Orick slapped the vanquisher’s head with a paw, knocking it down, then tore out its throat.
When the vanquisher lay dead in the snow, Orick turned and rushed uphill till he found the end of the trail where he and Maggie had first materialized. Orick and Gallen had long ago worked out a system to warn one another of dangers on the road. Orick left his paw print and scratched twice beneath it. Since Orick was not sure if Gallen would enter this world before or after dawn, Orick rolled in the snow, beating it down so that his message would be more likely to attract attention. Then he rushed downhill, heading back for the road.
Halfway there, he discovered that his right shoulder hurt, and he began to limp. Blood was pouring from the wound, but he had not noticed it in the heat of the battle.
He licked at the blood, made his way down to the highway. Panta was nowhere to be seen. Orick grumbled under his breath and began limping down the road, watching for signs of movement in the hills, hoping he did not meet a patrol.
The cold night air sapped his warmth. His blood was leaking away, and he felt small, helpless out here in the wilds, so far from home. Once, he heard voices and raised his head in fear. He did not think he could outrun trouble, but after a moment, he realized that he had been dreaming voices. Another time, he found himself feeling weak, and he just sat on the roadside for a moment. A passing vehicle roused him from his sleep, and he looked about, headed north again, wondering what had become of Panta.
He felt like a cub, lost in the deep woods. For a time he walked, thinking that he could hear the mesmerizing sound of wind rushing through trees.
He had not gone far when he heard the deep voices of vanquishers shouting up ahead to his right. His head spun. He was so weak he didn’t know if he could leap from the road.
Gallen looked down at the ruined body of the bear. Many of the bones were burned all the way through, and it looked as if the bear had died while trying to paw fire from its face. Gallen could not cry. The pain went too deep for that, tasted too bitter. He felt only a hardness, a cold anger that demanded vengeance.
Veriasse shook his head. “We must go. Our friend gave his life trying to warn us. Let us heed that warning.”
Veriasse powered up his airbike, turned and headed back down the trail to the highway. Everynne pulled her bike up beside Gallen, touched his shoulder. “I don’t know what you are thinking, what you might be planning. But there is nothing we can do for Orick now.”
“I know,” Gallen said. He squinted at the morning sun, pulled his robe tightly about him to keep out the cold. They rode their bikes downhill, hit the highway, and turned north.
They drove for twenty minutes in silence. A creepy sensation stole over Gallen, as if he were being watched. Once, the feeling was so powerful that when they entered a valley, he was forced to stop and gaze out over the white, empty hills. There were no trees, just small bushes and rocks to give shade. No birds sang from the bushes; nothing moved. Even the wind was still. Yet Gallen felt watched.
Veriasse stopped beside him. “Do you feel it, too?” he said. “My bones are trembling in anticipation.”
“I haven’t seen anything. Nothing has moved,” Gallen answered.
Veriasse glanced slowly from side to side, only his fierce blue eyes moving. “That is what bothers me. Gallen, listen with your mantle. See if you can hear any radio conversations. Let it scan for military channels.” Veriasse pulled off his gloves, raised his hands in the air as if he were surrendering.
Gallen closed his eyes, freed his senses. The thrusters on their airbikes sounded suddenly loud, but Gallen listened beyond that, began picking up radio frequencies. Images flashed through his mind from commercial holo broadcasts, music played from radio stations. Beyond that, he could pick up some chatter—pilots to the north seeking landing clearance in a city.
“Nothing,” Gallen said at last.
Veriasse put his hands down, shook his head. “The same here. I smell nothing. Last time I was here, the dronon had a fairly strong presence on Wechaus. Don’t you think it odd that you would hear no military calls at all?”
Gallen agreed. Yet there was nothing they could do but go forward. He hit the thrusters. The bike lifted and hummed down the highway, until at last in the distance he saw smoke rising from a small compound of buildings.
Veriasse pulled beside Gallen. “There’s a good inn ahead. Let’s stop and see if we can get some news.”
As Gallen neared the inn, he could discern white limestone buildings around green pools of steaming water. There were many swimmers near the pools, shivering in the cool air, eager for the water. Gallen had not bathed in several days. He felt grimy, tired. It looked like a good place to stay.
They pulled up to the front, stopped their airbikes, looked through the windows. The dining room was nearly full, dozens of young couples eating breakfast, smiling, some of them laughing.
Gallen felt disconnected from them, found it somehow abhorrent that these people were laughing when he felt such profound pain. Orick was dead, and Gallen wanted the world to mourn with him.
Everynne and Veriasse got off their bikes, but Gallen just sat for a moment. There was an odd smell of smoke in the air, as if something had burned nearby.
Veriasse went to the door, and it slid open at his approach. A golden serving droid rushed to greet them, and Veriasse looked back at Gallen questioningly. “Are you coming?”
Gallen shook his head. “You eat. I’m not hungry. I’ll keep watch out here.” Gallen arched his back to loosen muscles tightened by too much driving.
Everynne said, “Are you sure? You’ll feel better if you come inside where it’s warm. Please, come in with me.”
“I want to be alone,” Gallen said.
Everynne squeezed his hand, went inside. He watched Everynne and Veriasse through the windows, saw them take a seat. A soft breeze stirred, and Gallen used his mantle, listened to the swimmers laughing at the pools. Yet there was something odd, a sound of whispering in the back parking lot. Gallen could not be certain. It might only have been reeds rattling in the wind, but he needed to stretch, get off the bike, so he climbed off and walked nonchalantly around the left side of the building.
The back parking lot held several dozen aircars and magcars. He stared at them a moment, wondering. It seemed that the lot held more cars than the inn could warrant.
His mantle picked up whispering ahead and to his right, at the back of the building. Gallen crept around a small potted tree, looked at the back of the building. Fifty feet away, three men hunched over a box that was linked to an absurdly large transmitter antennae. They wore white cloth combat armor. One of them looked up at Gallen guiltily.
Gallen did not have time to think. His mantle did it for him. He pulled out his incendiary rifle and fired. At this range, to hit one was to hit all. The chemical discharge slapped over two men. They blazed white as the sun. Gallen flinched, looked away, and found himself running to the front of the building.
Just as he rounded the corner, he met four men in cloth combat armor. He holstered his rifle and pulled out his sword in one move, whipped it overhead and decapitated the first in line. He leapt in the air, kicked one man in the face and sliced through two others, then bellowed as he reached the front door of the inn.
He could see Veriasse inside, sword in hand, swinging like a madman. A dozen “patrons” of the inn had him surrounded, and they held small stunners. They were trying to knock him down, but their weapons had no effect. Everynne was down, half sprawled across a table, blood pouring from her nose, apparently unconscious. A dozen warriors with heavier arms were rushing from the back apartments beside the pools.
Gallen leapt through a large glass window, landed on a table. He pulled his incendiary rifle, fired at the side doors, hitting a droid that had scrambled for cover. The resulting fire effectively sealed the door, and Gallen jumped, giving a flying roundhouse kick to the back of the head of one of Veriasse’s opponents.
Within seconds, Veriass
e’s sword put down the nearest attackers, and he scrambled for Everynne’s pack, pulled out the Terror and tossed it to Gallen.
“This is what they want!” he shouted. “Gallen, send the arming code.”
Gallen held up the Terror as if it were an icon, and every eye in the room fastened on him. People froze at their tables. No one moved.
“All of you get back!” Gallen shouted. “I’ve instructed my mantle to detonate this if you don’t give us the road!” Gallen could only hope that his ruse would work.
“We’ve got jammers! We’ve got jammers!” one soldier yelled.
“You mean the jammers that were out back?” Gallen shouted. “I fried them.”
“We have a backup!” the soldier shouted, trying to rally his people.
“Are you willing to bet the lives of everyone on this world that your jammers will work?” Veriasse asked.
That seemed to cow them. The soldiers hesitated. None dared step forward.
Veriasse pulled at Everynne’s arm, turned her on her stomach and lifted her, cradling her like a child. He began walking toward the door, and Gallen stalked behind them, holding the Terror high.
Outside, Gallen got on his bike. Dozens of infantrymen in white cloth body armor were rushing from the back apartments. Gallen began counting. There had to be over two hundred of them. He looked at the patrons in the dining hall. None had shock on their faces, no expressions of horror. Only anger, disappointment. He suddenly realized that all of them were military personnel.
Veriasse got Everynne on her bike, and one man walked forward. Gallen could not mistake his stride. He carried himself with dignity and a calm assurance. He had been in charge of this operation.
He was an older man, with long dark hair and eyes as black as obsidian. He wore a small goatee. “Well done, Veriasse,” the stranger said. “We meet again.”
Veriasse nodded at the man. “Jagget.”
“Yes, Commander Jagget, of the planetary defense forces. To tell you the truth, Veriasse, I was not sure I would be able to take your Terror away, but I had to try. No offense, I hope.”
“Of course not. But I am curious—why do you call yourself planetary defense forces when this is a dronon world?”
“I work under their direction now,” Jagget said, “The dronon appreciate competence, even if it does come from the hand of an old enemy. I was able to convince them that we could handle this situation better than their green-skinned oafs. The element of surprise, you know.”
“I find your wavering loyalty unsettling,” Veriasse said. “In fact, I cannot believe it. Primary Jagget would never give his loyalty to an alien usurper. I would expect more from even one of his mad clones.”
Jagget shrugged. “Believe as you will. I caught your act on Fale, Veriasse. The incident is being broadcast all over the galaxy.” He looked at the Terror, licked his lips, glanced at his men, as if trying to make a decision.
Then he gazed deep into Gallen’s eyes. “Young man, if you really are linked via ansible to Terrors on eighty-four dronon worlds, detonate them now, this very second. And if you feel you must, destroy this world, too!”
Jagget stepped forward threateningly, walked several paces toward Gallen. Jagget’s eyes went wide, and Gallen could tell that he planned to die. He was trying to force Gallen’s hand. He wanted to start the war.
“Stay back!” Veriasse shouted, pulling out his incendiary rifle.
Jagget raised his hand in a commanding gesture. Three men among the crowd shouldered their own weapons. Jagget clones.
“Young man,” Jagget said, walking up to Gallen, looking deeply into his eyes, “ignite it, now! Other worlds have burned themselves down in order to keep from falling to the Dronon Empire. It is a worthy trade. Release the Terrors, and someday this sector of the galaxy will remember your name in honor!”
Gallen held the Terror aloft, looked out over the warriors. These were humans whose genes had not been twisted by the dronon. They could not have been subjugated long enough even to feel any loyalty to their conquerors, yet for the most part, they had sided with the dronon. They would have captured Everynne if they could, would have turned her in. As it was, she was unconscious, and Gallen could not tell how badly hurt she might be. And they had killed Orick.
Even now, only their fear of Gallen held the locals at bay. Except for Jagget. Jagget alone seemed to be a true patriot, and he was begging for Gallen to end it all. Set this world afire rather than leave it in the hands of the Dronon Empire. Perhaps he knew the hearts of his people too well.
In that one moment, Gallen would have freed the nanotech warriors within the Terror, if he had had the ability. Jagget walked up to him, grabbed Gallen’s wrist, shook it so that the Terror fell to the ground. He stared into Gallen’s eyes.
“You can’t do it, can you?” Jagget whispered fiercely, as if Gallen had just betrayed all of his hopes. “You’ve got only one Terror, and you’re trying to get it to Dronon—just as Maggie said.”
Jagget spun, spoke to his soldiers. “I’ll be escorting these people to their destination.”
“Sir,” one young woman objected, “shouldn’t we report their capture to Lord Kintal?”
“You may report it to the dronon bastards if you wish,” Jagget said calmly with just the slightest hint of a threat. “But of course, our orders to stop these people were based upon the false assumption that they had many Terrors in their possession. Since that report is obviously spurious, we have no reason to detain them.”
The woman looked at him warily, took a step back. “I’ll report that everything was quiet on my shift,” she said. “May I take a car thereafter, along with my personal leave?”
“Yes,” Jagget said. “I think that would be wise.”
“You mentioned Maggie,” Veriasse said to Jagget. “Where is she?” Veriasse had Everynne on the bike, his arms cradled around her. Everynne’s eyelids fluttered. She tried to raise her head, struggled to regain consciousness, then fell back.
“She will join us shortly.” Jagget unclipped a small commlink from his belt, spoke swiftly in some personal battle code.
“We’ll need a room for a few minutes,” Veriasse said. “And some hot food.”
“Very well,” Jagget agreed.
Veriasse lifted Everynne, carried her to the back of the compound, down to a small apartment. There he laid her on a bed, lightly tapping her cheek as she struggled to awaken. A dozen soldiers followed them into the apartment. Veriasse turned on them, shouted for them to leave.
Only Gallen, Veriasse, and Jagget stayed to nurse Everynne. Veriasse removed her robe, turned her on her back. She had two burn marks from the stunners, a light one on her lower back, a severe wound on her neck.
Veriasse caught his breath, pointed to the neck wound. “This one may leave a scar.” Jagget went to a sink, returned with some water and began spooning it over Everynne’s back. Meanwhile Veriasse took out his sword, nicked his wrist and let the blood flow over her wounds.
“What are you doing?” Gallen asked.
“The nanodocs in my blood will help heal the skin,” Veriasse said. “Unfortunately, the burn has seared the blood vessels at the subdermal level. The nanodocs in her own system will not be able to combat the wound very effectively. I am hoping to prevent a scar.”
Gallen sat, and together they watched the wound. Over the next fifteen minutes, much of the burned and blackened skin dissolved; the swollen red welts reduced in size. Everynne finally woke during that time and whimpered at the pain. Veriasse bid her to be still.
At the end of the fifteen minutes, fresh new skin began to grow over the wounds, but there was a distinct red mark on the back of Everynne’s neck, shaped like an I.
Veriasse put his head in his hands, sat still for a long time. “I fear,” he said heavily, “that all my years of preparation have been jeopardized. Now that the nanodocs have finished knitting the tissues together, we can do nothing to speed the healing process. The blemish should clear in a few day
s but … We must delay our trip. Everynne’s blemish makes her ineligible to challenge the Lords of the Swarm.”
“How long of a delay do you need?” Jagget said.
Veriasse shook his head. “A few days.”
“Veriasse,” Jagget said, “the dronon have been sending in troops all week. They know you’re here. I could try to hide you, but I don’t think I could hold them off that long. At this very moment, the vanquishers have this entire area surrounded. The sooner you leave here, the better your chances of making a clean escape.”
“It’s only a small mark,” Gallen said. “Her clothing might hide it.”
“The dronon wear no clothes,” Veriasse said. “They will have the right to inspect her without clothing.”
“Cosmetics,” Jagget said. “Body paint?”
Veriasse looked up, skeptical. “If the dronon discover our deception, they will kill her outright.”
“It’s worth a try,” Jagget said. “You can’t wait for her to heal. The dronon have already built one gate key. They can build another. In a week’s time perhaps, none of the worlds will be closed to them.”
Gallen studied the two men, feeling trapped. Their inability to make a choice galled him. He wished the scar was permanent. Everynne had never wanted to come on this trip. She had been chosen as a sacrifice, and only her generosity let her continue the journey. The only way she could hope to win this battle was to walk away. At least, then, she could live her own life. A scar on her neck would have been a ticket to freedom.
“It will have to be some form of makeup that will not leave a detectable scent,” Veriasse said. “At least nothing the dronon can smell. And it must match her skin color precisely.”
“I don’t know,” Jagget said. “That will be a hard order to fill on such short notice.”
Everynne turned over, looked at Gallen for a moment, considering her options. “Please, do what you can,” she said to Jagget. “I must challenge the Lords of the Swarm quickly.”
“Are you sure?” Jagget asked.
The Golden Queen Page 28
