He caught the attempt to divert him. “He rescued you? From what?”
She let go a breath. “Huh. Well, that’s a long story for another time.” She handed him a plate with two “sandwiches”—meat and vegetables between two slices of bread, with two kinds of sauce on it, one white, one yellow. He realized again how hungry he was.
“Thank you.” He met her gaze. “For everything. I guess you’ve decided to take the job.”
She glanced at the table, where Del was feeding the last of his sandwich meat to the dog, and laughed. “Yes. I don’t think Happy would allow me to say no.”
CHAPTER SIX
Kwai Tone Ze, Master of Dhar-Bey, held the fifth posture of the Gathering Form and projected his energy to the very end of the cage hook. The hook, a two-meter metal staff with a crook at one end used for manipulating the cages of growing fish on his home planet of Bix, vibrated along its length at the frequency Kwai had generated. That was the point of the exercise, of course. Still, Kwai had to admit to a small sense of satisfaction at being able to accomplish it, even after all these years.
As he moved very slowly into the sixth posture, shifting the staff from horizontal upward 45 degrees, the vibrational frequency increased. The staff was warm in his hands. There was a barely perceptible hum in the air, one an animal might hear, perhaps. And Kwai himself was sweating, the dark skin of his naked upper body covered with a slight sheen. Otherwise there was no indication at all that he was doing anything but holding the hook at an odd angle for long minutes at a time.
Projecting vibrational energy no longer required the effort it once had for Kwai. He’d been training for many years—since he’d first apprenticed to the Mistress on Bix when he was a child. But concentration could be difficult now when so many distractions pressed in on him. So many people needed him—or believed they did.
A knock on the door to his chamber interrupted his practice. Like now, he thought.
He pulled in the hook and turned to face the door. “Come.”
“Master,” his First Apprentice said with a bow. “Two visitors bring a message from the Interstellar Council for Abolition and Rescue. They insist I interrupt you.”
Rescue? How they had found him here, at the most isolated retreat of the Dhar-Bey movement, on a tiny volcanic island in the vast seas that covered Bix, was less important than why they had gone to the trouble. His heart contracting in his chest, he realized they might be here to tell him Del Gordon had left this life for the next. Del wasn’t his only friend in the organization, but he was the Rescue agent he’d known best and longest. Del had reached high rank in Rescue before his decline; what happened to him mattered to his colleagues. And he hadn’t been well—
“Send them in.”
“I could have them wait, Master.” The young man indicated the hook, his practice.
The Master held up a hand to fend off further objections. “Send them in.”
Kwai found a towel and wiped the sweat from his chest, then covered himself with a loose, colorful shirt. He breathed deep in preparation for the news he was about to receive. If Del had found his way forward, it should be a time to celebrate, not to mourn. His friend had learned many lessons in his difficult life, and at the end he had been lost and wandering. In death he could regain what he’d learned and plan for his next journey through life.
Kwai was ready by the time the two Rescue agents were shown into the room. One partner was at least partially Thrane, tall, dark, with the coiled energy of a hunting cat. His companion was a human female, her blond hair a mass of curls and her green eyes sharp with intelligence. They were bonded, he realized, and the thought warmed him somehow. The universe was always in need of love, no matter what form it took.
“You have news for me,” he said.
The two exchanged a look. “We have a warning for you,” the man said. “Didn’t your apprentice explain?”
Kwai raised an eyebrow. “He said little beyond the fact that you were sent from Rescue. You are not here about Del Gordon?”
The woman’s eyes widened; Kwai doubted she even realized it. “Why would you ask about Del Gordon?”
Interesting. Kwai noted her belated attempt to hide her agitation. Some part of this story concerned Del, whether they were willing to tell it or not.
“We have been friends for many years, but he has not been well,” he said. “I feared you had come to tell me he had passed through.”
The man shook his head. “Del is alive, though it is true his health has not improved. However, we have more immediate concerns about you. We have reason to believe there will be an attempt made on your life. Sometime soon.”
Kwai laughed, his fears dissolving. “Oh. That again.” He went to the sideboard, poured a glass of water and began filling a plate with fruit from the bowl that was replenished every morning. “Would you like something to eat? I’m afraid I only have water to offer; I don’t drink anything else.”
When his guests both declined, he sat and indicated they should do the same. “Now, then. Since you’re not here to deliver a death notice, let’s begin again. First, your names.”
“Gabriel Cruz,” the man said, sitting on the very edge of the couch opposite Kwai. “This is my partner, Alana Matheson-Cruz.” The woman sat beside him, looking slightly more relaxed.
“Very good, Gabriel and Alana. Please call me Kwai.” He nibbled at the small pieces of aluria fruit. Very sweet today. “So, you believe someone would like to kill me? You have to admit it would be difficult for anyone to find me here and accomplish the task. What makes you think they would go to the trouble?”
Gabriel’s lips curved upward. “Yes. We’ve gone to some trouble to find you ourselves. But Admiral Sheffield was convinced you were in danger. His last words were a warning.”
Kwai’s faith was no balm for his deep sadness. Shef’s life had been a light that illuminated half the galaxy. Though they had seldom agreed on methodology, they had always agreed on ultimate goals, and they shared an intimate knowledge of a major source of evil in the universe. The galaxy was dimmer now that Shef’s light had gone out.
“Admiral Sheffield’s life was a loss to all in the galaxy,” he said. “But if he had information about his assassins, surely that would be a matter for ConSys Intelligence? Why would Rescue be interested in his murder?”
The woman—Alana—looked at her bondmate with the merest hint of a raised eyebrow. She had known he would ask this question. Indeed, it was an obvious one. With an obvious answer.
He answered it himself. “Because he also warned that Del was in danger.”
“Sheffield insisted the Grays would be coming for you and Del next,” Alana said. “Do you know why?”
Kwai stilled a rising flood of terror in his heart. His own death meant nothing to him; if it was to be, it was as he himself had chosen long ago. But there was darkness capable of swallowing the entire universe, a darkness the Grays had conjured. He had seen it with his own eyes.
If Shef had feared for his old friends at the moment of his death, then it was likely the Grays had begun to track them down, one by one, eliminating any witness to what they had done. There could be only one reason they would bother after all this time. The thing Kwai and the others had buried on that sun-blasted rock was not dead, as they had hoped. It lived, despite all their efforts, and must be fully mature by now, ready to ravage the defenseless galaxy.
Kwai grieved to know Del’s mind had deteriorated to the point that he could not tell Rescue what they needed to know. “Admiral Sheffield and I were with Del when he led the escape from the T7 labor camp.” There had been seven in the group that made it out of that forsaken pit; two—the ones Del called Smith and Jones—had never lived to be old men. He’d lost track of the other two over the years. He was ashamed to remember they had been among their group only because they were needed for the escape; they hadn’t been friends in the camp. And apparently their lives had been unremarkable since the day they all split up on IzRa.
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br /> “You think someone is targeting your group of escapees?” Lana asked. “One of the group or someone from outside?”
Kwai’s breath stuttered. His usual deep breathing techniques seemed to be failing him. His heart rate was elevated, and his stomach was churning. He’d had these memories under control for years, but now . . .
“The Grays want us dead. We were witnesses to the creation of something evil at T7, something we hoped we had destroyed. If you are here, if my friend and the others are dead, the thing must have been growing and maturing there all this time instead. Soon, very soon, I think, its purpose will be revealed.”
His stomach was cramping badly now, burning as if it was on fire. And his mind was full of the smoke of that burning, his thoughts scattered and lost. He barely heard Gabriel’s question.
“It’s a living creature, then? A being of some kind?”
“Yes. And no,” Kwai managed to say. “Part biological creation, part nano-matrix tech. We never understood what the Grays meant to do with it, but Shef thought—” He clutched at his gut and slumped to his side on the couch.
Lana and Gabriel rushed to help him. As soon as Gabriel touched him, Kwai could feel him take the fatal information from his thoughts. The fruit. Too sweet.
“Poison,” Gabriel said to the woman. “We need a doctor.”
“No. It’s too late,” Kwai said, feeling the poison flow cold and deadly through his bloodstream into his vital organs. “You must listen. This thing that’s coming is a planet-killer. You have to stop it. We tried, but . . .”
“We don’t know where to look, Kwai,” Gabriel said. “No one knows where T7 is. Do I have your permission to search your mind?”
Kwai nodded. He could no longer speak. The pain was too much; the door to the next world was open, and he longed to step through. He felt Gabriel’s gentle probe in his mind, and for a brief moment experienced the exhilaration and fear of the escape from T7, the many long days of headlong flight through space to safety on IzRa. Then the light burned brighter through the door, beckoning him, and he could not resist. He disengaged from Gabriel and walked through.
Aware.
I am.
Separate from all else.
As dark exists apart from light. As solid exists apart from liquid. As heat exists apart from cold.
These dualities exist here in this place. Where I am. Where not-I is. The world, my world, is full of dualities.
I am. In this place of dark and heat, away from the light and the cold.
Aware.
Something is changing. Something is coming.
Soon.
Vaalad Zouk sat at an outside table in a noisy café in Firstlanding and surveyed the dirty street. The capital city of Paradon (indeed the only true city of Paradon) was crowded, ugly and dangerous, but it was also colorful, stimulating and, especially, lucrative. Zouk felt almost at home here.
It was said you could find anything you wanted on Paradon—from the most intricate engine repair to the most intimate sexual pleasure—and Zouk had always found this to be true. Access to services and information was the life’s blood of his work; in Firstlanding, anyone looking for that which was difficult to obtain always turned up at his doorstep.
He hadn’t expected to meet again with his Gray client, especially not so soon, but since it was necessary, Zouk had insisted the meeting place be to his advantage.
--You bring me here? To this . . . this slave hovel? The Minertsan surveyed his surroundings, his aura swirling with black, red and green. Evidently he couldn’t decide whether to be outraged or horrified.
Zouk waved a hand to indicate the chair opposite. Sit, my friend. This place has advantages over the tourist hotel near the spaceport. No one will notice our meeting here, unless, of course, you create a scene.
The little Gray made a visible effort to calm himself, his aura shifting to his usual neutral silver-gray. He sat and nodded in thanks when Zouk pushed the glass of mrikis he’d ordered for him in his direction.
--So. Another task accomplished. And rather neatly, if I do say so myself.
The Gray’s aura did not change. Yes. We are pleased that you did the work so quickly.
--What? No kudos for the fact that the authorities on Bix called this a death by natural causes? In fact, they had almost charged those two snooping Rescue agents with the crime, then dropped the charges when any evidence mysteriously disappeared. Zouk’s doing, of course. As much fun as it would have been to see the agents prosecuted, it suited him better to have the death declared a natural one, which had been the plan all along.
--How you accomplish the task is of no importance to us.
Zouk put a hand to his chest. You wound me, sir. But, no matter. The credits have been transferred as agreed. May I assume our work together is done? He fervently hoped so. His curiosity about the link between the assassinations was not enough to overcome his growing contempt for the little worm and his puppetmasters.
--There is one final assignment, should you agree. The Gray’s aura darkened slightly. He is the last of the Seven.
--Seven? So far I’ve completed four assignments for you. One more would make five, if my math is correct. He felt his pulse rise, the fever of the hunt on him once again. His inquiries as to the connections between his victims had yielded few results. Who are these men? What links them?
But the operative had already said too much; his aura flushed orangey-pink with embarrassment. You do not need that information to accomplish your task.
Zouk slapped the table, making the glasses—and his companion—jump. Ah, but I do, my duplicitous friend! The more I know, the faster I can work. Do you think what I do is easy? You must know it is not, because it certainly isn’t cheap. He leaned forward, glowering at the Gray and sending all his resentment out as threatening waves he knew the creature could feel. So I would like to know, please, just who I am hunting—and why. Or you will find yourself another man for this job.
The Minertsan’s aura immediately went a dull yellowish green with fear. Zouk thought it was not so much fear of him that made the creature quake, but fear of failing in the task his superiors had given him. If the operative failed to secure Zouk’s thumbprint on this contract, and the last target remained alive, something very important in the Minertsan world was threatened. That much was clear. But what was it?
--Well?
--Please. I cannot. The green intensified.
--Then we have nothing more to discuss.
Zouk signaled for the waiter. The Ninoctin promptly arrived with a pad. Zouk pressed his thumb in the appropriate spot for scanning his fingerprint, but what the comp picked up was the info from a chip he’d had implanted and changed on a frequent basis.
The Gray watched him in growing agitation until Zouk rose to leave. Wait!
Zouk turned back, one eyebrow raised in inquiry.
--Please, sit. I will explain. The operative’s aura was still dark and tinged with green. He was frightened and unhappy, but at least he’d decided he’d rather talk to Zouk than to his bosses.
Zouk smiled and regained his seat. He waited.
--Many circuits ago, seven men escaped from one of our labor camps. The seven included your targets, two others who died not long after the escape, and one man who remains alive. The deaths of these men are necessary to the continued prosperity and progress of the Minertsan Consortium.
When the Gray ceased his storytelling and simply sat, Zouk prompted him. And why were their deaths necessary?
The Gray squirmed in his seat, his aura a deep salmon color. They were witnesses to an experiment. I cannot tell you the nature of this experiment; I do not know myself.
--But why kill them now? It’s public knowledge that Kwai Tone Ze, Admiral Sheffield and several others escaped from slavery over forty circuits ago.
The operative’s aura was beginning to fade back to silver; he was gaining control of himself. I don’t know.
--Don’t know or won’t say? But it didn’t mat
ter. Zouk knew the answer. The experiment, whatever it had been, was coming to fruition. The Grays wanted no witnesses. If Zouk had been in charge, he would have killed the witnesses as soon as they emerged from hiding. It wasn’t as if Sheffield and Ze, at least, had been leading quiet lives.
--Never mind, he told his companion. Who is the last man?
--Does this mean you’ll take the job?
--That depends. Who is he?
--Delaney Gordon, former Chief of Field Operations, Interstellar Council of Abolition and Rescue.
--Borazt! Del Gordon? Surely he’s dead already? No one’s seen him for the better part of a circuit. Last I heard he was in a wheelchair.
The Gray’s aura frothed with black and red. Gordon is the only one of the Seven who may be able to pinpoint the location of the experiment. We can make no assumptions about the state of his health. We can take no chances. Del Gordon must die.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Charlie pulled the Subaru into the gravel turnout next to the rusty mailbox, parking behind Louise Shelton’s ancient Jeep Cherokee. The older woman’s home place was just visible through the woods up the steep hollow, at the end of a path that followed a rocky creekbed full of clear, rushing water. There was no other way in or out through the deep woods to Louise’s cabin. Louise and her husband had found it as young homesteaders in the Sixties, and the independent-minded woman still walked to and from the road. So, her visitors did, too.
Charlie carried her basket of gifts up the challenging track, Happy running ahead of her. They climbed until they came in sight of Louise sitting in a patch of sunlight on the wide front porch of her cabin.
“Girl, what in the world are you haulin’ up here?” Louise said. Her own dogs, Merle and Willie, barked in delight and ran to greet Happy in the small square of leaf-covered lawn in front of the house.
Charlie came around and up the side stairs to the porch, struggling to catch her breath before she spoke. “Dag, Louise! When you gonna get someone to cut you a road up here?” She grinned when she said it. She already knew what her friend would say.
Not Fade Away: Interstellar Rescue Series Book 4 Page 6
