Damian’s hand closed convulsively on the pocket remote, and there was a squeal of protest from the mechanism. He released it hastily, and Cella went on.
“Desjourdy is known as a Gamer, but I thought you ought to know.”
“Damn,” Damian said softly, as much to himself as to Cella, and he stared into space for a long moment, trying to order his thoughts. The sky beyond the windows was very black, the fireworks over: no inspiration there, he thought, and turned his eyes away. “This Lioe,” he began, “is she still seeing Roscha, or was it a one‑night affair?”
Cella shrugged. “I don’t know. Roscha was slated to play Avellar, but Lioe seems very taken with Ransome. And he with her, for that matter.”
“So.” Damian shoved his hands into his pockets again, running his fingers over the remote’s smoothly indented surface as though it were a talisman. If I can get Roscha to watch Lioe–Roscha’s done that kind of job before, she can certainly handle it–then I can be sure to find out if she contacts Desjourdy again. He touched the remote’s control points again, and the image in the display screens shifted, became a memo board. He leaned over the keyboard, typed a quick message into the wharfingers’ computers–CONTACT JAFIERA ROSCHA 2 STORM AM, SEND HER TO MY OFFICE AS SOON AS SHE ARRIVES–and set it loose on the main systems. And if all else fails, she can deal with Lioe, and I can get Ransome out of the way. “Can you get a transcript of this session for me?”
Cella blinked, startled. “Yes, of course. It’ll be on all the Game nets by three this morning if not before. Why?”
“I just want to see how they behave,” Damian said vaguely. I want to see if Roscha thinks she’s competing with Ransome, and I want to see how good she is at it. Because if she has any grudge against him, I can make good use of it. “Dump it to my private system as soon as you can get a copy, please.”
“I’ll do that,” Cella said.
Damian Chrestil smiled crookedly. “Then let’s rejoin the party.”
–––
Interlude
Game/varRebel.2.04/
subPsi. 1.22/ver22.1/ses4.24
They crouched in the uncertain shelter of the cargo bay, hearing the clatter of boots recede along the walkways to either side. The overhanging shelves, piled high with crates, gave some cover, but they all knew that if the baron’s guards came back out onto the center catwalk it would take a miracle to keep from being seen. Galan Africa/ALEMO TOMSEY frowned over the power pack of their only heavy laser, working methodically to mate a salvaged blaster cell into the nonstandard housing. Jack Blue/KICHI DESJOURDY sprawled gasping against the nearest stack of crates, hand against his chest as though it pained him. Mijja Lyall/LACHACALLE crouched at his side, one hand on his wrist, as though somehow knowing his pulse rate could help. Blue’s great bulk had displaced the lower crates slightly, and Gallio Hazard/HALLY VENTURA edged out of its line of fall, his pistol drawn and ready. He knelt cautiously in the shelter of a second stack of crates, laid a fresh clip on the floor beside him, and settled to wait. Lord Faro/PETER SAVIAN and Ibelin Belfortune/KAZIO BELEDIN crouched as always a little apart from the rest, Faro a little ahead of the wild‑eyed Belfortune, as though he could protect him.
“We’re still waiting for this contact,” Desir of Harmsway/AMBIDEXTER said. “Well, Avellar? What happened this time?”
“How can I know?” Avellar/JAFIERA ROSCHA answered. “Something’s gone wrong, obviously.” She smiled suddenly. “I say we press on, Desir, unless you want to go back.”
Harmsway looked away, made a face of disgust. Avellar’s grin faded, and she went to kneel on the warped flooring beside Jack Blue. “How is it?”
“Not so good.” Blue’s voice was thin and wheezing, and, behind his back, Lyall shook her head. She reached into her much‑depleted kit, came out with a slim injector, but hesitated, and did not lay it against the telekinetic’s arm.
“If you weren’t so damn fat, you wouldn’t be in this bad shape,” Harmsway snapped. “Christ, what a waste.”
Blue frowned, his eyes losing their focus for a moment. A cracked piece of the floor tiling snapped loose and flung itself at Harmsway’s face. He ducked away from it, but too late, and the tile’s sharp edge drew a thin line of blood along one cheekbone. Avellar snatched the tile out of the air before it could strike anything else.
“A waste to bring me,” Blue said, mimicking Harmsway’s precise voice. “You didn’t bring me, little man–”
“Shut up,” Avellar said, and was obeyed. “Save your strength,” she added, and looked at Harmsway. “The ship’s right there, Desir, just waiting for us. Go right ahead.”
Harmsway looked longingly at the cargo door, only forty meters away across the width of the warehouse. It was even open, the ship’s hatch gleaming in the loading lights, and he could feel that the last barrier was sealed only with a palm lock, the kind of thing he could open in his sleep… if he could reach it. His lips thinned, and he looked away.
“Avellar.” Lyall’s voice was suddenly sharp with fear, and Avellar swung to face her.
“I think–” Lyall began, then shook her head. “No, I’m sure. They’ve brought in one of the hunters.”
Harmsway swore, and Hazard looked back over his shoulder at them all.
Africa did not look up from his work, his hands still busy with the laser. “Hunter?”
“Another telepath,” Blue said. “The kind that specializes in hunting down his own kind.”
“How close?” Harmsway demanded, and Lyall shook her head again.
“I can’t tell. He‑she‑it’s shielded.”
“All right,” Avellar said. “No one use anything, telekinesis, telepathy, electrokinesis, anything at all, unless there’s no other choice.” There were murmurs of agreement from the others, and she looked at Africa. “Galan?”
The technician shrugged, his hands never slowing on the balky connection. “I don’t know. Even if I get it hooked up, I can’t make any guarantees.”
Avellar grimaced, and for the first time looked at Belfortune. “Bel.”
Faro shifted his position slightly, putting himself between Avellar and Belfortune. “Let him be.”
“Bel,” Avellar said again.
“I can’t do it,” Belfortune said flatly, without lifting his eyes from the floor.
“Oh, that’s a lie,” Harmsway said, soft and deadly, “a lie and you know it, Belfortune. That’s what bought the Baron’s favor, bought you a lover and almost anything you wanted, just as long as you learned to use your power. Tell me, is it true the Baron liked to watch while you killed them?”
“Jesus, Desir,” Hazard said, and was ignored.
Belfortune looked up slowly, met Harmsway’s glare for the first time unflinching. “Yes. It’s true.”
“Then you can stop the hunter,” Avellar said.
“It won’t do any good,” Belfortune said. “Where else could we be, but in one of the cargo bays? All it’ll do is buy you time.”
“That’ll be enough,” Avellar said.
“But if it isn’t–” Lyall began, and closed her mouth over what she would have said.
Avellar answered her anyway. “If it’s not enough, then we fight.”
“Brilliant,” Harmsway jeered. “How clever of you, Royal.”
“Shut up, Desir,” Hazard said. “Avellar. Belfortune’s right, much as I hate to admit it.”
Avellar nodded. “We need a diversion, I agree. But to make it work, we have to get rid of the hunter.” She looked back at Belfortune. “Well? Will you do it?”
Belfortune closed his eyes for a moment, pain etched deep in his face, then nodded. “Oh, yes. What’s one more?” Lord Faro reached out to touch his shoulder.
“Then we’ll need to distract the rest of the searchers,” Avellar said.
“No, really?” Harmsway murmured.
“Yes, and you’re just the man to do it,” Avellar answered. She smiled briefly, daring him. “This bay is right next to the main computer nexus, Desir
. Think what you can do with that.”
Harmsway said, “But why should I, Royal? Give me one reason, after everything you tried to do.”
There was a little silence, and then Avellar looked at him, her face absolutely without emotion. “I told you then. I’m telling you now. I need you, need your talent, to make up for what I lost when my sibs–my twins, the rest of the clone, the rest of me–were killed. I can’t take the throne without you.”
“To hell with you,” Harmsway said, and there was an odd, gloating note in his voice.
“I need you,” Avellar said again. “I came here for you, didn’t I? I did what you couldn’t do, I broke you out of the Baron’s prison because I need you. Isn’t that enough?”
“Maybe if you went down on your knees,” Harmsway said, “but not before.”
“For God’s sake,” Hazard said. He pushed himself to his feet, grabbed Harmsway roughly by the shoulder, and swung him to face the others. “If you don’t do it, Desir, we’re going to die.”
Harmsway lifted an eyebrow at him. “I’m surprised at you–”
“I want out of here,” Hazard said. “We can sort out the rest of it once we’re free, but right now, getting off planet is a hell of a lot more important than Avellar or the goddamn throne.”
“I won’t work with her again,” Harmsway said.
“So what?” That was Jack Blue, hoisting himself to his feet. “It won’t be as good, Avellar, but maybe I can do something if this shit won’t.”
Avellar nodded her thanks, still watching Harmsway, who smiled bitterly.
“All right. I’ll do it–if only to spare your talents, Jack.”
“Too kind,” Blue said, and achieved a passable imitation of Harmsway’s sneer.
“There’s only one thing,” Faro said. “How close do you need to be to a–a subject, Bel?”
“I don’t really know,” Belfortune said. “A few meters, probably closer.” He looked at Lyall. “Any ideas, Doctor?”
Lyall shook her head. “I wasn’t involved in that part of the project. I would think within two meters.”
Belfortune laughed softly to himself. “Do you know who it is? Which hunter?”
“No,” Lyall answered. “I told you, it’s shielded.”
“You’ll need support,” Avellar said.
Belfortune shook his head, and Faro said, “I’ll go with him. One’s enough.”
Avellar nodded. “Good luck, then, both of you.”
Lyall said, “The hunter’s coming closer. Moving along the east wall, toward the entrance there.”
“Careful,” Africa said. “You don’t want to tip him off.”
Lyall shook her head, and Blue said impatiently, “She’s not strong enough. Nobody can hear her, not unless they’re right on top of her.”
“Let’s go, Bel,” Faro said gently, and Belfortune nodded. Faro reached down and pulled the other man to his feet.
“Take an extra power pack,” Hazard said, and handed his last spare to Faro.
“Thanks,” Faro said, and he and Belfortune stepped out into the corridor. They turned left at the first cross corridor, heading east, toward the entrance and the searching hunter.
Avellar looked at the others. “Dr. Lyall, tell me when the hunter’s dead.”
Lyall winced, but nodded.
“And the rest of us?” Harmsway demanded.
“We wait,” Avellar answered, grimly. “Be ready to act when Lyall gives the word.”
–––
Game/varRebel.2.04/subPsi.1.22/ver22.1/ses4.25
Faro and Belfortune moved warily through the corridors, ready to duck under the shelter of the cargo racks at the first sign of patrolling guards. To their surprise, however, the racks and catwalks were empty, and they reached the eastern wall without incident.
“What now, Bel?” Faro began, stopped abruptly at the look on Belfortune’s face.
Belfortune was staring into the middle distance, pale eyes vague, unfixed, pupils dilating. He ran a hand delicately along the bare metal skin of the cargo bay’s exterior wall, a gesture unnervingly like a caress, and began to walk, slowly, a faint smile curving his lips. Faro, who had seen this before, this stalking hunger, shivered convulsively, but kept his place at Belfortune’s shoulder, gun drawn and ready, the spare power pack ready to hand.
“Come to me,” Belfortune whispered. “Come here, you, I feel you walking there, come to me now…” The words trailed off into a hissing murmur, rising and falling with his slow breath. He could feel the hunter’s presence, a vague warmth beyond the cold wall, allowed his own hunger to rise to match that warmth, played out his desire as a fisherman plays a line, a thread of appetite disguised as curiosity. He could feel the hunter’s presence more clearly now, and recognized the man, had considered him a friend, but his unleashed hunger accepted that knowledge only as a way to make the bait more attractive. He leaned against the thin metal of the wall, flattening himself against the cool surface as though he could feel the hunter’s body against his own, and let the tendril of thought unfold. He felt the hunter take the bait, felt him turn his attention toward the faint, stray presence, the oddity that must be investigated, and kept tight control of his own power, letting the hunter’s own curiosity draw him nearer. Belfortune could almost see the slight frown, the familiar lines of his face; he pressed himself harder against the wall, willing the hunter closer. And then, at last, he was close enough. Belfortune smiled, let himself go at last, and felt the hunter’s whole body jerk convulsively as he realized he was no longer free. Belfortune felt him struggle and tightened his grip, felt the sudden terrified release as the hunter’s shields failed, and tasted the hunter’s power, his strength and his cunning and the delicate flavor of his mind. He drained him, not bothering to savor it–there was no time for such niceties, and it had been too long since the last one, anyway–and saw/felt, in the last moment of double vision, the hunter’s body slumping to the ground just on the other side of the wall. He slid down the wall with it, sucking the last dregs of life, and crouched there for a moment, breathing hard.
Faro looked away, swallowing bile, unwilling to watch the sated hunger turn to disgust in Belfortune’s eyes. “Tell them it’s done,” he said, and a whispering voice said, from the end of the corridor, “Tell who what, Faro?”
Faro spun, gun leveled, even as he knew it was useless, and felt as much as heard the snap of a laser bolt. He ducked instinctively, but the shot had been meant as a warning only.
“Hold your fire,” the voice said. It came from the closed cabin of an airsled that blocked the corridor behind them. Soldiers–soldiers in the black uniforms of Baron Vortex’s elite troops–flanked it, their lasers lowered and ready. Belfortune shook his head, trying to drive away the cloying satisfaction, made a small, pained noise of despair. The voice went on, as though no one had spoken. “Faro, you’re not a fool. I think we can come to some agreement.”
Faro hesitated, the muzzle of his gun wavering slightly–to fire was suicide, his and Belfortune’s, but the speaker was Baron Vortex, and the Baron could never be trusted.
“I find you useful,” the voice went on, “just useful enough to salvage from this mess. Put down your gun, and I’ll let you live.”
Faro dredged a laugh from somewhere. “To what end?”
“I told you, I find you useful,” the voice said. “You can return to your previous employment.”
“Not much better off than the prisoners,” Faro muttered, said more loudly, “What about Bel?”
“Ah.” There was a note like amusement in the Baron’s voice. “For him, there is a price.”
“Well?” Faro said.
“I asked you before, tell who what,” the voice said. “But I think I know that. Where are they, Faro? Where are Avellar and the rest?”
“Faro,” Belfortune said, and the word was ambiguous appeal.
Faro glanced down at him, at the renewed sanity in the pale eyes, saw him start to pull himself to his feet, clinging to t
he wall of the cargo bay, looked back at the Baron’s airsled and the flanking soldiers. He let the gun fall to his side.
“Your lands and your lover,” the voice whispered. “You can still have them both. Is Avellar’s rebellion worth that much to you?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Faro said. “She–they were back toward the middle of the bay, heading for a ship.”
He paused, hoping that would be enough, a large enough betrayal, saw the nearest soldier raise his laser, and waited for the Baron to pronounce the sentence.
“Put down your gun, Faro,” the Baron said at last, and Faro laid the pistol on the floor tiles, kicked it toward the line of soldiers. Two of them came forward, slinging their rifles, and Faro let them drag him forward, stood quite still as they ran their hands roughly over his body, then locked his wrists together behind his back. Another pair dragged Belfortune to his feet, and did the same to him.
Flame flared overhead, bursting from the shattering light fixtures, and raw electricity leaped like lightning from the power nodes. One of the soldiers fired reflexively at the snapping currents, and screamed as the laser’s power pack exploded in a sheet of flame.
“Harmsway,” Belfortune said, and the pale eyes were suddenly alive again.
“Get them out of here,” the Baron ordered. “The rest of you, come with me.”
–––
Game/varRebel.2.O4/subPsi.1.22/ver22.1/ses4.26
“The hunter’s dead,” Lyall said, and in spite of her best efforts the disgust showed in her voice.
Avellar nodded, hiding the same repulsion. “Then let’s get on with it.” She looked at Harmsway. “It’s your show now, Desir.”
Harmsway nodded, allowed himself a smile of pure pleasure. “So we need a diversion,” he said aloud. “And the computer center is right behind these walls.” He turned in a full circle, scanning the racks until he found a power node, and went to crouch beside it, laying one long‑fingered hand gently over the input jack. There was a faint crackling, and then he had matched the current precisely. He closed his eyes, and let his consciousness wander out into the bay’s power grid. There was a faint humming, and a haze of blue light, all but invisible, formed around his hand. He could feel the pattern of the electrical systems, and of the computers and other instruments that fed off it, could almost see their regularity like lines against his eyes. He felt his way into the grid, merging himself with the flow of power until he was all but invisible, a faint surge of current that was still within the tolerances of the port computers. He found the access port, and teased it open, then slipped cautiously into the alien space within the network.
Burning Bright Page 22
