Bringer of Light (Hidden Empire)

by Jaine Fenn

  ‘Damaru!’ he shouted, loud enough to distract him, ‘you have to shift. You have to—’ What did Kerin call it? Oh yeah— ‘You have to move the pattern, Damaru. Do you understand me? Move the pattern to get back inside. Now!’

  Damaru stared at him, his eyes full of pain.

  ‘Do you understand what I’m saying? Damaru, you have to get away, back inside!’

  Damaru blinked.

  ‘Move the pattern, Damaru. Move the pattern!’

  Something began to blossom in Jarek’s head. Flexing . . .

  The universe disappeared – a moment of panic, too brief to register – then returned.

  Minus Damaru.

  The rope tether was still attached to Jarek’s wrist; it ended in a frayed cut. And Damaru was gone – where to, Jarek couldn’t say. He straightened, and looked around. No sign of the boy, which was a good thing. Hopefully.

  Movement made him flinch – he’d almost forgotten the dying mute. He turned carefully, got his footing, then took aim and then shot the top of the poor fucker’s head off. The mute jerked, then swayed to a graceful halt in a cloud of freeze-dried blood.

  Jarek was confused when he glimpsed something on one side of the headless man – he’d been sure the first mute was dead . . .

  No, this wasn’t a body: something big was rising up over the edge of the transfer-station. Even as he put together the pieces, the shuttle advanced smoothly, flying just above the shining surface; its darkened screen turned transparent, and before Jarek could look away—

  —he was caught in the gaze of the female Sidhe sitting in the pilot’s chair.

  Oh Christos, no! Please, not again!

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  ‘Sais, the ship is turning! Can you hear me, Sais?’ Still no response. Kerin wondered if she had failed to operate the controls correctly. She looked back at the display, where the dot representing the Sidhe ship had changed course. Whether this was a good thing or not—

  The thought died in chaos.

  She lost all awareness of the world. She was a soul suspended above an unthinkably deep abyss—

  Before she could panic, she was snatched away from the glimpse of madness; the room reasserted its existence around her. As it did, something appeared in the corner of her vision, then fell. Kerin knew this sensation, and even as her eyes were refocusing in the aftermath of the wrenching weirdness, she was searching for the source of the effect, looking around . . .

  . . . and then down, to the figure lying on the floor.

  The last pieces of the world fell into place and she tumbled from her seat, crying, ‘Damaru!’

  Behind the clear mask Damaru’s eyes were screwed up tight, his mouth open. She grabbed her son, wanting to get him out of the strange suit, to tell him that she loved him, and that he was safe now. Then she saw his arm.

  He suffered her to examine him. Kerin recognised the mark of the weapon that had caused the damage, and was hugely relieved to find that it had scored only a glancing blow, just below his elbow. The wound was not deep, but it looked odd, as though the flesh were already dead.

  She unsealed the suit and peeled it back from his head. Damaru took a big gulp of air. His eyes were wet, his mouth pulled down into a grimace. He focused on her and held out his undamaged arm. She bundled him to her, hugging him close and murmuring calming nonsense.

  When the console buzzed again, she was tempted to ignore it. But it could be important, so she stood up, letting Damaru keep hold of one of her hands.

 

  The Sidhe’s voice was crystal clear in Jarek’s head. He didn’t respond. He was too busy trying to fight her using the tricks Nual had taught him: nonsense rhymes, repeated phrases heavy with irrelevant meanings—

 

  Fury rose, and before he could help himself he thought back,

 

  His brief pulse of anger had allowed her to get her mental hooks in deeper. That was why she’d done it, of course. And now he’d revealed . . . Nothing, hide your thoughts think of nothing at all, nothingnothingnothing.

 

  Something dropped in front of the shuttle, cutting off the contact—

  —no, not something, someone. The pale grey v-suit was stained with splotches of red. Jarek’s overloaded mind was still rebounding from the Sidhe’s mental hold, trying to make sense of what was happening, when his com chimed.

  He accepted the call.

  ‘Sais?’

  ‘Kerin?’ Now he was really confused.

  ‘Nual says, uh, that you must go to the shuttle airlock and let yourself in.’ Kerin said carefully. ‘After that, she says, you know what to do.’

  Of course the suited figure was Nual. Even if the curves hadn’t tipped him off, the blood should have been a giveaway. ‘Tell her yes, I’ll do that,’ he said after a moment. ‘Is Damaru—?’

  ‘He is safe, with me.’

  ‘Thank Christos.’ Jarek took off, flying round the shuttle, careful not to look towards the front, where Nual hung motionless.

  Kerin said, ‘She says it would be a good idea to hurry. She is not sure how long she can maintain her hold over the other Sidhe.’

  ‘Tell her I’m hurrying!’ He approached the rear airlock. ‘This had better not be locked,’ he muttered as he came to a stop, but it wasn’t; the shuttle was a standard personnel transfer model, with no additional security.

  He opened the outer door. The ‘lock took what felt like an age to cycle. When the inner door opened he pulled the cloak around him then rushed in, gun-first.

  Movement—

  —he dodged, squeezing off a shot. Something hit the side of his head, spinning him around. But there was no pain, and he was still on his feet, though his vision was starred along the right-hand side – the shot must have grazed his visor. He wheeled back round, then fired again, wildly, trying to keep his opponent off-balance until he could work out what he was up against.

  The gun clicked empty. Shit.

  He glimpsed a shadowy form, and, out of other options, he charged, hitting soft, female flesh – another Sidhe? No, a Sidhe wouldn’t need to resort to firearms; this was a mute, just a mute. He had to get her gun and shoot the Sidhe. The Sidhe was the real threat here.

  Sheer momentum forced the mute back, but his attack was unfocused and his attempts to disarm her ineffectual. Beyond the mute he glimpsed a jigsaw image of the darkness of space, and the pale figure outside the ship.

  The mute came up short – and so did he. They both fell, tripping over something. He lost his grip on her as he went down.

  Someone grabbed his wrist – the grip was sure as death, and he felt the contact, felt it, in a way that told him instantly this was not the mute.

  Suddenly it wasn’t about overcoming his opponent; it was about escaping his worst nightmare – but he was already on the floor. A dark shape loomed over him. She had hold of one of his hands but he still had an arm free. He brought it round to punch her, and hit something hard, scraping his knuckles and jarring his wrist. Shit, whatever that was, it wasn’t her!

  His wrist was released, but before he could act, a fist in his groin replaced any rational thoughts with agony. He tried to curl in on the pain, only to find something sliding across his body. By the time he was able to think straight again, the Sidhe had straddled him, kneeling across his upper chest, her knees grinding into his armpits.

  She punched his forehead; the visor took the brunt of the blow. He wondered where the mute was – and more importantly, the mute’s gun. The Sidhe hit him again, harder, using both hands together. Though he was dazed, he suddenly realised she didn’t want the mute to shoot him; this kill was hers.
She couldn’t get a firm purchase on his mind, not through the suit, and given he sure-as-shit wasn’t going to look at her, she would have to try another tack. So, she was going to break his visor. The predator needed to get through the hard shell of her prey in order to finish him off . . .

  He bucked hard, trying to dislodge her, but he’d just had his balls pummelled, and his body hadn’t caught up with his mind yet. He managed a feeble thrust – briefly, repulsively, reminiscent of a different intimacy – and then she hit him again.The visor shattered, covering his face in hard-edged fragments. He squeezed his eyes shut as a hand swept across his face, scooping the pieces of broken visor out the way. Then her fingers were on his flesh, almost gentle as they caressed his cheek. And she was in his head, pulling his mind free of its futile, terrified defence, ready to annihilate it—

  The relentless mental advance halted; at the same time, in the outside world, he felt the Sidhe’s body jerk. She went rigid, then softened and collapsed over him. Something wet and foul-smelling spattered his face. He used a hand to wipe his eyes, and opened them to see the Sidhe’s head – or what was left of it – lying next to his. He hurried to struggle out from under the weight of dead flesh, then pushed the body away, gagging, and looked around.

  The mute had lowered her gun and was staring out of the window at Nual, her face slack with mindless adoration.

  Jarek realised he was next to the pilot’s chair. So that was what he’d tripped over and then punched earlier. He used it to pull himself to his feet. Nual turned her head to look at him and smiled, and he met her eyes.

  she asked, projecting concern.

  Jarek, his mind still raw, winced at the mental contact, but he made himself respond,

  She held out her two wrists, both patched over the slits from where her blades emerged.

  He knew which ‘she’ Nual meant.

 

  Nausea bubbled.

 

  Jarek decided he didn’t want details. Absurd, hysterical relief was coming in hard on the heels of the horror.

  You’d never have guessed from Nual’s dry mental voice that she’d just taken one life and subjugated another.

 

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Kerin saw the incoming ship die, but only because she happened to look up at exactly the right moment. She had relayed Nual’s message, and was turning her attention back to Damaru. As had happened before when he moved the pattern, he was befuddled and exhausted, but she wanted him to stay awake until she had had time to treat his wound.

  Kerin had not been paying the display much attention, though it had been running all the time. It showed the incoming ship as a blue dot; the ship’s path, which curved round and back on itself where the Sidhe had turned and run, was a faint yellow trace. Now Kerin spotted something new: a halo of red points of light flared into life around the dot representing the Sidhe ship; smaller lights detached themselves from these and sped towards the ship. A moment later, the display flared, then died away. The incoming ship was gone, replaced by empty space.

  Kerin had a sudden urge to laugh. Damaru looked up woozily, and she smiled at him. Then she called Sais, to tell him the wonderful news.

  When Taro awoke, Nual was there, which was pleasant, but not a surprise. He wasn’t surprised to wake up in the Setting Sun’s medbay either. What was a bit odd was finding everyone else there too.

  ‘Nice of you all to come visit me,’ he said, although they were actually busy with the medtech, rather than clustering around his bed in a suitably concerned manner.

  Jarek said, ‘Ah, you’re awake. Stay there, I’ve got something for you.’

  Taro raised a quizzical eyebrow but Jarek had already gone. He asked Nual, ‘How long was I out?’

  ‘A little over an hour.’

  ‘Right.’ He didn’t feel too bad in himself, just a bit numb and tingly in places. ‘Guess we won then?’

  ‘We won.’

  ‘And we’re having a party in the medbay to celebrate?’

  ‘Not quite. Kerin is patching Damaru up after he took a glancing shot and had a close encounter with hard vacuum.’

  ‘Ouch. He all right?’

  ‘He’ll be fine. We have also been getting ourselves checked out, to make sure no one’s going to pass on any pathogens to Kerin’s people.’

  ‘And are we?’

  ‘Not according to the medbay readouts.’

  ‘Top prime.’

  ‘Can you sit up?’

  ‘Think so.’ He could probably have managed by himself, but he was happy to have Nual give him a hand. ‘So what’d I miss?’ he asked as he settled back against the cushions.

  ‘Once I knew you were out of danger, I went after the shuttle – which was just as well, for the Sidhe on board had found Jarek. We dealt with her – she was not that powerful, but she had some training in mental combat. In the end I had to use a mute against her.’

  ‘Another mute to add to the body-count, eh?’ He was half-joking, though he knew it wasn’t funny.

  ‘This one is still alive, though not entirely sane. We put her to sleep, after I read her. I discovered the reason we did not spot the Sidhe ship: it was already here. It had been waiting at the edge of the system, and when we arrived they moved in slowly, presumably waiting for us to prove the defence grid was down – something they suspected, but were not about to risk confirming the hard way. Once they knew they would not get shot at, they sent a scout ahead, and she put down two mutes outside – I presume as insurance in case Jarek had managed to access the Setting Sun’s computer and find out about the cold-start console.’

  ‘Which of course he had,’ said Taro. ‘So they knew Jarek was here – or was that only when they saw the Heart of Glass?’

  ‘I think they already suspected Jarek was behind their loss of contact with Serenein. They wanted him alive, to find out what he knew. The Sidhe on the shuttle was hoping to get some useful information from him. The main ship had already turned, and was powering up to leave the system, so the lone Sidhe may have planned to land on Serenein and lie low until the others returned.’

  ‘So they’ll definitely be back?’

  ‘Serenein is too valuable to them. They will not give it up.’

  Jarek returned with a bulb of caf which he presented to Taro with a flourish. ‘My round,’ he said magnanimously, ruining the moment by adding, ‘actually, I’ve got an ulterior motive. We need you up and about as soon as possible. We’ve still got to fix the point-defences. You’re with Damaru.’

  ‘Oh yeah. I’d almost forgotten about them.’ Taro groaned.

  They went back to work on the capacitors in the transfer-station. When Damaru didn’t need him Taro swept his light around, checking for bloodstains. He thought he saw some near the door, but there was no sign of any bodies. He knew enough about shipboard waste reclamation to work out where the dead mutes had most likely ended up. He decided not to think about it.

  Once Damaru had worked out what was needed, Taro helped him go through the Setting Sun’s engineering locker to find the right bits, after which Damaru set to work building what looked to Taro’s uneducated eye like a box of cables decorated with lumps of useless crud.

  They stopped for a meal of ship’s mush – Taro tried really hard not to think about the mutes as he ate it – after which he took a quick catnap while Damaru was busy tinkering.

  When he woke up Jarek was there, muttering over the doodad box with Damaru. Taro checked his com. He’d been asleep for six hours; it was nearly fourteen hours since they’d seen off th
e Sidhe.

  ‘Need any help there?’ he asked.

  ‘Actually we’re nearly done.’

  ‘Right. I’ll just go and—’

  ‘She’s asleep in your cabin, Taro. Don’t wake her.’

  ‘Oh. Guess I’m back to being caf-boy, then.’

  ‘Thought you’d never ask.’

  Taro got back with the drinks to find Jarek and Damaru just heading back to the Setting Sun’s bridge. ‘We need to look up a few things on the ship’s comp before Damaru goes home,’ Jarek said.

  Taro asked Damaru, ‘You finished your box of tricks then?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Prime. So, what’s the hurry?’ he asked Jarek.

  ‘Things are bit volatile down on the planet. Kerin and Damaru need to get back.’

  Whatever his feelings about the late pilot, Taro had to admit that the bridge of the Setting Sun was his idea of travelling in style. Only one corner of the room had any actual ship controls in; the rest was a luxurious cabin complete with ents units, luxury gaming rigs, a top-of-the-range multi-gym and a massive bed. There was even a massage chair and a small bar area. ‘Er, is that Kerin?’ Taro pointed to the figure sleeping in the massage chair.

  ‘Yeah – do you mind waking her up and seeing if she needs a drink or food? Oh, and tell her we’ll be done in time to get her back under the cover of night.’

  Taro sighed in a put-upon way and went over to wake the woman.

  When Kerin wandered off to find some food, Taro asked Jarek, ‘Shall I wake Nual too?’

  ‘Go on, then – but can you both come straight back afterwards?’

  Taro did his best not to sound offended. ‘What’re you trying to say?’

  When he got back with Nual, Damaru was still at the console, and Kerin and Jarek were deep in conversation.

  ‘I cannot make a decision yet,’ Kerin was saying. ‘Not until I know how things stand in the Tyr.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Jarek hesitated, then said, ‘And what about the Consorts?’