House of the Wolf (Book Three of the Phoenix Legacy)

by Wren, M. K.

  Alex was smiling when she turned and found him in the crowd, his focus of awareness narrowing, as it did every time he saw her, as if it were a fresh discovery each time. She crossed the comcenter to him, studying him with a clinical eye that reminded him of Erica, and he asked the question that had been uppermost in his thoughts since he arrived.

  “How are the twins?”

  Adrien smiled obliquely. “Napping with full stomachs, and I don’t think they’ve grown more than ten centimeters since you saw them this morning.”

  Dr. Lind’s quiet voice sounded from the ampspeakers, creating a hush in the chamber.

  “Zero minus two minutes. All sequences on schedule.”

  Alex took Adrien’s arm. “Come, I want to talk to Andreas.”

  The greetings offered as they moved through the crowd were absent and unintentionally distant. The tension was almost tangible, voices muted more by mutual consent than by necessity. The only one present who didn’t seem to feel the tension was Andreas Riis. Lyden and Bruce were seated on either side of him, both displaying more anxiety than Andreas, who seemed totally relaxed, his spare body slumped in a chair at the consoles, his eyes focused vaguely on one of the screens before him as he spoke into his headset mike.

  Alex heard the name Leftant Cary. That meant Andreas was in contact with Phoenix Two; a very long-distance conversation. Two was in the Solar System outside the Asteroid Belt waiting for a miracle that Andreas would call a fact.

  Alex asked, “Any problems, Dr. Bruce?”

  “No, not yet, anyway.” He was listening to his own headset. “Three is on intercept course with the power beam, and no hint of patrols in the area.”

  “Thank the God. Dr. Lyden, don’t tell me you’re nervous?”

  Lyden grinned sheepishly. “Of course not. I’ve only had three calmers today.”

  His SynchCom conversation concluded, Andreas swiveled his chair around.

  “Alex! You transed in just in time. A few more minutes and we’d have had to decline trans; the MT would be somewhat occupied. How are you feeling?”

  “Very well, Andreas. I needn’t ask about you. You look fit as a twenty-year-old.”

  “Well, I am feeling rather fit at the moment.” He frowned, hearing someone call his name, and looked past Lyden to Telstoi, who was on the SynchCom console. “What’s that, Tel?”

  “Sir, you’re still transmitting.”

  “I am?” He reached up and switched off his headset mike. “Forgot about that thing.” Then his smile returned as he looked up at Alex. “How’s the Brother’s tour going?”

  Dr. Lind’s amplified voice intoned, “Zero minus one minute. All sequences on schedule.”

  The murmur of voices around them stopped, then resumed at a lower tone, the tension collectively increasing.

  “Andreas, I can’t muster any interest in the tour now.”

  Andreas turned back to the console almost indifferently, and Alex smiled to himself. No doubt Andreas would be willing to let the experiment take place without witnessing it. He knew what would happen. If there were any problems, they could only be mechanical.

  “Well, there won’t be much to see here,” Andreas said, “except on this screen. It’s coupled with the Two’s vis-screens. The flare we’re transing should emerge within range of their vidicams, so we’ll see it here. It’s pressure activated; it’ll go off when it hits vacuum. This screen is only for effect, really. The important data will come from the recording instruments; they’re a bit more accurate than the human eye.” He surveyed the intent techs at their screens and consoles and smiled faintly. “Actually, we’re all only for effect. When Three intercepts the beam and it hits our receptor, it’ll trigger the MT automatically. It’s in the hands of the machines now.”

  From the ampspeakers came the words, “Zero minus thirty seconds.”

  Alex felt the quickening of his pulse and knew it was in part simply a response to the countdown, to any countdown. But it was also a response to understanding, knowing how many years had gone into creating a flash of light in space, knowing what that flash could mean for years to come.

  This day, 6 Octov 3258, would be a date to be memorized by generations of school children, like the first Terran satellite, the first manned landing on Luna, the first MAM-An generators, the Drakonian Theory, and the first SynchShift ships. And perhaps some of those children would be the descendants of today’s Bonds, who knew nothing of history except the history of saints taught them by their Shepherds. And perhaps some of those children would live on the planets of stars brought within human reach by the LR-MT.

  Andreas leaned back, lips pursed thoughtfully. “Dr. Lyden has come up with an idea we may be able to put into effect with our available energy sources, Alex.”

  Alex was listening, but, like everyone else in the cavern room, his eyes were fixed on the screen. Andreas was still the exception.

  “It would be a kind of amplifying device, actually,” he went on, oblivious to the taut silence around him.

  Lind’s voice again: “Zero minus eight seconds.”

  “We could expand our load-energy ratio by a power of ten if it works out, and we can probably set it up in a few months if we can get the equipment for the modifications.”

  Alex couldn’t restrain his laugh, but if Andreas wondered about it there wasn’t time to explain.

  “Five . . .

  Finally, Andreas turned to look up at the screen.

  “Four . . . three . . .”

  “Well, we’ll have a look at the fireworks now.”

  “Two . . . one . . .”

  The black chamber was silent except for the machines.

  “. . . zero.”

  A soundless blossom against the star-speckled black, it expanded in shimmering silver, dissolving to dust and invisibility with the unreal suddenness of vacuum explosions.

  It seemed anticlimactic.

  There should have been a thunderous rumble. There should have been a chorus of trumpets trembling the air with C major chords. There should have been a roaring ovation, cheers wrung from thousands of exalting throats.

  But there was only that brief, silent, silver flowering.

  Everyone in the chamber seemed to share the sense of anticlimax as starred blackness restored itself on the screen, but a few seconds later the silence broke with realization. There was no thunderous roar or trumpet chorus, but there were cheers, and if their numbers were less than thousands, there was exaltation enough.

  Alex put his arm around Adrien, heard and felt her grateful laughter, it was one with his, while Andreas looked around with a faintly perplexed smile at the shouting, gesticulating, back-slapping, hand-pumping, laughing exiles.

  “They seem surprised, Alex.”

  “Not surprised, Andreas; overwhelmed.”

  Alex stared at the screen, in his mind re-creating that brief explosion. There would be no fireworks over the Plaza this Concord Day, but perhaps this small flower of light—a feeble echo of those grand displays—would bring the fireworks back to the Plaza next year.

  He closed his eyes, his hand tightening on Adrien’s, listening to the exuberant celebration around him, feeling suddenly detached from it.

  Concord Day was eight days away.

  5.

  When Alex entered Amik’s sanctum, the Lord of Thieves was on his feet, an unusual enough occurrence, talking to a lean, sinewy man with a predatory stance and dark features accented by a curled beard; he was dressed in brocaded red velveen, his boots scrolled in elaborate designs like the jeweled knife sheath at his waist.

  Alex stopped inside the door. “I’m sorry, Amik, I understood you were alone.”

  “I will be shortly, my friend. It’s good to see you.”

  Amik wasn’t actually seeing him; at least, not his face. Ale
x was face-screened as he always was in Amik’s realm, and that seemed to heighten the other man’s curiosity. He surveyed Alex with an extraordinarily cold and penetrating eye, but in this case appearances would be deceiving; Alex was clothed as a Bond.

  “Benino.” Amik addressed himself to the swarthy man in a soft, potently callous tone Alex had never heard. “I’ve made my say, and you’ve made yours. You had a clear run, but you stood back.”

  Benino stiffened. “Brother, I never crossed your lines. By the God, I didn’t!”

  “I’ve made my say. Now, go with!”

  The man hesitated, then turned and strode out the door, passing within a meter of Alex, his glance like a chill wind at the back of the neck. When he was gone, Amik lowered himself into his chair with a sigh of annoyance and took a ’com from a pocket in his robes.

  “A moment, Alex.” And into the ’com, “Tergo, see to Benino. I’ll have no more of his lies.” Then, having verbally signed a man’s death warrant, he put away the ’com and smiled benignly at Alex. “My friend, you look a bit gray around the edges.”

  Alex speculated only briefly on Benino’s crime or fate as he tossed his cloak on one of the couches and found himself a chair, easing his right arm into a relatively comfortable position.

  “I’m only a bit tired around the edges. And you?”

  “Healthy and well content, I’m glad to say. May I offer you something? A little Marsay, perhaps?”

  “Nothing, thank you. I’ve come to do some haggling, so I’d better keep my head clear.”

  “Ah! So you’d haggle with me again? Wonderful. It’s always a challenge to haggle with a gentleman bom.” He studied Alex’s attire with a lifted eyebrow and added, “Although I must say you hardly look the part.”

  Alex laughed. “Protective coloration, Amik.”

  “So. You’ve been among the Bonds again.” He sighed prodigiously. “Perhaps some day you’ll tell me what you find so fascinating about those unfortunate souls.”

  Unfortunate. Alex recognized his weariness in the weight the word seemed to carry. His tabard was the green and yellow of D’Ord Hamid, and he’d be glad to have it off; the Hamid compounds offered no pleasant memories.

  “Perhaps one day I can assuage your curiosity, Amik.”

  “And perhaps I’ll tally it myself one day. But you said you came to haggle. I prefer to get business out of the way first, then we can relax, and I might even talk you into sharing a bit of Marsay with me. So. What is it you have to offer, and what do you expect—in your usual extravagant manner—in return?”

  Alex laughed, noting the gleam of anticipation in Amik’s black eyes. “You know what I have to offer. Jael’s already demonstrated it for you. What did you think of the plasimask?”

  “Mm. Well, it was of passing interest. I suppose it might have its uses.”

  “It does. For purposes of disguise, it’s unparalleled. It blends with any complexion, can be built up to a depth of a centimeter without becoming obvious or stiffening or cracking, can be worn up to twelve hours comfortably and longer with less comfort, and is unaffected by perspiration or moisture, but easily removed with a mild solvent.”

  “Very impressive,” Amik commented, looking not in the least impressed, “but the Brothers have done very well in the line of disguise without this invention of yours, however remarkable it might be.”

  Alex nodded and said offhandedly, “Well, one can always change to a better method if the price is reasonable.”

  “Price? Already you’re broaching the matter of price?” He reached into a cloisonne box on the table beside him, extracted one of his slender cigars, and inserted it in the jeweled holder. “And I’m not yet convinced I’m interested in what you have to sell.”

  “No, I didn’t mean my price. I meant the price you would ask of your customers when you sell the product.”

  Amik took time to puff his cigar alight. “Ah. Then we’re talking in terms of a franchise?”

  “We’re talking in terms of the outright sale of a product. The formula, Amik. Jael assures me that you have the facilities—‘here and there’—to manufacture the plasimask. I know you have the facilities to distribute it, and I doubt an infringement on the House of Sidarta’s franchises will inhibit you or your customers. And the markets for the plasimask certainly aren’t limited to the Brothers for purposes of disguise. Consider its potential as a cosmetic. You know very well the Ladies of the Elite and more affluent Fesh would pay almost any price you care to ask for it.”

  “Possibly.” With that cautious admission, Amik moved to the next stage of the ritual. “So. Assuming I find this product of interest, what are you asking in return?”

  “Only two things, Amik, and they’re both short term. More in the nature of loans and services. First, I’m expecting certain . . . guests next week, and, as you’re aware, the Cave of Springs offers very little in the way of guest facilities.”

  “Then you’re asking me to provide lodgings for them?”

  “Yes. I’m also asking that the lodgings be strictly forbidden to the Brothers. The privacy and safety of my guests must be maintained at all costs. I’ll provide the people to tend their needs and guard them, but I must be sure they’ll be safe from the Brothers.”

  Amik studied him a moment, puffing slowly on his cigar.

  “These must be very special guests. How many are you expecting?”

  “Three families; six members in one, seven in another, four in the last.”

  “Mm. And how long will they be staying?”

  “I don’t know exactly, but no more than a few days at the most.”

  “I can certainly lodge that many here and make them quite comfortable, but I must know who these guests are before I agree to assume any responsibility for their safety.”

  Alex sighed. “Yes, of course you must, but I’m laying edict where these people are concerned, and even on the information I give you. I must ask your word that you’ll protect them as you have me and . . . my physician.”

  “My friend, you have it. I won’t betray your confidence, or your guests.”

  “Thank you, Amik. The guests will be the Lords and immediate families of the three resident Houses of Centauri—Eliseer, Hamid, and Drakonis.”

  Amik didn’t seem surprised at that; he only pursed his lips and nodded absently.

  “Well, that’s an interesting assortment, and if I’ve tallied correctly, there will be seventeen altogether?”

  “That would be the maximum, but Lord Lazar probably won’t be among them; he’s scheduled to be in Concordia. Lady Galia may be absent, too; she’s made tentative plans for a trip to Paykeen. If she goes, she’ll take Patricia and Annia with her.”

  “So I may have only thirteen Lords and Ladies and their offspring to worry about. Interesting, indeed. Knowing your gentlemanly sensibilities, I assume you’re not abducting them for lowly purposes such as ransom or extortion. Now you’ve given me something else to wonder over. But you said you were asking two things in return for the formula.”

  Alex replied with studied casualness, “I want to use twenty of your Falcons for a twenty-four-hour period. That’s all.”

  Amik’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Twenty Falcons, and the man says that’s all!”

  “There’s also the problem of crews. I’ll provide the navcomp and command personnel, but I need some weapons techs and gunners.”

  “Ah! Not only twenty Falcons, but crews, too! My friend, I always thought you a little mad, but now I wonder if you aren’t totally mad.”

  Alex laughed appreciatively. “Before you get too concerned about my sanity, remember I only want the Falcons and crews for a twenty-four-hour period, and in return, you’ll collect a handsome profit on the plasimask for years to come.”

  Amik subsided, languid eyes cool and calculating
now.

  “Possibly, but weapons techs and gunners imply a military engagement of some sort. What can I expect in the way of losses during this twenty-four-hour period—or, more to the point, are you going to cover them?”

  “No. That’s part of the bargain.”

  “Sometimes, my friend, you’re not only mad, but quite unreasonable.”

  “Unreasonable? You may lose a ship or two, or have a few damaged, or lose a few gunners—and you have my word we’ll protect them as if they were our own—but the monetary losses are negligible compared to the long-range profits you’ll reap on the plasimask. No, Amik, if anyone is being unreasonable, it’s you.”

  The Lord of Thieves loosed a rumbling laugh at that.

  “Perhaps neither of us could truthfully be called reasonable men. All right, you’ve stated your demands, now I’ll tell you what I’m prepared to offer. I’ll provide lodging for your guests, with due secrecy and protection, for three days. No longer. But for the second item—I can’t risk twenty ships, or even partial crews, in a venture whose purpose I don’t know. I’m not Confleet, my mad young friend. I haven’t unlimited supplies of Falcons or trained crews to toss about.”

  Alex only nodded as he crossed one leg over the other. “How many are you prepared to offer?”

  Amik paused, studying him intently. Then, “Well, I might be able to spare . . . say, ten Falcons.”

  Alex frowned impatiently. “That isn’t enough. I do have another option open to me for solving this particular problem. I can let Confleet take care of it for me, but for reasons of my own, I prefer not to do so.”

  “Confleet? Ah, that was a piece of bravado, and hardly worthy of you.”

  “It wasn’t bravado. Amik, have I ever been less than honest with you in our haggling?”

  He shrugged. “Apparently not. Very well, I accept the existence of that rather fantastic alternative, but will Confleet provide accomodations for your guests?”

  Alex had to laugh at that. “No. Perhaps we should bargain on that point separately, and if so, I’ll retract the offer of the plasimask and present something else as my part of the exchange. I won’t give up the formula for a few day’s lodging for a handful of people.”