He said nothing. Stood still and breathed in what little space he had, starting
to add where he could move and how fast before he might die. Or whether it was
time to try it.
-The sun and the armor and the walls of Ranke, Sanctuary become true to its
name, the wall behind which-
“She’s got something moving,” Vis said, and hooked a finger under Straton’s jaw,
compelling attention. “Word’s flying. That mess over Downwind-the barracks-that
wasn’t any of our doing.”
No answers. No answer was the wisest answer and hope to the gods Vis was in
control of the other four. Vis had a brain and a grudge the limit of which he
knew. The others might be plain crazy. “Let’s,” Strat said thoughtfully, “not
complicate this. Vis. I’m not on your payroll. You’re on mine. And let’s keep it
that way. It’s been the same side so far. If something’s coming down I’m as
interested as you are and I haven’t heard- Uhhh.”
“You think you still run things, do you?”
“You can kill me. There’s those will pay it.”
He had meant the Band. Crit. He saw a flicker of something else in Vis’s face;
and remembered who else would pay it, and whom Vis feared more than he feared
Ranke-considerab ly.
“You got your own hell,” Vis said. “I want a straight answer. Is it her? Is it
her pulling the cords right now? Where’s the rest of your lot?”
Quick mental addition. The slaughter at the barracks: dead giveaway of a new
wave of Rankan activity among those in a position to know they hadn’t done it.
And Vis was at least marginally on Rankan funds, not Nisibisi. Vis and his lot