Chapter 6
Old dreams chased Asan. Dreams of drone labor in the steaming slop pits on Dix IV. Dreams of being hunted down by city patrollers, of not being able to run fast enough, of being held back and trapped, helpless and quaking, a shard of stolen metal clutched ready in his hand, the tremor of his heartbeat thudding out of control…
Asan sat up with a choked cry. “No, you flins! You won’t take me!”
“Noble leiil.”
A strong hand gripped Asan’s shoulder, shaking him. Asan blinked, coming abruptly out of the dream. He frowned at Saar’s ugly face inches from his own. Saar’s scarlet eyes burned into his.
“Noble leiil?”
“Yes.” Asan lifted an unsteady hand. “I’m all right. It was just a dream. A…”
His voice trailed off and he stared past Saar, only now taking in the stone walls around them. There was very little illumination coming from a smelly torch burning just outside the barred opening in the cell door, and in the gloom he saw a metal cot identical to the one he was lying on and a short metal stool. The air was cold and held a suggestion of damp.
He frowned. This wasn’t the Bban dara.
He swung his legs off the cot.
“Easy, noble leiil,” said Saar, trying to stop him. “Not yet. Rest a moment.”
Asan shrugged off Saar’s hand, yet he remained sitting there without attempting to stand. His fingers curled around the edge of the cot. He had a sense of disorientation, of having missed an essential block of time. His mind quested back, seeking it, and found nothing but darkness and a confused impression of travel.
He swallowed, conscious of intense thirst.
“Where have they taken us, Saar?”
Saar growled and pushed himself upright to his feet. His pon uniform was dirty and torn. His boots were split at the soles. A half-healed scar marked his cheek in an angry pucker.
He spat, his body tense and half seen in the gloom. “Ah’hi, noble leiil. We are in the citadel of the Mura-an. Sold as spoils of war to Tlar-dung. My blood is a pool of shame.”
“Sold?” Asan’s head came up in surprise. “Why?”
“Thy words were true. The humans have come in war. Tlar’n and Bban’n have made truce—”
“Good!” Asan stood up, but the room spun around him. Dizzily he sank back down and put a hand to his head. “What did Ookri hit me with?”
“A gong mallet. Thou has walked close to the shadow land for many days.”
Asan grimaced. “I’m not in Merdarai yet. Have they given you a water pail?”
“Water? A Bban warrior is not worth water. But if thou are in thirst, I can call the guard.”
“In a moment.”
With more caution this time Asan got to his feet and walked to the door. He was so weak his knees wavered, and his muscles were stiff and awkward. His stomach was a knot of hunger, and a small but persistent ache remained in the back of his skull. Bit by bit, however, he felt some of his strength returning.
He reached out and touched the scarred iron door with a wary fingertip. The energy charge crackled, and he jerked his hand back, his finger tingling from the shock.
“A weak field. We could get through it.”
“Thou are not strong enough yet to seizert. And where would we go?”
Asan glanced at Saar sharply. “You would follow me?”
“Thou are leiil. I serve thee.”
Saar saluted stiffly, and Asan returned it.
“You have my thanks, Saar.”
Saar growled, turning away as though in embarrassment. “I have learned the meaning of a true leiil. The elders sold this warrior, who had served them with honor to the blood. They are no different from the Tlar-dung they sought to destroy.” Saar glanced back at Asan, his scarlet eyes troubled. “I beg thy pardon, noble leiil. My words are clumsy. Tlar-dung are those such as the tyrant Hihuan and his—”
“I understand.” Asan grasped his forearm for a moment. “I give the care of my blood to your loyalty, Pon Saar. Now let’s see about getting out of here.”
“Again I ask thee. Where will we go?”
“To my ship. The Spitfire.”
“Thou has not that much strength. It is hard to seizert so far. Let us wait until they have brought food.”
“Good point.” Grinning, Asan returned to his cot and sat down. “How long?”
“Soon.” Saar stationed himself at the door. “Rest again, noble leiil. I shall give thee warning.”
Asan stretched himself out, pillowing his head on his interlaced hands. Tlar’n and Bban’n finally believed the humans were a threat. Whatever the humans had done to teach them that lesson, Asan knew more men had been lost. And right now, with the shaky, almost nonexistent technology here, he was not only outnumbered, he was outgunned. He couldn’t take on the GSI and win.
So he’d better figure out a way to get help. And the only help he knew about was Martok.
Asan frowned uneasily. His former boss couldn’t be trusted either, and Martok sure wouldn’t appreciate an appeal for help from one Blaise Omari, not after Omari skipped on an important delivery.
But of course Martok wouldn’t know who he was. Asan had the perfect cover, an impenetrable new identity. And Martok would be eager to barter illegal weapons for an exclusive mining agreement.
Asan sighed. Now all he had to do was break out of here, get his ship, and somehow slip out of the system undetected by the humans. Simple, right?
No way.
Security buoys. How was he going to get past those? The Institute had salted them across the controlled areas of the galaxy, and an illegal ship without the proper passage codes was zeroed instantly. Smugglers, assassins, couriers, and other fringe traffic usually possessed mechanisms called buoy breakers that could jam the buoy circuits. But the Spitfire was a legal ship. It wouldn’t be equipped like that.
So he had to have the codes. And to get them, he had to have a ship’s captain.
Daro, he thought, clenching his fist. Demos take those stupid Bban’n!
But there was a second ship and a second captain. He frowned, not liking the odds of successfully kidnapping the senior officer off a ship. Even if he tracked it, seizerted there, probed the man’s mind for the information, and seizerted off, he’d be vulnerable for a sufficient number of seconds to get himself shot. He could use his force field of course, but he wasn’t sure if it would deflect calibrated strifer fire. The Tlar’n might think themselves fairly invincible in certain situations, but he had no such illusions. He knew what humans could do.
“Leiil.”
Saar’s soft growl pulled him from his thoughts. Asan sat up, sniffing for the aroma of food. Even ration cubes, as dry and unappetizing as they were, would be welcome. But Saar had crouched by the door, out of sight below the window. He released his musk and clenched his bony fists.
Alerted, Asan gathered himself on the edge of the cot, his hands at his sides, his legs coiled to propel him forward if necessary. It wasn’t dinner that was coming.
A tiny ring brushed his mind, found him aware, and withdrew instantly. But not before he recognized Aural’s pattern. He stiffened, his heart beating faster. He didn’t like the idea of meeting her when he was trapped and helpless in this cell. Maybe the threat from the humans had put her on his side. Maybe she was coming to get him out of here.
Big maybes.
He didn’t have much belief in any of them.
Booted footsteps rang out in cadence, growing louder. They stopped outside the cell and stamped to attention. Asan glimpsed the swirl of a black cloak through the window, then a face peered in at him. It wasn’t Aural’s. Surprised, he stared back.
“Dame Agate,” he said, and Saar stiffened in his hiding place.
She scowled, looking older and more weatherbeaten than ever. “Send thy savage away from the door, and I’ll come inside. We must talk, Asan.”
She was as brusque as ever, refusing to bend that stubborn pride of hers, refusing to take time for courtesies. Asan gesture
d at Saar to move and wondered if Aural was standing behind Agate. She was somewhere near. His uneasiness increased.
Agate spoke an order. The subliminal hum of the force field vanished, and the door swung open with a creak. Agate slipped through, holding a fire-rod in her gloved hand, and the door slammed behind her with a hollow boom. She was drawn about the mouth. Her skin was a sallow, unhealthy tinge. There were dark circles beneath her deep-set eyes. Her shabby nomad clothing was coated in dust.
“There isn’t much time—”
“Where is Aural?” asked Asan, rising to his feet.
The fire-rod swung his way, and he lifted both palms before sinking back down on the cot.
“Does thou want her?” Agate’s eyes glittered with anger. She snarled a Bban curse word that made Saar move uneasily. “Let her dare come into my sight and I swear that I shall spread her blood upon the sands. That—”
“If you’re here for an execution, get on with it,” said Asan. As he spoke he gestured for Saar to remain where he was. He didn’t want the headstrong Bban to get smoked. “What’s wrong, old woman? You’re shaking. I can sense your rings broken around you. Have the human invaders frightened the matriarch of the Soot’dla?”
“Enough.”
Her hand tightened on the fire-rod. She glared at Asan, her lips drawn thin over her teeth. “Thou has been unconscious. Thou doesn’t understand what has happened.”
“There are several possibilities,” Asan said. “Usually when they come in over a city, they try to pull power and incapacitate communications and weaponry lines. But they couldn’t do that here. So they either dropped a blanket stun, or they used chem-bombs. Then when everyone was unconscious, they walked right in.”
Agate’s mouth fell open. For the first time in his difficult dealings with her, Asan saw her at a loss. She blinked twice, a third time, then pulled herself together.
“Thou understands,” she whispered. “Thy words are not clear to me. But thou speaks of it just the same. They took the air, great leiil. They snatched it from our lungs.”
Asan turned up his palm. “Chem-bombs. They didn’t take the air, Dame Agate. They used a gas that temporarily paralyzes the lungs. It’s very effective in strongholds like this one. Saves blasting a couple of walls apart and going in by force.”
She considered this, eyes squinted. The habitual pride had been wiped from her face.
She lowered the fire-rod to her side. “We were once a mighty people. And of the Tlar’n, the Soot’dla have been greatest of all. Now we are faced with a devious force of n’kai who toss us about like pebbles. Our weapons, our shields, our pride, are all as nothing against them. Thou knew this, and thou were not heeded. Like fools, we rallied around Unar and the infant. Like fools, we allowed ourselves to be betrayed by Aural.” Dame Agate spat. “That n’dl!”
Asan lifted a hand. “Careful. She is near. She is listening.”
“Spying. Chielt!”
“Where are the GSI troops now?” asked Asan. He stood up, anxious to get out of here. “I have a—”
“They have withdrawn. They claim they are here on a rescue mission. Aural brought them here.”
“I know. What else has she done?”
“There isn’t time. We must settle truce and go.”
Dame Agate drew her jen-knife and made a quick cut across her palm before tossing the weapon to Asan. He hesitated a moment, remembering an earlier meeting with Dame Agate during season when she had sat in the midst of her warriors and refused to join his army. She was shaken now and eager, but could she be trusted?
She saw his hesitation, and swift bands of color rose in her face. She drew back her bloodied hand with a hiss.
“It is as I first thought. Thou and Aural, all the old ones, are against us. Thou wants us to perish so that thou can have—”
“What?” He grabbed her by the shoulder and shook her. “So we can have what, old woman? A barren planet inhabited by nothing?”
Furious with her blindness, he cut his palm, frowning at the sting of pain, and grasped her hand hard in his until their blood mingled. She tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip until he heard her gasp.
“No!” she said, writhing. “Thou took Anthi. Thou freed the horde. We shall starve because of thee!”
“Fool!” He twisted her arm behind her back and held the knife to her withered throat. “If I hadn’t shut Anthi down, Picyt and Aural would have had all of us in their power. Surely you can see that, old woman! You are supposed to be wise!”
For a moment there was no sound but their ragged panting. Then Dame Agate’s tense body relaxed in his hold.
“There is truth in what thou says.”
“Of course there is.” He released her so abruptly she staggered. Staring down at his hand, which was splattering dark blood upon the floor, he said bitterly, “For the first time in my life I have played square, and no one believes me. I must be an idiot.”
“I accept truce,” said Agate.
Startled, he glanced up and saw acceptance in her haughty face. She lifted her palm and touched the tip of her tongue to the blood. Slowly Asan copied the action.
“You’re old-fashioned, noble dame.”
She threw back her head with a laugh as harsh as the desert wind. “And thou, noble leiil? Thou are simply old. How long will thou live?”
“As long as it takes. Here.” He tore two strips of cloth from the coarse blanket covering his cot and handed her one to bind her hand.
Behind him, Saar clicked his jaw nervously. “Something comes.”
Asan started to ask Dame Agate for her fire-rod, but her bony hand clamped down upon his arm.
“Quickly!” she said. “Follow me.”
“Where?”
“We have wasted too much time. Come!”
As soon as Asan followed her out of the cell, he felt an urge to make a break for it. Saar crowded him, growling lightly under his breath. Three Soot’dla warriors in masks and silver cloaks moved to flank Dame Agate. At her command one of them tossed Asan a fire-rod. He handed Saar the bloody jen-knife, and all of the Soot’dla stiffened.
Asan glared at them. “He serves me to the blood. Leave him be.”
Dame Agate frowned, still looking as though she wanted to protest. But she inclined her head. “By thy will.”
One of her warriors led the way, ducking down a twisting tunnel so low they had to bend double in order to go through it. The darkness was total, a disorienting blackness so thick Asan could almost feel it. He concentrated upon his higher senses to show him where he was going. But still, when they emerged into what looked like a small, natural cavern he stumbled and nearly lost his footing.
Torches flared here. The warriors each took down one from the sconces. Dame Agate’s face was pinched at the nostrils. She was breathing heavily as she straightened her hood of leadweave.
“Hurry.”
Again they followed a tunnel, this one leading down. It had rougher footing. It also ended in a cavern, a larger one fitted with cells. There was a drop of perhaps an arm’s length between the lip of the tunnel and the floor of the cavern.
Asan jumped down, wincing as his knees took the jolt without any spring left. Hunger was making him light-headed. He wished Dame Agate had come after he’d eaten.
“There is safety here,” she said. “Not much, but a fraction of it.”
Asan swept out his palms impatiently. “None. As soon as the search starts—”
“I shall hide all traces of our passage—”
“From minds perhaps. From sensors no.”
“Sensors?” She stumbled over the word. “Machines?”
“Very sophisticated machines. We need to get out of here. I have a ship—”
“Wait,” she said, turning away as a warrior unbolted one of the cell doors. “I must not be missed. When I return, then we shall decide what to do.”
“Agate—”
Her cadre drew their weapons, and Asan cut off his sentence, cursing himsel
f for having trusted her. A rough hand drew his fire-rod from his belt, then gestured for him to enter the cell. He stood where he was, feet planted. At his side Saar released his musk.
Alarmed, Asan flung out a hand. “Saar, no!”
But the Bban was already leaping at the nearest warrior. They went sprawling in a tangle of legs and cloaks. Asan saw another aim his fire-rod. Desperately Asan snapped his rings forward, seeking to deflect the blast from Saar, but Dame Agate’s rings slammed him to one side. He fell, scraping his cheek upon the stone floor, and the moment was lost.
Blue fire flashed briefly, and Saar screamed. The stench of seared flesh and Bban musk filled the air.
In the stillness that followed, the man Saar had attacked rolled Saar’s body to one side with an oath and staggered to his feet. One of his arms hung useless at his side.
Asan climbed upright, fury sawing through him. He faced Dame Agate, whose face was haughty, closed, without regret. He wanted to crush her.
She gestured. “Get into the cell. Now. I have no more time to waste here.”
“Saar was—”
“Will thou crush me for the death of one savage?” asked Dame Agate. She lifted her bandaged hand.
The reminder of their alliance turned his stomach. “One loyal savage is worth a thousand deceitful allies. Even you should know that, noble dame.”
Shame flooded her face then, but he turned away and entered the cell, unwilling to see more.
“Leiil—” she began, then cut herself off. “We shall talk when I return. This is of need. I swear it.”
He stood in the shadowy darkness of the cell with his back to the door and did not answer. The bolt rammed home, and they were gone, taking the torches with them. There was only darkness and cold and death to keep him company.
Chapter 7
A muffled whisper told him he was not alone. Asan whirled and flattened himself against a clammy wall, his flesh shrinking from the moisture that seeped through his tunic. Whatever was in here with him, he wasn’t going to die in the dark.
Gathering his rings, he cupped one palm and concentrated until a ball of blue phosphorescence formed. The illumination it provided was feeble at first, then strengthened to cast an eerie light around the cell.
Requiem for Anthi: Anthi - Book Two Page 7
