It was an acknowledgment of reality, a recognition that one tway, no matter what he perceived himself as, still remained one tway, and Reemul was two.
Out of control, stumbling backward, he tripped over something—Jerem—the boy lying flat on his back, eyes closed, and then he crashed into another dais, somehow managing to stay on his feet, ignoring the terrible ache in his side where the thruster’s energy had been neutralized, knowing that the pain would have been almost unbearable had he not shot his midsection full of anesthetics before coming here, to relieve the soreness of his cracked ribs.
And then Reemul was coming at him from both sides and he knew it was over but he also knew that he could never acknowledge defeat and he waited, leaning against the dais for support, waiting until they were only a few feet away before jerking his thruster arm out from behind the web and firing at Sad-eyes.
The tway took the blow on the front crescent, above the ankles, and his feet flew out from under him and he hit the floor hard, screeching with rage.
And then Smiler plowed in and Empedocles felt the wind go out of him as his front and rear crescents compressed against the dais. His left arm, unprotected by the web, took the worst of the blow—his fingers jerked open and the thruster tumbled from his grasp.
Red sparks sizzled as their webs came together, but Smiler refused to be repelled and his body kept pressing against Empedocles, crushing him, pinning his left arm against the dais, and Empedocles stared into the tway’s face, only inches away, separated by the sparking crescents, and he saw the open mouth and the flickering tongue and the mad grin.
Empedocles flashed his Cohe hand out from behind the web, but Smiler was ready. Reemul jerked his hips sideways and a volley of tiny projectiles shot through the air. One of them plunged into Empedocles’s fisted palm.
Firedart!
He had no choice. In another second the dart would ignite and his hand would burn to a crisp. He jerked open his fist and dropped the Cohe. He twisted his thumb and forefinger and ripped the fire-dart from his flesh, releasing it just as it exploded, saving his hand from total incineration but barely, just barely.
His hand caught fire and he smelled burning flesh, saw bright yellow flame, and then the pain hit him and the interlace dissolved and he was Gillian again, trapped, left hand pinned against the dais by Smiler’s web, right hand burning, useless.
Smiler hissed at him, bright eyes flashing with triumph, and even through the web Gillian smelled heavy orange cologne and the smell somehow took his mind away from the awful burning pain and he thought:
I have been whole once again.
And he knew the thought would be his last.
And then, as in a dream, he saw Jerem, on his back, twisting his body forward, eyes wide open, knees drawing back, the boy kicking with all his might, a foot coming through Smiler’s side portal, smashing the tway’s ankle.
Smiler jerked sideways—off balance for just an instant, but it was enough—and Gillian’s left arm was free. He whipped it down, caught Smiler’s Cohe wrist, yanked the fist upward with all his might.
The needle punctured the soft flesh under the tway’s right ear. Reemul shrieked as his own hand crushed the egg, sending the black beam into his brain, out through the skull, up past the ceiling rafters.
The smile vanished—the tway’s eyes became black fire, burning with their own inner light. Blood poured down the side of Smiler’s face as Gillian pulled away.
Something came at Gillian from behind—the other tway. He spun, saw the Cohe whipping through the air, out of control, Sad-eyes a blur of raging madness.
Gillian ducked low, came up into the tway’s belly, lifted him. Crescents flashed, repelled, and then Sad-eyes was flying through the air, over Gillian’s head, smashing down on top of the dais housing the table saw.
Gillian scooped his thruster from the floor and took aim. Smiler, still on his feet, reached out and grabbed Gillian’s wrist, tried to twist the barrel away from Sad-eyes. Gillian glimpsed a bloodsoaked face and sightless eyes and he knew that some infinitesimal portion of Reemul’s interlace still functioned.
And then he wrenched his arm free and smashed the butt of his thruster into the side of Smiler’s head. The tway sailed backward and crashed to the floor.
Sad-eyes, on his back atop the table saw, howling with pain and rage, twisted sideways and brought his thruster to bear on Gillian. But suddenly his arm froze and his body seemed to lift itself from the dais and he shrieked as some new agony took hold. The tway jerked his head sideways and hissed at Paula Marth.
“Bastard!” Paula cried. She dropped her hand from the control panel and watched the table saw’s microlasers finish carving their doily design into the tway’s right hip.
Gillian took aim. He fired once, through the tway’s left portal, into the side of the skull. Sad-eyes heaved. The head twisted. The neck snapped.
Reemul shuddered. Both tways convulsed together, arms and legs twitching, four sets of knuckles rapping out a grim pattern on the floor and on the side of the table saw—mad marionettes, dancing into death.
Quiescence.
* * *
Gillian leaned against the dais. Slowly, he allowed the gun to slip from his grasp and fall to the carpet. With effort, he flicked his tongue and deactivated the crescent web. He sat down.
He stared at his right hand. It was still smoldering. The top layer of skin had been burned away by the firedart. A dull ache seemed to be marching up and down the right side of his torso. In a little while, when his adrenalin level returned to something near normal, he knew he would be in utter agony.
But for now, it was bearable. For now, it was all right.
He watched Paula struggle to her feet and hobble across the gallery. She knelt down and wrapped her arms around Jerem. The boy clutched her and they hugged each other and cried.
Gillian smiled and thought of Catharine.
Jerem pulled away from his mother. He wiped the tears from his eyes.
“It’s all right, Mom—we’re gonna be all right.”
Paula said, “I know ... I know.”
Jerem turned to Gillian.
“We got him, didn’t we.”
Gillian nodded.
We got him.
O}o{O
In the center of the stasis chamber, a pair of vulcanized webs, one large, the other small, hung from the support straps of a thick mounting cradle. The open webs, translucent, cushioned with a base layer of stitched organic thread, were joined at the sides; matching sealant covers lay beneath them on the cool moist floor. Hidden freezers hummed loudly. Cold sterilized air was beginning to blow into the chamber from air ducts near the ceiling.
Rome stood alone with Nick and Gillian. The two men wore simple white gowns.
“It’s still not too late to change your minds,” Rome offered. “We could still put you in separate capsules.”
Nick grinned. He turned up the collar of his gown and chewed on the edge. “Nah, we’ll go to sleep together. It’s more comfy that way. Besides, who knows what the world’s gonna be like when we wake up?”
“Safety in numbers,” said Gillian. He rubbed his good hand across the back of his bandaged right palm. The top layers of burned flesh had been surgically removed and replaced. There was little pain but the hand still itched.
Nick said, “Yeah, putting us in the same capsule makes sense.” The midget winked at Gillian. “Of course, I can only hope my partner here doesn’t invite the family over to visit while we’re sleeping. I mean, there’s just not enough room for the four of us.”
A faint smile curled Gillian’s lips. Someday, Catharine—and Empedocles—would return.
Nick chuckled. “It’s been a hell of a month, though, hasn’t it?”
“Believe it or not,” Rome said, “I’m going to miss both of you.”
Gillian’s thoughts turned to this morning: his farewells to Aaron and Paula and, hardest of all, to Paula’s son. Be brave, Gillian had advised, but the boy had shed
a few tears anyway.
He would miss Jerem Marth.
“Just imagine,” Nick said, “how calm things are gonna be around here without us. Think about that, Rome, and you’ll get over your parting pains real quick.”
Rome had to laugh. “You’re probably right. I’m actually looking forward to some nice simple evenings at home with Angela. We’re thinking about taking a short vacation, shuttle to the L4 colonies and see what our son is up to, and on the way back, visit Lydia and her husband. Maybe bounce the grandchildren on our laps for a few days.”
Nick wagged his head. “Sounds like a lotta fun.”
“And when we return to Irrya, I’ll shorten my work schedule and start spending a little more time at home.”
He stopped. Whom am I kidding?
Nick understood. The midget regarded him wryly. “Something tells me E-Tech’s gonna be very, very busy over the next few years.”
There was no sense in denying it.
Fifty-six years from now, the Ash Ock Paratwa would return. Fifty-six years from now, humanity would have to be ready to face that threat.
A flood of change was coming to the Colonies. And Rome knew that he had to be a part of that change, that he and the organization would have to work even harder to ensure that E-Tech was not washed away in the inevitable scramble for technological advancement.
Nick threw his arms across his chest and shivered. “Hey! It’s getting cold in here!”
Rome smiled. “They’ve turned on the coolers—they’re starting to drop the room down to stasis temperature.”
“So when do we get the drugs?”
“Don’t worry, everything’s been timed. A tech will come in shortly with your medicine. A few more minutes, I should think.”
Nick grinned. “I gotta be honest with you. I’m not all that crazy about this stasis business.”
“You know you don’t have to go.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. I’m talking about the actual going-to-sleep part. It gives me the creeps.”
Rome smiled. “Our stasis drugs have undergone a few improvements since the twenty-first century.”
“Cherry-flavored, by any chance?”
“Intravenous. Completely painless, no known side effects. At least Codrus didn’t show any when we put him to sleep yesterday.”
“That’s too bad.”
Rome suddenly remembered something. “By the way, E-Tech just completed an internal audit. Curious anomalies have been discovered in several of our Security accounts. We seem to be missing some money. Our accounting department is perplexed. Would either of you, by any chance, know anything about this matter?”
“I cannot tell a lie. Gillian stole it.”
Rome nodded. “I sort of figured that the two of you had something to do with these missing funds. I suppose we’ll have to make some financial alterations, do some cross-accounting. I believe the pre-Apocalyptics used to refer to such techniques as ‘fancy bookkeeping.’” He had looked the phrase up in their archival dictionaries.
Nick laughed. “Yeah, that’s what they used to call it.”
“Oh, and Begelman called from the Shan Plateau. He says to tell you that you’re the best programmer he’s ever had the pleasure of working with.”
Nick smiled. “I’m honored. And you tell Begelman and that team to be careful down there. Codrus may have prepared other traps. Gillian may not have found everything.”
“The team is being extremely cautious. They won’t even fire up the transmitter again until they’re certain they completely understand the technology.”
Nick turned to the door as Pasha Haddad entered. The Pasha walked in a curiously stiff gait with his head raised and his arms held rigidly at his sides.
“How do, Haddad. Come to say good-bye, huh? Tell us how you’re really gonna miss us and...”
Nick stopped. The Pasha was frowning.
Haddad put his hands behind his back and stared up at the glass-walled control booth overlooking the chamber. He spoke solemnly.
“A short time ago, an E-Tech transport shuttle, carrying the stasis capsule containing Codrus, was waylaid by a small fleet of unidentified vessels.
“The crew of our transport was ordered to accept a boarding party from one of these vessels. Under threat of total destruction if they did not comply, our crew permitted several men to come aboard. These men removed the stasis capsule containing Codrus. Then they returned to their own vessels, leaving the capsule in space. One of their shuttle pilots maneuvered his craft until its main engines faced the capsule.” Haddad paused. “They used full power. The egg containing Codrus was incinerated.”
“Son-of-a-bitch!” yelled Nick. “Good for them, whoever the hell they are!”
“I believe,” continued the Pasha, “that it is the first reported case of piracy in over one hundred years.”
Gillian accepted the news silently. But from some deep cavity of consciousness, he felt the whisper of a thought. Now there are only three of us left.
Angrily, Rome turned to Nick. “You knew that Codrus’s capsule was being transferred to another colony. You leaked that information to the Costeaus, to the Alexanders.”
Nick was silent for a moment. Then he shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint you, Rome, but I didn’t have anything to do with this. I certainly didn’t like your Council’s decision to put the bastard into stasis, but I was willing to abide by it.”
“Then who?” Rome demanded.
The midget stared up at the Pasha. Haddad shrugged.
“We have no real clue as to the identity of the raiders. Naturally, suspicions have fallen on the clan of Alexander, but I doubt that their involvement will ever be proved. As to who leaked the cargo and course information—I must confess that I find it highly unlikely that this perpetrator will ever be discovered.”
A glimmer of understanding came to Rome. He felt stunned. He stared at Haddad. “You! You told the Alexanders!”
The Pasha met Rome’s gaze. “It is best not to burden the future with our own problems.”
“Amen,” sighed Nick.
Rome grimaced. So Codrus is dead. And my own Security Chief is responsible.
Change. It was already taking forms that he could not predict, nor even imagine.
Haddad said, “I suggest that we turn the investigation of this incident over to the Guardians. Perhaps they will learn who was responsible.”
Nick chuckled. “Pasha, I’m beginning to like your style.”
Haddad permitted himself a faint grin.
Rome thought, Is this the kind of lawlessness our society is heading for? Is this a hint of our future? Fifty-six years from now, when Sappho and Theophrastus and their technologically advanced hordes return from the stars, will they be met by a human culture as brutal as their own?
No. It must not be.
He turned to the Pasha. “I want a full report on this incident. Codrus’s death will warrant an investigation by the Council and probably the Guardians as well. If any real evidence is unearthed, I promise you here and now that the matter will be pursued until the parties responsible are brought to justice. Is that clear?”
“Quite clear.”
A tech carrying a medical tray entered the chamber.
Nick grinned. “Gee, I guess it’s time for bed.”
* * *
Gillian felt himself floating, adrift in some vast inner sea, with gentle white-capped waves lapping all around him. He sensed that the waves formed a barrier, a separation of space and time, between what was real and conscious and what remained hidden or lost.
He projected a thought. I move ...
From beyond the waves, Catharine answered, ... I am.
I want ...
...I take.
I see ...
... I learn.
I grow ...
... I make.
The circle of waves darkened, following him into silence.
* * *
Rome waited in the control booth until the protecti
ve seven-foot-high organic shell had fully formed around Nick and Gillian.
The stasis technician turned to him. “A successful freeze, sir.”
“Good. Put it into storage. And after you’re through here, destroy all the documentation. I want no official record of this freeze.”
The technician’s frown turned into a shrug. “Very well, sir.”
Rome thought, When Begelman returns from the Shan Plateau, I’ll set him to work on a new computer program. Something with a soft perimeter, subtle enough to escape accidental detection but clear enough so that fifty-six years from now, the future director of E-Tech can figure it out.
Gillian had said, Safety in numbers. Rome smiled. That seemed right.
He took one last look at the egg and then he walked out into the hallway, thinking of home and Angela.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1987 by Christopher Hinz
Cover design by Open Road Integrated Media
ISBN 978-1-4976-1974-6
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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