“Ten seconds,” Osri put in. He was sure no one on the bridge was breathing. Ahead and off to the port side coins of light blossomed as the cruiser’s missiles met the Telvarna’s response.
Osri’s screen showed a graphic of the skip cavity resonance, the same image now reflected in Vi’ya’s eyes as her hand hovered over her go-pad. It was flattening with dreadful slowness toward the stability that would permit the leap into fivespace.
Osri’s ears rang with the awful squeal that heralded the edge of a ruptor pulse. Even as the sound slid down the scale toward the lethal subsonics that would disintegrate the ship, Vi’ya’s hand slammed down on the go-pad. The waveform on Osri’s screen convulsed, on the edge of inversion. Then with a sickening, head-bloating lurch the Telvarna leapt out of fourspace into safety.
o0o
Rifellyn ran shaking hands through her hair and settled back into her seat, staring out through the dyplast port of the Node control room. On the main screen the flaring radiants of the fleeing ship dwindled to a point and vanished as it fled up the hohmann cable.
They’d relaxed when the Avatar had decided to spare the ship, and thus the Node. Their relief had made even more shocking the sudden appearance of the ship itself, racing by only meters from the control-room viewport.
Rifellyn could still feel the hammer-like impact of panic that had swept the room; the ship had been so close that the expanding gases venting from its radiants had not had time to dissipate in vacuo before impacting the hull of the Node. She could still hear the rumbling hiss in her imagination. It was the first and, she hoped fervently, the last time she had actually heard a spaceship in flight.
As she waited for her heart to slow, she noticed the Panarchist tech she’d had brought in under guard that morning gazing at her in challenge. Despite her words to that unspeakable Bori in the Palace, she’d not given up on extracting technical information from the Node’s original operators. Her own techs had finally broken into the databanks the day before, making the personnel records available. It had been a simple matter after that to identify hostages for good behavior. She’d had several Panarchist techs brought back to the Node, who now cooperated, albeit slowly. She had hopes of soon restoring the discrimination circuits of the defense systems to full operation.
A movement from the Dol’jharian communications monitor distracted Rifellyn. The man had jolted upright at his console, his face long with horror. He slapped a key on his console, and everyone in the control room heard the voice of Juvaszt on the Fist of Dol’jhar.
“The Node—our forces there—”
Rifellyn comprehended the kyvernat’s words even as her mind insisted it couldn’t be happening. Then the unmistakable voice of the Lord of Vengeance filled the room.
“This is the Avatar of Dol. Destroy that ship.”
Rifellyn leapt to her feet, shouting, “Disengage the hohmann cable!” She didn’t know how long the disengage sequence would take—the specs varied from Node to Node, but they had very little time. Juvaszt would use his ruptors. The shock wave propagating down the cable would tear the Node apart.
Before anyone could react, the Panarchist tech stood up, twisted his probe-tool to a new setting with a decisive movement, and plunged it into the exposed circuit nodes he was working on. There was a chattering squeal, echoed from around the control room, and all the consoles went dead.
Rifellyn stood paralyzed by shock for a moment. “You fool! You’ve killed us all.”
The tech smiled. “I hope so. That will save the hostages, at least—your masters will mark it off to unfamiliarity with the equipment.”
The guard assigned to the tech triggered his jac and burned the man down. He slumped against the console, his lifeless eyes transfixing Rifellyn—the mocking smile twisted into a triumphant leer.
Rifellyn turned hopelessly to the main screen. Beyond the vanishing point of the cable the blue streak of a ruptor pulse fluoresced. The control room was a bedlam of shouts and screams as the techs and guards fled, but she just stood, staring. What does it matter now? There’s no place to go.
Bleak regret corroded her mind. She’d known the nature of her employers, but the prospect of the power they had promised had been so sweet, and she had always assumed that as long as she was fast and clever, their savagery would be aimed at other people. She remembered what her husband had said, years ago, when he left her upon finding out to whom she’d sold herself. With them loyalty flows only one way.
Looking at the body of the tech before her, she finally realized what he had meant. She walked over and closed the man’s staring eyes, and was still crouched in front of the body when the shock wave tore the Node apart and her life fled into the vacuum.
o0o
The long wait was beginning to get on Anderic’s nerves. The Bori secretary was a real tilt-snoot. He’d rebuffed each of Anderic’s attempts to begin a conversation.
The comic chip had palled, and Anderic was restless and bored. The occasional flickers and shadows in the corner of his vision didn’t help any, either.
The door burst open and Barrodagh stormed in, followed by a huge, red-faced young man in sloppy clothing and a terrified expression, and a grim-faced Tarkan. Anderic goggled at the Bori’s appearance. His hair was standing up in ragged spikes, covered with a crust of vile green glop, his clothing crusted with the same substance. Bits of it flaked off and fell to the floor as he moved.
Barrodagh launched into an impassioned tirade at the secretary in some language that Anderic didn’t recognize, but assumed was Bori. The secretary’s face gradually turned a sickly shade of gray. His eyes darted nervously to the Tarkan standing in front of the door. Even through the language barrier his replies lacked force to Anderic’s ears, while the sweaty-faced blit relaxed in direct contrast to his tension.
Anderic was enjoying the evident humiliation and fear of the secretary when the argument was terminated by Barrodagh’s flat-handed gesture. The secretary shouted and tried to flee, but the Tarkan strode forward, grasped his neck, and with a brutally efficient movement, crushed his larynx.
The grinding crunch was surprisingly loud. Anderic grew uncertain. What’s going on here? He glanced at the Tarkan, whose gaze rested on him impassively. Am I next? Anderic’s belt felt light where the comforting weight of his jac would normally lie.
Barrodagh watched with a satisfied expression as the secretary writhed at his feet, choking his life away. Before the secretary’s heels had stilled their frantic drumming, the Avatar’s aide turned to the Rifter.
“Don’t worry, Captain,” said Barrodagh. His emphasis on the incorrect title worried Anderic. He couldn’t tell whether it was sarcasm or not. “Tallis made a serious mistake. It is possible that the Satansclaw will soon be yours.”
Anderic almost laughed, but held it. Barrodagh’s grim expression did not lighten. “Either that, or we shall all be dead very shortly. Or wishing we were.”
At Anderic’s attempt to speak, Barrodagh held up a hand imperiously. “There is no time for explanation. The Avatar is waiting for us. You already know a little of the customs of Dol’jhar. Do not, under any circumstances, speak to him unless he first addresses you. Do not look at him unless he speaks to you, but do not look away. Keep him in the corner of your vision so you can respond instantly if he addresses you.” He paused. “If you are as clever as I think you are, and can follow my lead, you will survive and prosper. If not, I have no use for you anyway.” With that he motioned for Anderic to follow him out of the room.
As they walked, Barrodagh explained what had happened. So Tallis’s logos wasn’t good enough, Anderic thought with triumphant and gratified surprise, a surprise that bloomed to horrified delight as Barrodagh described in matter-of-fact terms the extent of the Avatar’s attempt to stop the Krysarch’s escape.
Their path took them outdoors, on a curving gravel walkway bounded by tall hedges and trees silhouetted against a bright night sky. Anderic stopped involuntarily as he saw the reality behind the
Bori’s words. To the south a long string of faint, blue-white points of light was slowly rising past a diffusing glow sprinkled with bright splotches and flares. Above it, several contorted lines of light sprawled across the night sky like some alien alphabet.
Now, for the first time, the Rifter truly understood the nature of the people he was dealing with. The chips on the Dol’jharian language had explained at length about the culture, trying to make some of the phrases and idioms comprehensible, but nothing had prepared him for this. They blew up the Node and wrecked the S’lift, just to stop one ship—one man.
At an impatient grunt from their Tarkan escort, Anderic hurried to catch up with Barrodagh, who had not slowed his pace. They rounded a curve, and there was a tall, heavy-shouldered man in black standing in front of a bulky mass of statuary, which seemed to consist of a bunch of snakes and people. The man was facing the statue, staring either at it or at the display in the sky above. His fingers were busy with something. As Barrodagh halted them at a respectful distance, Anderic saw that it was some sort of cord, its sinuous writhing in the man’s strong fingers mirroring the agony of the statue before him.
They stood in silence for what seemed a very long time.
o0o
Tallis stumbled along the gravel path between two black-clad guardsmen, trying to hold his nightshirt closed. A few minutes ago the door to his suite had crashed open and the two guards had dragged him out of bed without any explanation. He suspected neither spoke Uni, and he didn’t speak Dol’jharian beyond the impressive-sounding curses he’d memorized. He didn’t think those would be any use now.
His mind, still fogged with sleep, seethed with fearful conjecture. Had Eusabian finally decided that the death of the Krysarch wasn’t enough? Was he, Tallis Y’Marmor, to be sacrificed for failing to supply a body? The spectacle in the southern sky added another set of worries. What had happened to the Node? Was the Satansclaw safe?
Then, as they rounded a curve in the path and he saw Barrodagh and Anderic standing together with another, taller man whose back was turned, his anxiety turned to anger. I should have killed Anderic. He’s been plotting with that slug Barrodagh.
The tall man turned around. It was Eusabian. The lights lining the gravel pathway threw his features into strong relief. The contorted statuary behind him and the fluorescent destruction in the sky above gave him the appearance of a figure out of some fearful legend.
The cool night breeze caressed Tallis’s skin as though the flimsy shanta-silk nightshirt weren’t there, every hair on his body prickled with fear.
“I had decided to forgive you for the blemish in my paliach your action at Warlock created,” said Eusabian, his voice soft. “As my aide pointed out, it was Hreem’s foolish boast that warned Charvann in time to make the Krysarch’s escape attempt possible.”
Tallis noted the black cord twisting between Eusabian’s fingers as he spoke.
“But a few hours ago Krysarch Brandon nyr-Arkad invaded the Palace, carried off an important prisoner, and then escaped. My paliach is incomplete, my will has been defied, and tremendous damage done to what is now mine.”
Tallis trembled as comprehension of the enormity of his failure flooded his nerves. He glanced at the night sky, now understanding what had happened. They destroyed the Node to try to stop him. There’s no chance at all for me.
“It is only because of your brilliant piloting in that action, despite its apparent failure, that I am speaking to you now. I do not destroy talent needlessly. Is there any reason you can offer why you should not die?”
Tallis’s mind froze at the beginning of decision in the Avatar’s face—the abrupt movement from Barrodagh. The significance of Anderic’s presence, combined with Eusabian’s apparent ignorance of the logos, impelled Tallis to a desperate gambit.
“Lord,” he replied. “I did not undertake to enter your service lightly, for I know that Dol’jhar punishes failure as severely as it generously rewards success. To ensure that my service would please you, I installed a logos in the Satansclaw, containing the accumulated knowledge of the greatest fighters of the past thousand years.”
He paused, welcoming with shivery panic the faint interest in Eusabian’s face—and the frustrated anger on Barrodagh’s. “I do not plead excuse on that account. The failure is still mine. But consider, Lord. If a logos could not kill the Krysarch, who among your forces could have done any better?”
He waved his hand at the display overhead, now fading away. “The night sky here at the heart of your new kingdom bears witness to the truth of my words.”
o0o
Barrodagh quickly smoothed his face, suppressing the violent rage caused by Tallis’s pompous twaddle. He was forced to admit it was a brilliant improvisation—its strength flowed from exactly the facets of the Rifter captain’s personality that Barrodagh found so irritating: his love of the grand gesture and grandiloquent speech. He’s an Ur-bedamned actor at heart and it may save his life.
There was nothing he could do but await the Avatar’s decision. By offering Tallis the opportunity to plead his cause, Eusabian had made it an affair of the nar-pelkun turish, the “unsheathed will” that was the fundamental philosophical and emotional touchstone of the Dol’jharian nobility. Any attempt Barrodagh made to influence his lord’s decision at this point would be an infringement of this, and very likely fatal.
“Well said, Kyvernat Y’Marmor,” said Eusabian finally.
Barrodagh cursed mentally. The use of the Dol’jharian title for captain indicated Eusabian’s acceptance of Tallis’s argument.
“A logos,” the Avatar continued musingly. “I have heard of these devices. The Panarchists fear them greatly and have forbidden their use. You apparently have a proper sense of what it means to serve Dol’jhar.”
Barrodagh’s spirits slumped further as he saw his careful plans go awry. The Rifter next to him might now be a liability rather than an asset.
“Were you aware of this, Barrodagh?”
“I only just found out, Lord.”
“I see.” Eusabian turned back to Tallis. “I have been told that most people in the Thousand Suns abhor devices such as the logos. How did your crew feel about this?”
“They did not know, Lord,” Tallis replied with obvious reluctance, and Barrodagh began to see the way out of this disaster. “It spoke to me via pinbeam, and I had optical filters implanted so only I could see its visuals.”
Eusabian was silent. Finally he said, “You may have your life, but I will not leave you your ship. Perhaps, in time, I will have another for you.
“Y’Marmor is not to be killed,” he said to Barrodagh. “Let him serve in the lowest position on his ship for a time as penance.”
He motioned to Anderic. “I assume that this would be your suggested replacement for him?”
“He was the only one of the crew who realized the presence of the logos. With the optical implants he could take over without the crew learning about the device.”
The Avatar gestured from one Rifter to the other. “Take one of Y’Marmor’s eyes and give it to this one.”
o0o
Anderic’s triumph at the promotion and his glee over Tallis’s discomfiture altered in a single heartbeat to sick horror. I can’t! his mind shrieked, ghastly images from his Organicist childhood welling up. But the dispassionate gaze of the Avatar was upon him, and he sensed Barrodagh’s impatience.
Much stronger than childhood memory was the more immediate one of the secretary’s death.
I don’t have any choice. His study of Dol’jhar made his situation clear: refusal of Eusabian’s promotion would be a mortal insult. A quick death like the secretary’s would be the easiest outcome. Lingering pain beforehand more likely.
But I don’t have to turn it on.
Oh, sure. He could tell himself that, but the truth was this. He couldn’t captain a destroyer during a war like the one now ripping through the Thousand Suns.
But all that was for later. He bowed deeply,
indicating his acceptance of the boon.
As he bowed, the weight of the Emasculizer in his belt pouch bumped against his leg. He glanced over at Tallis, who refused to return his look, and remembered some of the little “dramas” Y’Marmor had so enjoyed. Well, Tallis, Luri is mine now, he thought, anticipation kindling. And I can make sure that you never put the horns on me as I did with you.
As Barrodagh ushered him away from the presence of the Lord of Vengeance, thoughts of the logos were already fading from his mind as Anderic distracted himself with schemes of revenge for Tallis’s many slights.
He would make out fine. He always had.
o0o
Marim leapt up, snapping her fingers. “Yow!” she crowed, making a gesture toward the screens that Osri had never seen before but which he felt had to be obscene. She added, “Lick my radiants, nacker-nose!”
The tension on the bridge has snapped to celebration with the intensity born of death defeated. A shrill ululation that raised the hairs on Osri’s neck drifted out of the intercom from the engine room, a sound entirely at odds with Jaim’s laconic nature.
Lokri grinned, cracking his knuckles and his neck. Then he shut down his console with a careless swipe. “Good. Now to check out my loot.”
Marim whirled about to face Vi’ya. “What’s the take?”
“Damage?” Vi’ya inquired mildly, as if Marim had not spoken.
Marim’s small hands pounced birdlike across her board. “Cerenkov suppression one hundred percent, fiveskip stable to zero-point-one. Not too bad.”
Vi’ya said, “We’ve flown on worse. Let’s go home.”
“Vi’ya!” Marim hooted. “What’s the take? I wanna start making out my shopping list.”
Vi’ya’s lips quirked. “You should ask the Arkad. I can’t begin to estimate it.”
Brandon was smiling, color ridging his cheekbones. “The Family’s been accumulating art for almost a thousand years, and I think Lokri and Ivard accounted for most of it. Some of those items were literally priceless.”
“Whoo-ee!” Marim slapped one of her feet up on her console and wiggled her long toes. “Now I can hire me a Panarchy-lady to do my toenails.”
The Phoenix in Flight Page 52
