Shadows, стр. 19
“Knowing I would pay well for the knowledge of where the men had come from, she followed them through the tunnel and came at last to the road I mentioned earlier. Afraid she would be caught, she only stayed long enough to see some powered vehicles and smell the vapors indicating they’d recently been used. But as she turned to retrace her steps, she heard a strange word: archive. She didn’t know what it meant.”
“Archive? She is certain that was the word?” A second usage of it?
“I questioned her myself. I brought this to you before leaving Imsurmik because I gave you my word.”
“You brought me this because you need allies.”
Holding up a hand, Zeesar scratched his nose. “There is more. Beware of Waornaak. He is not trustworthy under ordinary circumstances, but lately he has been a friend of both camps, mine and Subitorni’s, not to mention the F’ahdn’s.”
“He is a crude brute,” Yukannak said.
“But cunning and dangerous, Silci; beware of him. You have many enemies here. Neither the satrap nor the Harvesters are overly loved by the common folk. Find the archive and perhaps it can help you, or wait for my return when I bring armed men to aid us against the F’ahdn. Stay alive if you can. Now, I must go.”
Abruptly, Zeesar turned and left the alley without another word. Yukannak let him; there was nothing more to say.
* * * * *
Chapter 8
Few outside noises penetrated the space under the plateau where Imsurmik’s wealthy citizens made their homes. So, when a heavy glass decanter, filled with the fermented drink popular among the locals, rattled on the nightstand beside Yukannak’s bed, it took him a few seconds to hear the dull explosions that had caused it to shake. Throwing off his light sleeping cover, he opened the door of his quarters and saw, across the corridor, early morning light flooding the empty platform where he’d spoken to Waornaak and Zeesar the day before. To his right, the hallway led to the main tunnel, and he called out for the guard stationed there. Nobody answered.
Now he heard gunshots—many of them close—among the explosions outside. It was the first time he’d been near combat, but he didn’t panic. On Kulsis, you couldn’t always know who wanted you dead, so direct attack was actually less unnerving.
He returned to his room, belted his pistol holster around his right thigh, and slipped on the least ornate robe he possessed and a pair of worn sandals. There was no time to bother with paint, which was a good thing; fewer people in Imsurmik would recognize him without it. And while Yukannak didn’t assume the attackers were hunting for him, he didn’t discount the possibility either. Could open warfare have broken out between Subitorni and the F’ahdn? Or maybe somebody had discovered his interest in the archive, or his crime, or maybe they only wanted him dead because of his relationship with the satrap. Anything was possible. And, if he needed something to bargain with—if his status as silci wasn’t good enough—he had nothing else. Drawing the pistol, he headed for the main tunnel; he had to find the archive before they did, whoever they were.
The dwellings of the F’ahdn and the wealthiest citizens of Imsurmik lay off a wide, central tunnel cut into the plateau. Other tunnels ran parallel to it like streets, with intersecting cross-tunnels. Being underground, such homes remained cooler than anywhere else, especially near the F’ahdn’s quarters. There, several vertical shafts had been cut through the rock, down to a spring far under the plateau. Its overflow ran out through the wall then down the slope to join the river. A heat exchange system, using the current to turn a large fan, drove the cool underground air up into the passages of the privileged.
Yukannak stumbled into the tunnel, expecting someone to shoot at or grab him, or to find guards defending it. He encountered none of that. Instead, to his left, where the tunnel mouth emptied into the Inner City, men, women, and children were running for shelter, all yelling or screaming, some carrying guns. One young mother was carrying a baby in one arm as she half-dragged a toddler with her other hand. Over a rooftop, streamers of smoke from an explosion on the wall drifted skyward. The scale of the attack heartened him. If his fellow Kulsians had come for him, they would have simply asked the F’ahdn, who would happily have handed him over.
Turning right, he passed militiamen running in both directions, most looking scared, none of them paying attention to him. He pushed through the crowds; he had no plan other than to take advantage of the chaos to find the archive, although he had no idea where it was and he knew it could prove a pointless search. Nor did he know what he’d do once he found it, except for a growing suspicion that his best chance of survival might involve defecting to the Offworlders. Or at least appearing to.
A young woman ran past him, face uncovered and black hair streaming. He recognized Waornaak, who was chasing her.
Reaching out, he grabbed the big man’s arm. “What is going on? Who’s attacking us?”
“Offworlders,” Waornaak said, stabbing a finger at the back of the fleeing woman. “She’s the spy I told you about. I’m going to make her pay for this.”
“What about the other thing?” With all the yells echoing down the tunnel, Yukannak didn’t bother lowering his voice until he spoke the last two words. “The archive?”
Waornaak pointed into the depths of the tunnel. “I think it’s that way somewhere. Now let me go.” Wrenching his arm free, Waornaak lurched into a run to catch up to the woman.
Yukannak paused, uncertain. Should he follow Waornaak or seek out the archive on his own? The archive might be