employees hate filling out paperwork," I corrected.

That one got me nearly half a smile. "Ex-cop?"

"Ex-Westali," I said. "Same thing, but with a more casual dress code."

He snorted. "Good night, Mr. Donaldson." Turning, he strode to the door and left.

I looked at the three Fillies as I picked up the gun. "Your turn," I invited, nodding toward the door.

"You have this one final chance, Human," Comet Nose said. "Take the female and leave."

"The Abomination is mine to deal with," I told him. "That was the agreement."

"Then you may not live out the night."

"Possibly," I said. "On the other hand, if I die there are others who can take my place. What about you?"

All three Fillies smiled, three copies of the same identical expression. "I am everywhere," he said.

"Not on New Tigris you aren't," I reminded him. "If I nail all your walkers, you're out of it."

The smiles vanished. "The Abomination must be destroyed," Comet Nose insisted.

"I'll take that under advisement," I said. "Good night, Modhri. Feel free to never drop in again."

Slowly, the three Fillies stood up. With a final, lingering look at me they walked single file to the door and out into the night.

I took a deep breath. "You okay?" I asked Karim.

"I don't know," he said, his voice dark. "Did I just hear you challenge them to a firefight? In my bar?"

"It did sound that way, didn't it?" I admitted. "Sorry."

"Sorry?" he demanded. "Sorry? Compton, does this place look even remotely defensible?"

He had a point. Except for the office, the bar was a single room, a wide-open floor plan filled with tables and chairs that weren't nearly heavy enough to stop police-caliber thudwumpers. The only serious cover was the wooden bar itself, and that was all the way at the rear.

There was only the single door, which theoretically was to our advantage. Unfortunately, there were also large frosted windows along that same wall, any one of which could be turned into a brand-new entrance with the application of a single thudwumper round. "It's not as bad as it looks," I lied.

There was a sudden rattling of glassware from the other end of the bar as the bartender tried to juggle the shot glasses he was pretending to clean. "You all right?" I asked him.

"Sure," he said, the word coming out like the air from a popped balloon. "Sure."

"Go home, Dawid," Karim told him. He looked sideways at me. "Unless you think …?"

"No, it'll be all right," I said. "Whatever they're planning, they'll wait until most of the potential witnesses have toddled off to bed."

"I suppose," Karim said. "Go, Dawid. Go now."

The bartender didn't need any encouragement. Dropping his apron on the bar, he headed for the door.

I did, too, getting there before he did. "As long as you're opening the door anyway, I want a look around," I said, stepping behind him and gesturing him forward. "Go on."

He looked over his shoulder at me, probably wondering if standing directly in front of the Fillies' prime target in dim light was something he really wanted to do. But hanging around a soon-to-be battlefield wasn't much better. Bracing himself, he pushed open the door.

We were met by silence. "Keep going," I prompted, giving him a nudge.

Hesitantly, he stepped out of the doorway into the full glow of the streetlights. If the Fillies were already set up, I knew, this would be the time for them to try to take me out.

But there was nothing but more silence. The bartender, apparently also noticing the lack of gunfire, got his feet moving again, and within a few seconds he was out of my line of sight. I gave the area a quick scan, then closed the door again and locked it.

"Well?" Karim asked.

"They're not shooting yet," I told him. "Go get Bayta, will you?"

"All right." He took a couple of steps toward the office door, then frowned. "What about them?"

"What about who?"

He waved a hand over the slumbering customers. "Them."

"If you want to cart them all outside, be my guest," I said. "But first go get Bayta."

He glowered, but headed into the office without further comment. I crossed to the bar beside McMicking and waited until I heard the creak of the opening trapdoor from the other room. "You want to be carted outside?" I murmured.

"Not unless he wants to cart me at least a block away," McMicking murmured back, lifting his head from his folded arms. "Lying on open ground in the middle of a firefight is considered unwise."

"So is standing at the business end of a shooting gallery," I said. "What do you think?"

"It could be worse," he said, looking around. "You sure you don't want to just give the Modhri the girl and be done with it?"

"That's the interesting part," I said. "He told me he didn't want, quote, any Human females, unquote."

"Then what does he want?"

"I see two possibilities," I said. "One, he's after whatever's in those metal boxes she's hell-bent on taking with her when we leave New Tigris."

"You know what's in them?"

"Haven't a clue," I said. "But that possibility meshes nicely with the fact that Lorelei was apparently able to leave New Tigris without serious trouble. If what he wants is the boxes, then her going off alone wouldn't have been a problem for him."

"Then why did he accost her in New York? To get information on Rebekah and the boxes?"

"Probably," I said. "Possibility two—" I hesitated. This was such a weird thought I wasn't sure I wanted to bring it up.

"Dramatic silences don't become you, Compton," McMicking said. "Spit it out."

"You asked for it," I warned. "We know—well, we assume, anyway—that our six Fillies have undergone some extensive genetic manipulation that somehow enabled them to become ranging antennas for locating Rebekah."

"Right. So?"

"So how far can you manipulate Filiaelian genetic code before the result is no longer Filiaelian?" I asked. "Specifically, how unlike a Filly can a Filly look?"

He stared at me. "Are you suggesting this girl is a Filly?"

"I know, it seems ludicrous," I agreed. "But if it's true, it would definitely put her solidly into the Abomination category," I said. "And remember the Modhri said he didn't want any Human females."

McMicking exhaled loudly. "That has to be the most insane idea I've ever heard," he said. "You really think someone could look Human and actually be Filiaelian?"

"I have no idea," I said. "And we're sure not getting her in for a full bio-scan any time soon. I just think that until we know what's going on we should keep our minds as open as possible."

"Opening them that far is a good way for your brains to fall out," McMicking warned. "All right, fine—we watch our backs from all directions. What's your take on our grumpy police lieutenant? I couldn't hear much of your conversation."

"He doesn't like me, and he still thinks there's a fair chance I offed his fellow cops," I said. "But he seems willing to be as fair and objective as he can."

"But you're not expecting him to come roaring to the rescue if you hit your cop-call button?"

"He might come, but he certainly wouldn't be in a hurry about it," I said.

He grunted. "Still, as you said, the Modhri will probably wait until the streets are clear before making his move."

"Yes, well, that could be a problem," I said. "Aside from a scattering of sleeping drunks, the streets are already clear. The police presence of the past hour apparently convinced the locals to go do their drinking elsewhere."

"The firefighters are gone, too?"

"Yes."

McMicking frowned toward the door and row of windows. "We might want to think about setting up a defensive line."

"For all the good it'll do," I said. "Those tables will work against snoozers, but they're not going to stop anything heavier."

"Still, we don't want the Modhri thinking we're not being professional about this."

There was a faint creaking of wood from the office. "Go to sleep," I murmured.

McMicking nodded and put his head down on his arms again. A moment later, Bayta and Karim emerged through the doorway. "You all right?" I asked Bayta, taking a step toward her. I noticed she had the kwi gripped ready in her hand. "How's Rebekah?"

"She's frightened, but otherwise all right," Bayta said. "We were starting to get worried about you. What's the situation?"

"Fair to middling bad," I said. "Our six Fillies could be coming through that door any minute now, guns blazing."

Her throat tightened. "They're armed?"

"Courtesy of our late friends Aksam and Lasari," I said. "Not that either of them had any choice in the matter."

Bayta looked across at the door. "What do we do?"

"We set up a layered defense and hope for the best," I said. "Karim, you probably still have time to leave if you want."

"No," he said firmly. "This is my bar, and Rebekah is my friend. What do you want me to do?"

"For starters, we move some of those tables in front of the door," I said, heading across the floor. "No point in making it easy for them."

A few minutes later we had the door barricaded as best we could and had set up some obstacles to anyone who tried coming in through one of the windows. "That won't hold anyone very long," Karim warned as we surveyed our handiwork. "Maybe we should consider calling Lieutenant Bhatami and asking for that protective custody he was offering."

"And what happens to Rebekah while we're sitting around our nice safe jail cell?" I asked.

"Why can't he protect her, too?"

"Where, at his house?" I asked. "The Imani City Police Department isn't running a hotel, you know. Besides, you heard Bhatami—he wants names and evidence. I haven't got the latter, and I'm not ready to give up the former."

"Even if it means getting all of us killed?"

"No one's going to get killed," I said, hoping fervently that it was true. "Go tell Rebekah to get herself ready to travel. If we get an opening, we'll need to grab it."

"What about her boxes?" he asked. "She won't leave without them."

"She may have to," I told him bluntly. "If it comes to her life or—" I broke off, as a sudden thought occurred to me. "Tell her we'll do what we can," I told him. "While she's getting ready, start bringing the boxes up here. You can stack them behind the bar."

"All right." He headed back into the office.

"If it comes to her life or what?" Bayta asked quietly.

I held up a finger, listening. A few seconds later I heard the telltale sounds of Karim heading down into Rebekah's hideaway. "Okay, now we can talk," I said. "By the way, say hello to McMicking."

She jumped as McMicking again lifted his head from his pillowed arms. "Oh," she said. "Hello."

"I suddenly realized something," I told them. "Ever since Yandro the Modhri has been insisting the Abomination has to be destroyed. Right?"

"Right," Bayta said, glancing again at the front door.

"So why hasn't he made his move?" I said. "It's been twenty minutes since Bhatami and the cops pulled out. Why hasn't he had his walkers steal a car, drive it through the front door, unload his guns at anything that moves, and torch the bar and everything in it?"

"I presume you have an answer?" McMicking invited.

"Because he doesn't want the Abomination destroyed," I said. "At least, not right away. There's something he needs to do first, and he needs the Abomination intact and unharmed to do it."

"Like they did with Lorelei," McMicking said, nodding. "The walkers started by using snoozers on her."

"Exactly," I said. "He has to handle this with finesse, or the whole thing will have been for nothing."

"Which gives us a lever," McMicking said thoughtfully. "We can threaten to destroy the Abomination and leave him with a draw."

"He'll never believe it," Bayta said. "He knows we'd never hurt Rebekah."

"Which is probably why he offered us the Yandro deal in the first place," I said. "He figured we'd be able to flush Rebekah into the open, but we wouldn't hurt her. At least, not until we'd figured out what kind of Abomination she was."

"She's not any kind of Abomination," Bayta said firmly. "She's a scared little ten-year-old Human girl."

"Is she?" I countered. "Up to now she hasn't looked all that scared to me."

"You weren't down there just now," Bayta said coldly. "I don't know what the Modhri wants with her, but that Abomination tag is just an excuse."

"You may be right," I said, sending a warning look at McMicking. Now was not the time to tell Bayta that Rebekah might not be nearly as Human as she looked. "In which case, maybe the Abomination is what's in all those boxes of hers. Either way, it's obvious now why the Modhri's switched from letting me run free to trying to get me arrested for cop-killing. Now that he knows where Rebekah is, he figures that with me out of the picture he can get in here, overpower Karim, and do whatever unseemly things he has in mind."

There was another creak of wood from the office, a louder one this time. I motioned McMicking to go back to sleep as I headed around the end of the bar. Karim was just coming to the doorway as I reached it, one of the boxes cradled in his arms. "Behind the bar, you said?" Karim asked.

"Change of plan," I told him. "We're going to stack them in front of the bar."

Karim frowned. "In front of the bar?"

"All that metal, you know," I explained, taking the box from him and walking around to the front of the bar. Fifteen kilos, all right, if it was a gram. "Might as well give ourselves as much protection as we can."

Karim was still standing in the doorway. "Rebekah won't like this," he warned.

"I'm more interested in how much the Fillies won't like it," I said. "Go get the rest of them. While you do that, Bayta and I will move your sleeping customers over to the side wall where they'll be as far out of the line of fire as possible."

He still looked troubled, but he nodded and disappeared back into the office. "I take it I'm joining the drunks?" McMicking asked, lifting his head again.

"It's as good a cross-fire position as any," I said. "Grab a drunk and pick out your spot."

There were eleven sleeping men scattered around the room, all of them so drunk they didn't even wake up as we manhandled them out of their chairs and across the bar. That dilivin was potent stuff, all right.

We'd moved five of them, and McMicking had settled himself partially behind one where his hands would be out of sight, when Karim returned.

But this time he wasn't alone. "Mr. Compton, you can't put them here," Rebekah insisted, making a beeline for the box I'd set in front of the bar. Her eyes were red and puffy, as if she'd been crying, but the rest of her face was back under firm restraint again. Maybe it was just with Bayta that she let her vulnerable side leak out. "They could be damaged."

"Better them than us," I said, watching her closely. Behind the puffy eyes and controlled expression her concern for the boxes seemed genuine. "Besides, I get the impression the Modhri can't afford to destroy them."

"He can't afford to destroy all of them," she countered. "All he needs is to take one of them intact."

"Who is this Modhri?" Karim asked.

"The mastermind behind all of this," I told him, frowning at Rebekah. "Which one does he need?"

"Any of them," she said. With an effort, she lifted the box and staggered back behind the bar with it.

"What are they, duplicate records of some kind?" I asked.

"In a way," she said.

"That's great," I said. I'd never really believed she needed all twenty of the damn things in the first place. "Pick one out for yourself and we'll torch the rest."

"It's not like that," she said, giving me a cross look over her shoulder. "I need all of them."

"That makes no sense whatsoever," I growled. "What the hell's in them?"

"I can't tell you that," Rebekah said. She set down the box and turned back to face me, a stubbornly defiant look on her face.

"That bar may stop police thudwumpers, Rebekah," I said. "But it also might not. Are you willing to risk your life for what's in those boxes?"

"Yes," she said firmly.

"She already has risked her life," Karim added grimly. "She and Lorelei both."

I felt my stomach tighten, thinking back to how Lorelei had died. "Maybe I'm not ready to risk mine," I said.

"You're welcome to leave," Karim invited me tartly. Reaching beneath the bar, he produced an old RusFed P11 military handgun.

"We're not leaving," Bayta said firmly. Her face was flushed with emotion, her eyes hard and cold. Whoever Rebekah was, she'd clearly gotten under my partner's skin.

"Fine," I gave up with a sigh. "Maybe we can have it both ways."

Turning, I headed toward the door. "Where are you going?" Karim called after me.

"To plant a few seeds of doubt," I said over my shoulder. "Go bring up the rest of the boxes. Put them wherever Rebekah wants."

It took me a couple of minutes to move enough of the table barricade Karim and I had built so that I could get through. Unlocking the door, I opened it a crack. "Modhri?" I called. "You out there?"

My answer was the muffled crack of a low-power gunshot and the slap of a snoozer cartridge against the door beside my cheek. "I guess so," I said, hastily closing it a couple more centimeters. "I just wanted to tell you that the Abomination is here with us, right in your line of fire. You might want to think about that before you come charging in with guns blazing. Have a nice day."

I closed the door just as another pair of snoozers shattered themselves into shards against the heavy wood. I locked up again and backed out of the passage I'd created in the barricade. Bayta was waiting, and together we put everything back the way it had been. "Let's get the rest of the drunks out of the way," I said when we were finished.

By the time we'd finished and returned to the relative safety of the bar, Karim had finished stacking Rebekah's boxes behind it. Rebekah herself was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the boxes, a small carrybag beside her. "How are you doing?" I asked her.

"I'm all right," she said, her voice determined but with a little tremble to it. "That won't stop him, you know. I told you he only needs one of them."

"True, but it might slow him down a little," I said, running my eye over the boxes. "They're not alien sculptures, are they?"

She looked at me in astonishment. "Sculptures?"

"Just a thought," I said. "Skip it."

From the other end of the room came a sudden thud. I spun around, yanking my Beretta from its holster. "The window," Karim said. He was standing near the end of the bar, his P11 gripped in his hand. "They're seeing if they can break it without having to shoot it out."

"Can they?" I asked.

There was another thud, a louder one this time. "Probably not," he said. "It's glass, not plastic, but it's tempered."

There was a third thud, this time from one of the windows on the other side of the door. "Can't they just shoot them out?" Bayta asked tensely.

"Can, and probably will," I said. "But guns are noisy things. Not so much with snoozers, but very much with thud-wumpers or other killrounds. The Modhri can't afford to draw police attention until he's ready to move."

"When will that be?" Bayta asked. "It's already almost midnight."

"Maybe they're waiting until—" Karim started.

"Shh!" I hissed, holding up a hand.

The room fell silent. Faintly, in the distance, I heard the sound of multiple sirens. "There's your answer," I said grimly. "He's set up a diversion somewhere across town to keep the police busy."

"Sounds like paramed and fire sirens, too," Karim said, cupping his free hand behind his ear. "It's either a fire or a massive accident."

"Either of which would be easy enough for the Modhri to arrange," I said. "I think we can expect some action soon. Karim, better douse the lights in here. Leave any outside lights on.

He reached beneath the bar, and the dim lights around us flicked off. I took a deep breath, letting my eyes adjust to the faint glow coming through the windows and settling into combat mode.

The minutes dragged by. We crouched in silence behind the bar, except for Rebekah, who sat in silence in front of the boxes, and McMicking, who lay in silence at the side of the room. "What's he waiting for?" Karim muttered.

"It'll be at least another ten or fifteen minutes," I told him. "He'll want to make sure the cops are completely engaged in whatever diversion he's arranged for them before he makes his move."

Seconds later, the two windows on the far sides of the wall exploded inward.