made a few calls to check it out further.
Dirisha called back that same afternoon.
"Yo, Sleel."
"Dirisha. Where's the blonde shadow?"
"Geneva's at the swimming pool inciting lust in half the casino's transient population."
They both smiled.
"I got something for you on one of the swordplayers. The guy I heard about was considered the best at the edged stuff for a time. About fourteen, fifteen years back. He did nineteen duels in the last six months we can track him."
Sleel heard a trace of something in her voice. He said, "That a lot?"
"Yeah. In a busy year I did maybe six. A dozen in that time would be considered pushing it, least in the top ranks. Guy liked to fight. He had eighteen wins; twelve were outright kills, six were wounded badly enough so they barely made it even with full-medical rides. He used a black sword. "
"Sounds like what I'm looking for. Eighteen wins, you said, but nineteen fights?"
"Yep. There aren't any official records on the nineteenth fight. The word is, in the last one, our boy lost a foot. He went away after that, no further mention of him in the Flex. Probably regrew the foot and retired. Not many old players in the dance. It's a game for the young and stupid, mostly. The smart ones get out, they survive long enough."
"What about the player who beat him?"
"No record on them. They didn't claim the victory and Cierto never said."
"Cierto."
"Yeah, that's the guy with the black sword. Hoja Cierto, from Rift."
Oh, ho, Sleel thought. Rift, as in private ship hanging in the sky up there is from Rift.
Sleel found Reason lying under the shade of a big umbrella, sipping at a drink he'd programmed the dispense-din to make. Something with a lot of color in it, red and blue and even a touch of green. The older man was reading something, the words of which were barely visible, the holoproj washed dim by the reflected tropical sunlight even here in the shadows.
"We got company," Sleel said.
"Oh?"
"A ship owned by one Hoja Cierto of the planet Rift is hanging offworld in a parking orbit. Mean anything to you?"
Reason touched a control on his reader and the dim text vanished. He appeared thoughtful. "Doesn't resonate offhand," he said. "Rift."
"In Delta," Sleel offered.
"I know where it is. I'm trying to remember if I've ever been there." He shook his head. "I can't recall anything. Certainly not recently."
"How recent is recently?"
"Thirty years."
Sleel nodded. "All right. It would be nice to know why, but it's more important to know who at this point. I've got a couple of worms digging for information on this guy."
"Cierto," Reason said. "No, the name doesn't mean anything to me. Are we certain that is who it is?"
"No. He could be lending his ship out, I suppose. But according to Dirisha, this guy likes to play with swords. Black swords. "
"Ah. "
"Yeah. And he's got a lot of money if he owns his own starship; he'll probably figure out a way to get into The Brambles. "
"Despite the security?"
"I can think of three or four ways without taxing my brain."
"What do we do?"
"We don't stay here. There's a camp about a hundred and fifty klicks away, used by one of the local religious groups for retreats. It'll be empty this time of year. We'll go there." Whatever his parents were or were not, Sleel wouldn't bring deadly danger to their cube. It had been a while since he'd lived here, but he knew the territory. Once thing nice about an orchard with a lifetime harvest cycle was that it stayed pretty much the same. The advantages were his when it came to terrain, and also when it came to training, he figured. Like he had told Dirisha, it was a piece of easy.
Still, just in case, he ought to pick up a few things. If the bad guys knew he was guarding Reason, and surely they must, given what had happened to the last would-be assassin on Earth, then they would plug that into their equation. It would be good to alter that picture before they came to call.
Getting to Mtu was easy enough. Finding
Dirisha called back that same afternoon.
"Yo, Sleel."
"Dirisha. Where's the blonde shadow?"
"Geneva's at the swimming pool inciting lust in half the casino's transient population."
They both smiled.
"I got something for you on one of the swordplayers. The guy I heard about was considered the best at the edged stuff for a time. About fourteen, fifteen years back. He did nineteen duels in the last six months we can track him."
Sleel heard a trace of something in her voice. He said, "That a lot?"
"Yeah. In a busy year I did maybe six. A dozen in that time would be considered pushing it, least in the top ranks. Guy liked to fight. He had eighteen wins; twelve were outright kills, six were wounded badly enough so they barely made it even with full-medical rides. He used a black sword. "
"Sounds like what I'm looking for. Eighteen wins, you said, but nineteen fights?"
"Yep. There aren't any official records on the nineteenth fight. The word is, in the last one, our boy lost a foot. He went away after that, no further mention of him in the Flex. Probably regrew the foot and retired. Not many old players in the dance. It's a game for the young and stupid, mostly. The smart ones get out, they survive long enough."
"What about the player who beat him?"
"No record on them. They didn't claim the victory and Cierto never said."
"Cierto."
"Yeah, that's the guy with the black sword. Hoja Cierto, from Rift."
Oh, ho, Sleel thought. Rift, as in private ship hanging in the sky up there is from Rift.
Sleel found Reason lying under the shade of a big umbrella, sipping at a drink he'd programmed the dispense-din to make. Something with a lot of color in it, red and blue and even a touch of green. The older man was reading something, the words of which were barely visible, the holoproj washed dim by the reflected tropical sunlight even here in the shadows.
"We got company," Sleel said.
"Oh?"
"A ship owned by one Hoja Cierto of the planet Rift is hanging offworld in a parking orbit. Mean anything to you?"
Reason touched a control on his reader and the dim text vanished. He appeared thoughtful. "Doesn't resonate offhand," he said. "Rift."
"In Delta," Sleel offered.
"I know where it is. I'm trying to remember if I've ever been there." He shook his head. "I can't recall anything. Certainly not recently."
"How recent is recently?"
"Thirty years."
Sleel nodded. "All right. It would be nice to know why, but it's more important to know who at this point. I've got a couple of worms digging for information on this guy."
"Cierto," Reason said. "No, the name doesn't mean anything to me. Are we certain that is who it is?"
"No. He could be lending his ship out, I suppose. But according to Dirisha, this guy likes to play with swords. Black swords. "
"Ah. "
"Yeah. And he's got a lot of money if he owns his own starship; he'll probably figure out a way to get into The Brambles. "
"Despite the security?"
"I can think of three or four ways without taxing my brain."
"What do we do?"
"We don't stay here. There's a camp about a hundred and fifty klicks away, used by one of the local religious groups for retreats. It'll be empty this time of year. We'll go there." Whatever his parents were or were not, Sleel wouldn't bring deadly danger to their cube. It had been a while since he'd lived here, but he knew the territory. Once thing nice about an orchard with a lifetime harvest cycle was that it stayed pretty much the same. The advantages were his when it came to terrain, and also when it came to training, he figured. Like he had told Dirisha, it was a piece of easy.
Still, just in case, he ought to pick up a few things. If the bad guys knew he was guarding Reason, and surely they must, given what had happened to the last would-be assassin on Earth, then they would plug that into their equation. It would be good to alter that picture before they came to call.
Getting to Mtu was easy enough. Finding
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