Eternity's End

by Jeffrey Carver

  "Don't worry, Harriet. I'm sure we can shake them," said Peter, in a voice that was not at all reassuring.

  Chapter 35

  Maris

  The local airbus left a cloud of dust as it disappeared around the bend of the old road. Adaria, watching the bus vanish, gave a whistling sigh of relief. She stretched her flightless wings, picked up her bag, and started down the path into the woods.

  It had been a long journey, but Adaria was nearly home now, back with her own people, the Fabri. In the end, there was nothing like the company of the homefolk. Especially after the last few months of life among humans. Adaria still shivered at the memories of the coolness and fear that had insinuated their way into her life at the library, and that late-night visit by Centrist Strength, with their half-veiled threats. Centrist Strength made her extremely uneasy, even at a distance—with their known caching of weapons on Fabri land, their proclamations of Destiny Manifest...

  Better to leave all that behind, if one could.

  The path was not long, but it wound in serpentine fashion through the woods. She felt her own inner tensions unwinding as she followed the path's twisty course among the penalders and fragrant ellum trees to the village. Someone called out to her as she approached, and she whistled a greeting in return. She didn't go straight to the village center, though; instead she detoured to a cabin at the edge of the village. She had someone to visit, an old friend.

  Adaria paused, gazing with a shake of her feathers at her friend's house, a low wooden structure. It seemed in poorer repair than she remembered, the bark clapboard cracked and desiccated. "Telessst?" she called through the bead curtain that hung over the front door. She ducked her head and entered, the beads brushing back over her wings. The room was dim; the only light came from two small windows with curtains drawn. It was a modest den, with a raised wooden floor, cushions, and a low table. Adaria whistled.

  "Adaria? Is that you?" cried a voice from the shadows of the back room. An old female Fabri stepped out to greet her with a feathery embrace. "Iiiirrrrrrlllll," Telest sighed, squeezing her with pent-up affection. "It is good to see you, my friend!"

  Adaria didn't answer for a moment, but just held the old Fabri's arms. So much to think about, so much to say. "I am back," she said finally.

  "So you are. And how are you?"

  Adaria gazed at her old mentor before answering. Telest's curving neck, which the humans might have called swanlike, was a little more bent, a little frailer than when she'd last seen her. Telest's eyes were bright, though the fine feathers covering her cheeks looked thin and worn. It was so good to be back. But there was no time for sentiment just yet.

  Adaria drew a breath. "There is trouble, Telest. Word from Vegas and the Mahoney people. They need our help if we can give it. They need it now..."

  * * *

  I am Maris O'Hare. I may be a prisoner, but I am not without control.

  Maris opened her eyes and leaned forward in the living room recliner. With a glance at her two captors, she raised her cup of tea from the side stand and took a tiny sip. The pain in her shoulder and neck was lessening; she could manage a teacup now. She set it down with trembling hands and rested her head back. "You still haven't told me who you're working for," she murmured. Moving only her eyes, she glanced around the living room. She was still getting used to the idea of being planetside, in a house. But in the hands of pirates. Right where she'd started.

  The woman turned from the security console she was always checking. "We told you. Ivan. That's all you need to know."

  "Who is Ivan?"

  "A friend," the woman grunted, and walked out of the room.

  The man put down a beam rifle he'd been cleaning and peered out the window. "Don't worry about it. Just work on getting better."

  Maris pressed her lips together. For perhaps the twentieth time, she surveyed what she could see of the house: Living room. Kitchen. Short hallway with bedrooms. And two captors. Dennis and Lydia. Dennis, who hardly talked. And Lydia, the bitch. They didn't seem like lovers, just partners—though Maris could have sworn she'd heard grunting and moaning in the other room last night. Why the hell wouldn't they tell her what was going on? Maris sighed and closed her eyes against a rush of lingering dizziness. Coma. She'd been in a coma. She'd woken, what—three days ago? Four? She could walk a little now, from room to room, or into the shower—but always with help. She thought she could probably walk unassisted if she had to. But maybe she didn't need to advertise that—at least until she knew more.

  Dennis had promised to fill her in when she was stronger. Right now he was rubbing at his temples, as though waiting for some instruction. He didn't have visible implants, but Maris was pretty sure he had them. Lydia, too. Maris closed her eyes, picturing the back of her neck where her own implants were mercifully silent. Dennis claimed to have deactivated them. Crude things they were, used only for sadistic control by her captors at DeNoble.

  But they have implants, these two. They're pirates. What more do I need to know about them?

  She couldn't stop the hatred from welling up; couldn't stop the memories. The slavery, the rapes and attempted rapes, the degradation. She couldn't stop any of it from coming back. But she could keep it inside. Her hand shook on the teacup, and she put her hand in her lap and held one fist clenched tightly together with the other. She waited until the wash of nausea subsided and she could breathe again.

  She grunted softly, looking over at the window. She wondered if she had any chance of running away. Hah. She'd be lucky to make the door. Or maybe the backyard. She had no idea where she was, other than the planet Faber Eridani. But why would pirates hold her here? If she'd been recaptured, why didn't they just take her back? Were they waiting for a ship? That was probably it; they were awaiting transport, and when it came, they'd whisk her away. All this anguish for nothing. Where was Legroeder? Everything after their escape was a blank. Her only friend; she barely knew him; but as far as she was concerned, he was her best friend in the world. If he was alive.

  If I get a chance, I must... must...

  She drew a slow breath. She had to make a break if the opportunity arose. But she needed to know more. "It might help me recover faster," she said to Dennis, "if you told me what was going on."

  Lydia walked in with sandwiches and a carafe of tea. "Christ, doesn't she ever give up?"

  "Sign of recovery," Dennis said with a shrug.

  "Great. So glad you're feeling better," Lydia said sarcastically. She handed Maris a sandwich and slid back onto the bench in front of her security console.

  Maris frowned and took a bite. The sandwich had a pungent, unidentifiable taste. She swallowed the first bite with difficulty and washed it down with some tea. To Dennis she said, "You're with the Kyber. Are you planning to take me back?" As soon as the words were out, she regretted them.

  If Dennis was surprised, he didn't show it. He looked noncommittal and said simply, "We're just keeping you out of the way."

  "Excuse me?"

  "It's for your own good," Lydia said, with her back still turned.

  "For my own good?" That's why you took me out of a hospital?

  "Yes." Dennis propped his beam rifle against the wall. As if reading her thoughts, he added, "It was necessary. Before others got to you."

  "What—others—?" Maris whispered, trying not to tremble. She'd escaped, fair and square. She shouldn't have to be going through this. Where am I, damn you? Where is Legroeder? "What others?" she repeated.

  Dennis rubbed a scar on the side of his nose. "The Spacing Authority, for one."

  Maris stared at him. She was being protected from the planetside authorities? So they were planning to take her back to the pirate stronghold.

  "They do not welcome raider escapees."

  Maris nodded slowly. "Who else?"

  Dennis shrugged and picked up the rifle again. "Various interests. There are many, on this planet."

  Maris opened her mouth, closed it.

  "None in
our backyard at the moment, though," Lydia muttered, leaning over the console. "At least I don't think so. There was a bit of a blip there for a second, but nothing on the sensors now."

  Looking from one to the other, Maris tried to comprehend. "What does that mean? Who is your enemy? Who are you fighting?"

  "Not fighting anyone," Dennis said. "We're hiding."

  "And that's why you have all these guns?"

  "There are bad people out there—all right?" Lydia snapped. Standing, she flexed her right hand. A palm beamer appeared in it, and she checked its charge. "You ask too many damn questions. We're here to protect you, and that's all you need to know." To Dennis, she said, "I'm taking a walk around the grounds."

  "It's raining."

  Lydia snorted. "So that means we don't keep a watch?"

  Dennis shrugged.

  "But—" Maris said, then fell silent as Lydia banged the door on her way out.

  Dennis began breaking down his rifle again.

  Maris sighed, reclined her chair, and closed her eyes to try to nap.

  * * *

  Morgan Mahoney stood in the rain with Pew and Georgio, peering down the wooded hillside. They were somewhere outside the rural community of Forest Hills. The house below the tree line was the one that Pew had identified as the supposed residence of a Mr. Lerner—the newcomer in town who was reported to have been seen meeting the car used in the abduction of Maris. Morgan pulled her rain cloak tighter, thinking, anyone who would kidnap a woman in a coma probably wouldn't greet her and her friends with open arms.

  Georgio, the Gos'n, could not seem to stand still. He was constantly stretching his three long tentacle-ended arms in restless movement. His short-stalked eyes swiveled constantly, taking in the surroundings. He was not an easy person to hide, ordinarily, but he was very good at observing. Fortunately, there was plenty of cover here, and they had a sensor-defeating camouflage mesh drawn across the bushes in front of them. The wooded surroundings that made the house inconspicuous from the road also made it relatively easy to set up for observation.

  "I've identified six probable surveillance sensors on the outside of the building," said Pew, keeping his foghorn voice muffled. The Swert dipped his horselike snout as he put away his remote detection gear. "There's no telling what weapons they might have. At the verrry least, I expect they carry sidearms."

  "Like that one?" said Georgio, pointing down the hill with his third arm-tentacle.

  "Eh?" said Pew.

  Morgan saw a woman coming out of the house, crouching in the rain as she circled the clearing, peering one direction and then another—probably checking for intruders. The woman's hand flexed, revealing a palm weapon. For a moment, she stared in their direction; but the camouflage screen seemed to hide them, because she moved on, circling the house. She disappeared around the far side of the house and did not reappear.

  "So they ar-r-re armed," Pew murmured.

  "No charging in, then," said Georgio.

  Morgan scowled. "What should we do?"

  "Well, I suppos-s-se that we could amble peaceably up to the front door," said Pew.

  "Without the police?"

  The Swert scratched his great head with a long-nailed hand. "I would prefer-r-r to keep the police out of this for as long as possible. The other option is to wait and see whether there's any actual sign of Miss O'Hare."

  "You know what I think?" Georgio said suddenly, rising in alarm. He pointed with a tentacle at a point beyond the house. "I think we'd better find out who those people are."

  Morgan suddenly felt chilled to the bone by the rain. Who—? Then she saw the movement. There were two—no, three—people in the woods on the far side of the house, apparently also watching the property. Now, who the hell would they be?

  "Do you suppose the police followed the same leads we did?" Pew murmured.

  "I don't believe it's the police," said Georgio, his eyes shifting from side to side as he used his natural zoom lenses. "They're not in uniform. Human, though."

  "Let's have a look." Pew raised a pair of high-powered binocs. He peered for a few moments, then handed them to Morgan.

  The binocs were too large for her, but she managed to sight through one lens. She pressed the RELOCATE button, then clicked in for a sharp closeup—or as sharp as she could get, filtered through the rain. Two men and one woman. She frowned. One of the men looked familiar.

  "I think I recognize one of them," she said, lowering the glasses.

  "Indeed?" said Pew, taking the binocs from her and touching them to his compad for download.

  Morgan squinted across the distance. "I can't be certain. But I remember looking over some reports on Centrist Strength with my mother—and someone who looked like one of those men was in the pictures."

  Georgio made a tssking sound. "Why would Centrist Strength care about—"

  "Just a moment and I'll tell you," Pew interrupted. A moment later, he looked up from his compad. "She's right." He nodded to Morgan. "Well done, Miss Mahoney. The images match. Both of those men, in fact, are in the Centrist Strength database. The woman I don't know."

  "Then that means someone else is holding Maris," Morgan said.

  "It also means we'd better be figuring out how to get her out of there," said Georgio.

  "But how?" said Pew. "That's the question. How?"

  Morgan looked from one to the other, but saw no answer. She shivered and hugged the rain cloak to her neck as she gazed down at the silent house.

  * * *

  Major Talbott used his spy-glasses to study the house through the trees. There'd been no sign of activity except for the occasional circuit of the house by the Kyber woman. Kyber woman! He still didn't understand what was going on here. Somehow everything had gotten turned around. The Kyber were supposed to be the ones he was working with. And now it turned out they were set to raid a house held by Kyber agents! Well, it was on the authority of the frigging Joint Command—meaning the Carlotta people and people like Hizhonor North—but it still didn't make any sense. Weren't the Kyber supposed to be working together? It sure as shit didn't seem like it, the way those guys down there had nabbed the O'Hare woman before Strength could get to her.

  All these years of putting his balls on the line for the cause, and he still wasn't sure he trusted the Kyber "alliance." He had to work with Joint Command, but more and more he wondered if the loonies weren't in charge of the asylum.

  Damn it all... if he didn't believe so much in...

  "So, Major, what are we going to do here?" grumbled the raven-haired woman crouched beside him. "Just stand around taking in the view all day?"

  Talbott glared at her. Lieutenant Cassill. Good-looking bitch, but a pain in the ass. Supposed to be a top "field action-group" operative—code for act first, think later, as far as he was concerned. Too bad; he could think of better uses for someone with her looks. "We'll move when I say we move," he muttered finally. "If we botch it, we'll be worse off than before." He glanced at their third member. "You understand that, right, Corporal?"

  Corporal Sladdak shrugged. "Right."

  Lieutenant Cassill checked her ion rifle. "I don't see what's so important about this woman, anyway."

  "She belongs to our sponsors, that's what's important about her."

  "Belongs?"

  Talbott shrugged in annoyance. "Supposed to be one of their people. She got away. Defected. Whatever."

  Lieutenant Cassill looked unconvinced.

  "You don't have to understand; you just have to do it."

  "Yes, sir," she said stiffly.

  Talbott suppressed a snarl and raised his spy-glasses again.

  * * *

  The two Fabri natives slipped silently through the trees, moving with urgent speed. The word had come from their village leader, backed up by the informal Fabri intelligence network. Centrist Strength agents were on the move in connection with a kidnapping, and help was requested. A homefolk friend was involved—Harriet Mahoney, who had aided the Fabri on more than
one occasion. Look for a human woman with a Swert and a Gos'n. Help them help the offworlder woman, if you can. The Fabri were not exactly freedom fighters, but they weren't afraid to step forward when necessary.

  The Fabri reconnoitered carefully as they approached the house in the woods. The taller one, the leader, searched the area around the clearing. "Fffff—two parties," he murmured softly, with a shiver of his wings.

  The other set down a ventilated leather case and joined the first in peering. "Those three, they are Strength," he murmured, focusing on three humans about a third of a circle around the house to the right. "They are known to us."

  "And over there?" murmured the leader.

  The second Fabri shifted his gaze to the left of the clearing. "Ah—the two aliens and the woman. They are Mrs. Mahoney's people. They are here for the missing one."

  "Shall we make contact, then?"

  * * *

  Georgio was the first to see them. He muttered something guttural, and Morgan turned her head and nearly jumped out of her skin at the sight of two approaching Fabri natives, clad in white. How did they move so silently? She placed a hand on Georgio's tentacle-arm, the one with the weapon. "They've come to talk," she said quietly.

  Pew's foghorn voice was surprisingly soft as he addressed the two Fabri males, "May we help you?"

  One of the two fluttered his wings slightly. "That's precisely what we intended to ask. Are you the friends of Vegas?"

  Morgan's heart raced. "She works for my mother."

  "Then you are here to attempt to free the offworlder woman?" asked the second Fabri.

  "We are."

  "Then may we offer our assistance—?"

  * * *

  The shorter Fabri opened the leather case he was carrying and hoisted out a sinuous white animal. "This is a ferrcat," he said softly, cradling the animal in his arms. "Its name is N'tari." He was silent a moment, peering into the ferrcat's eyes. There seemed to be a wordless exchange between the two. The ferrcat rolled its head from side to side, hissing softly. "She senses the woman," the Fabri said. "Alive. And conscious. Weak, but well."