“Oh, Jetta,” she whispered as her strength returned tenfold. Until right then the Healer hadn’t realized how poorly she’d been feeling. This was like being back on Algar, surrounded by the psionic energies of her tribe.
She hugged her white-necked wolf, laughing joyfully as they shot through the meadow and down a slope back into another stand of forest.
What does this mean? she wondered.
The wolves slowed to a trot and then stopped, shaking Triel from her thoughts. The one Jetta was riding began to whine.
“What’s wrong?” Triel asked.
Jetta frowned. “I’m not sure, but we should let them go.”
Jetta unstrapped their gear and the wolves took off, disappearing into the trees. Never comfortable with wolves, Triel was secretly glad to see them leave, but something was obviously amiss.
“That was strange.”
Jetta’s voice was firm. “I know. Let’s keep sharp.”
After about a half-kilometer, they reached the edge of a resettlement, and by the looks of it they were headed toward trouble.
“Jetta,” Triel said as they neared the break in the trees. “I have a feeling we’re not going to get a warm welcome.”
The resettlement was a charred swath of land topped with structures haphazardly patched together out of scrapped materials. Spiked stretches of wall pocked with blast marks were joined together by gun towers guarding the bulk of the buildings, with flags made out of red and black animal skins fluttering atop the tallest tower.
Twin laser sights flickered on their chests as they stepped out of the protection of the trees.
“G’thei Yralk it’et,” someone shouted from one of the towers.
Triel didn’t know the language. She looked over to Jetta. Her forehead was knitted as she silently repeated the words.
“I know,” she said, snapping her fingers. “That’s Lock slang!”
Jetta continued to walk slowly toward the gate.
“Lock slang?”
“As in the Labor Locks of Plaly IV,” Jetta said. “They must be Lockheads.”
The laser sights never left her heart, but Jetta didn’t seem concerned.
“Jetta, maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” Triel said. “Didn’t you say the Alliance failed negotiations with Reivers?”
“Yes, but they’ve never dealt with me before. Besides, we need supplies, and it would be helpful to glean some of their knowledge of the territory. Besides—what could they possibly have that I couldn’t handle?”
In that moment the experience of Jetta’s radiance was lost to the looming shadow of her words, especially when Triel sensed the thought that accompanied it. Jetta believed she was more powerful than any Sentient they might encounter. She wasn’t opposed to violence, and even after all of her experiences, she wasn’t opposed to using her talents.
That is Rion.
Jetta craned her neck toward the tallest watchtower and shouted in Common: “I am Commander Jetta Kyron of the Starways Alliance, and this is Triel of Algardrien. Our ship crashed, and we are in need of supplies and a place to stay. We have military-grade fuel cells to exchange for your hospitality.”
A laugh boomed over the loudspeakers. “The Jetta Kyron, the slayer of worlds, the Warchild of the Gods?”
Triel watched nervously as Jetta’s face turned hard and cold. “The one and only.”
“Do you really have a Prodgy?”
Jetta motioned for her to show her markings. Triel lifted her arms and turned her face from side to side.
The gate locks unlatched, and the door slowly opened, groaning as the gears and cables struggled.
“Stay close to me and don’t say a word. Lockheads don’t trust anyone, especially not military. I’ve had a lot of problems on SMT missions with the group on Jue Hexron.”
“Then why are we here?” Triel whispered as two guards approached them.
The look on her face was unyielding. “Trust me.”
The guards were completely cloaked from head to toe in mismatched gear. Triel identified a Dominion Core chest plate, pieces of an Alliance jumpsuit, and a Trigonian neck protector on the guard to the right. The one to her left was dressed more like a dog-soldier in his chest harnesses and fatigue pants. Both wore black goggles and faceguards, hiding who or what they really were.
But Triel knew. Once they stepped into her range she recognized the familiar biorhythm of their species. They were human.
The guards led them through a tired road that paved its way through the crowded settlement. Houses were constructed from everything and anything. Lumber, metal, pieces of plastic, scraps of old machine parts. Triel noticed the hollowed-out shell of a warship process cylinder sheltering a family of five huddled around a fire.
Sickness was rampant, and she was forced to close off her perceptions. The skeletal people in the streets made no eye contact as they passed. Even with her senses withdrawn, she sensed epidemic levels of gastrointestinal disease, and in some of them the beginnings of blood poisoning. An open door revealed a pile of bodies, and Triel caught a whiff of burning flesh.
Triel wished she could connect with Jetta to share what she was seeing, but the look on Jetta’s face showed that they had reached the same conclusion.
“How long has it been like this?” Jetta asked the guard as they passed a little boy crumpled against a doorframe, but he didn’t respond.
The guards led them to a tent in the middle of town. On the tables inside were maps of the surrounding territories with little figurines and flags on the borders.
“Sir!” the guards saluted.
A man studying a red topographic map looked up from the table. He looked them both over and then dismissed his guards.
“I am Counselor Salam. You must be Commander Kyron. I recognize you from the newsreels. And you must be Triel of Algardrien. You are most welcome here, Healer.”
Salam was a slender man with olive skin and cool gray eyes, his dark hair pulled back from his forehead in a neat braid. His drab military uniform bore insignias too faded to distinguish. What little skin showed was covered in scars, the most notable one running from the corner of his mouth to his ear, trapping half of his face in a permanent smile.
Jetta stepped forward and offered her hand, which Salam took lightly, not bothering to remove his gloves.
“I am Commander Kyron. Here—a token of my appreciation for your hospitality.”
Jetta dropped the packs and gave him the fuel cells. “Wired right, each cell could power your village for three or four years.”
Salam counted the seven fuel cells and nodded. “Thank you, that’s very generous. But what our people really need is medical supplies—or the help of your Prodgy. Our enemies have destroyed our food supply and my people are sick and starving.”
“Triel is in no condition to heal as a Solitary,” Jetta said.
Salam bowed to the Healer. “Triel of Algardrien—our people revere the Prodgies. You would not be in danger here. We would take care of you—protect you—give you anything you need.”
“I’m sorry,” Jetta said, stepping in front of her, “but our mission is urgent, and we must head out by morning. I promise to send aid once I am able to contact the Alliance.”
“Then perhaps you could offer advice on our upcoming offensive with the Jumaris? We’re down to less than half our fighting force, and if we don’t succeed in taking back our hunting grounds then we will surely perish.”
Jumaris, Triel thought, trying to place the name. Then she remembered the word she had always associated with it. Flesh eaters.
Even Jetta flinched at their name. The Jumaris were vicious killers, known to slowly torture their victims before consuming them. They were flushed out of their homeworld when the Motti first disseminated the outerworld populations and came to Algar just like the Starways’ other castaways.
“I can help with negotiations—not warfare. That is against my oath.”
Salam look disgusted. “The Jumaris don’t neg
otiate. So then tell me, Commander, what is more important than the lives of two hundred people?”
“The lives of all the Sentients of the Starways.”
Salam laughed. “How do you expect me to believe that, coming from someone like you? I know you,” he said. “I’ve seen all the reels, seen the trials. You only do anything for one reason—resurrecting your dead brother.”
Jetta’s anger burst into Triel’s mind, permeating the Healer’s body in a roaring fire. As Triel choked back the sensory onslaught, Jetta fought to keep the emotion out of her voice. “You know what the media thinks of me. I would think you’d be a little more discriminating than to let a liberalistic, anti-government institution sway your opinion. Especially someone with your history.”
The media was generally cool when it came to human rights, so Triel guessed that Jetta was trying to prove that it couldn’t be trusted. The true nature of the Labor Locks had never been covered by any major media network despite the petitions and amateur footage provided by the Human Freedom Fighters.
Jetta’s head tilted to the left, and just by the way her eyes seemed to focus on something outside the tent, Triel could tell she was using her hidden talent, the one that bored into a person’s soul.
“I will not lie to you, Counselor. We are here because the Alliance is fighting for our very survival. I believe that Li’s army does not have the means to truly defeat the Motti’s new weapon, and it’s only a matter of time before we’re all turned into Deadwalkers.”
Triel was surprised. It was usually Jaeia who used the direct and honest approach, not Jetta. But the Healer knew better; Jetta was never without an ace up her sleeve.
Salam lifted a brow. “Then why come here? To see the dying remnants of a disinherited race? Algar is dangerous, as you very well know, and this planet has little to offer anyone who already has a warm bed.”
“Our ship malfunctioned and crashed several kilometers back. Before the accident we were headed to the Temple of Exxuthus.”
Now Triel knew why Jetta was being so honest. Neither of them knew the exact location of the Temple of Exxuthus—that knowledge was kept within the circle of Prodgy elders. But these Lockheads might have uncovered the Temple. That’s why Jetta offered him the fuel cells—to elicit an emotional response, levering his mind open with thoughts of reward. And she was honest with him about their mission, knowing her candor would shock him and trigger his knowledge of the Temple. With a mind like hers, all he had to do was give it a moment’s thought and Jetta would know everything he did.
“The Temple of Exxuthus,” Salam’s face changed subtly. His gray eyes dilated, and his hands moved to the edge of the table. “I’ve heard that was where the world of the Gods meets ours. The sickest vessel can be restored there—even granted powers.”
Jetta smiled. “Yes—you’ve been there yourself?”
Triel felt the number of human presences gathering around their tent and brushed the back of Jetta’s hand. Jetta glanced at her but didn’t seem upset by the growing problem.
“Perhaps in a dream.”
“Counselor—you wouldn’t be holding out on me, would you?”
Salam rose and turned his back to them. “I know who you are, Commander. I know what you’re capable of. You can kill me with my worst nightmare, yes? I’m human, without any Rai Shar training, you can just take what you need from my head and leave me here.”
Jetta’s face turned to stone.
Salam voice dropped. “Do you know how we escaped the Labor Locks, Commander?”
Jetta lips barely moved. “No.”
Salam removed his gloves, revealing two artificial hands. They were crude, maybe twenty-first century models, with synthetic skins and antiquated geared motors that whined and clicked when he moved his fingers.
“They shackled us by the feet or by the hands. Or both. No way to get the key without triggering an alarm. Only one way to escape.”
Jetta paled, and Triel’s hunger pains gave way to nausea.
“You won’t find a single adult here with all their hands and feet.”
“I can’t imagine—” Jetta began.
“Yes you can,” Salam said, slamming his artificial hand down on the table. He composed himself again, replacing the glove.
“I only ask that if you take my knowledge of the Temple, you take our reasons for coming here. How I came here. You take all of it. You can’t reap someone’s knowledge without living in their shoes.”
Jetta’s green eyes were dark and dilated, her lips forming silent words as she swayed back and forth. Triel had seen Jetta glean from another being before, but never this intensely. Something about the counselor must have caught her attention.
Jetta’s brow was slick with sweat, and her words came breathlessly. “You do know where the Temple is.”
“Thousands have died to learn of its location. We were so close—so close—when the Jumaris came. You must understand—everyone wants inside.”
“Why?” Triel asked, seeing that Jetta was no longer paying attention.
Salam gave her a sad smile. “Because it is our last hope.”
Jetta ran a hand through her hair and cursed under her breath. “I need... I need...” but she couldn’t finish the sentence. All the color had drained from her face, her attention seemingly split between the real world and what she had absorbed.
“Counselor—we’re both so tired. Can we please rest here for the night?” Triel asked, taking Jetta by the arm. “We can discuss the Temple tomorrow.”
“Of course,” Salam said. “You are welcome here, and any friend of a Prodgy is a friend of ours. Even if they are part of the Alliance.”
Triel kept a close eye on Jetta as the guards escorted them to a tent within the militarized zone of the settlement. As soon as the tent flaps closed and the guards were out of earshot, Triel went to Jetta’s side.
“Lie down,” she whispered, gently guiding her to one of the cots.
Jetta didn’t protest, and rolled onto her side. “So tired...”
Triel rested her hand on her shoulder. It wasn’t physical exhaustion Jetta spoke of—it was deeper than that. Counselor Salam’s psionic residue radiated from Jetta’s thoughts like a scream in an empty room. Triel couldn’t divine Salam’s memories herself, but she sensed the strain it was putting on Jetta. She had hadn’t seen Jetta like this since she had killed Jahx in the Motti attack—and right after that she had gone catatonic. It had taken all of Triel’s energies to bring her back, not to mention the support of the ship’s entire medical staff and, most importantly, the aid of her twin sister.
Triel tentatively stroked Jetta’s hair. “Hey—are you okay?”
Jetta shook her head. “No. He...” But she didn’t finish her sentence.
Triel took Jetta’s hand and closed her eyes, dipping beneath her skin and into the rhythm of her mind and body. She gritted her teeth as she tried to navigate the dissonance she found, but the conflict was intolerable and she immediately withdrew. “What did he show you, Jetta?”
Jetta’s eyes were distant, her mind unreachable. “Hell.”
“Let me see,” Triel said, trying to sink into Jetta’s biorhythms once more, but again the cacophony forced her out, leaving her shaken.
“No,” Jetta whispered. “He knew what he was doing. He wanted to hurt me.” Jetta turned to Triel and gripped her shoulders, eyes frantic as a crazed animal’s. “I won’t let him hurt you, too.”
Triel tried to contain her shock. What if Salam had played his hand offensively? If, knowing he couldn’t keep Jetta from pilfering his knowledge, he had manipulated what she would see? If that was the case, they were in more trouble than Triel could even guess.
“Jetta—let me see—I can help you.”
“No, not anyone,” Jetta mumbled, bringing her knees to her chest. Whatever Salam had shown her must have been terrible for Jetta to withdraw so far. Triel had to do something, fast.
“Jetta, you have to let me see—what if it’s a tric
k?”
“No trick,” Jetta whispered, burying her face in her knees.
Triel was running out of options. Jetta was stubborn, unreasonable, and defensive—it had always been her undoing—but without Jetta’s help they would never make it out of the settlement alive. Salam had already mentioned needing her services. Maybe taking Jetta out of the equation was part of his plan to capture the Healer.
Maybe it was the sense of impending doom spreading through her body like wildfire, maybe it was the fear that she could lose her closest friend, the one who had risked everything to save her life when she was Falling. Maybe it was something more. But before she could question the impulse, Triel leaned over and kissed Jetta’s temple. When Jetta reeled in surprise, Triel cupped her cheek and kissed her on the lips. Her skin was warm and soft, her lips tender and sweet. Before Jetta, Triel had never kissed a telepath, let alone a female, and the explosive wonder of it sent charged currents to the tips of her fingers and toes.
“What are you doing?” Jetta exclaimed, pushing her away.
“What’s wrong?” Triel said, suddenly very confused herself.
Jetta’s mind was leaping in twenty different directions, her emotions a tangled wreck. She was still struggling to speak when her arms suddenly went limp and her eyes rolled back in her head.
Triel shook her by the shoulders. “Jetta?!”
Without hesitation, Triel placed one hand on Jetta’s chest and the other on her forehead. As she waded toward the horizon between mind and body, dark, caustic vines slithered up her arm.
“Oh Gods—”
Her hands were no longer resting on Jetta’s skin, but the slick, endless black of the shadow thing that coiled around her, yanking her out of the physical world. Triel screamed as she plunged headfirst into a nightmare.
JAEIA WANDERED DOWN the corridors, barely aware of the passing crewmen. The senior officers’ debriefing would start in less than fifteen minutes, and she knew she should have spent her time readying her presentation, but working alone in her empty quarters was the last thing she wanted to do. She had successfully renegotiated a treaty between Trigos and the original nine Homeworlds, but Victor’s hold on the Perimeter worlds and the industrial planets within Calmunis, namely Tatos and Pyme, would unravel her treaty within a matter of weeks, if not sooner. The Homeworlds had become too dependent on Tatos and Pyme for everything from military parts to luxury goods, especially Trigos, which had relied heavily on imports for the last two hundred years since its global urbanization.
Triorion Omnibus Page 98
