The Omcri Matrix

by Deborah Chester

  Animal musk fogged her nostrils, and she stiffened at the soft pad-pad of big paws. Consciously she overcame panic and kept pulling until the man was safely up in the branches. She anchored the line with a spike driven into the trunk, and sprang up into the tree seconds before a low cough warned her of the kicat’s spring. One gigantic paw brushed her back, the claws ripping her tunic as she hauled herself desperately up to the low branches. The kicat growled loudly, snarling and slapping the heavy metal box about. Costa climbed higher until the tree swayed from her weight, then clung there trembling for a long while, her face mashed against the rough bark which stank of mextle droppings.

  Not until the kicat left did she find the strength to set about pulling the man up to her level. Her back ached, and her muscles were so spent they trembled uncontrollably. Twice she slipped and nearly let him plummet to the ground below, but finally she got him wedged safely into a fork of the tree and tied him there with her line. Sinking down on a narrow branch with her back against the trunk and her legs dangling, Costa wiped her streaming face with her arm and opened the pack. Seconds later she found the switch on the sonic protector, and the little unit hummed into life, making her teeth itch and her frayed nerves unravel more. But at least now she could relax her guard against tree predators.

  She switched the torch on the man for her first good look at him. He was still wet, and in the steamy heat of the night he was unlikely to dry. His dark head was tipped back, dangling past the fork of the tree, so that all she could see of his face were the sharp angles of his cheekbone, nose, and beard-stubbled chin. But he wore the plain gray uniform of a Ranger, a real one this time.

  “Mercy of Moii,” she breathed, her eyes widening as she counted the stripes of silver braid on his sleeve. She touched his hand. He was slightly warmer than before.

  He stirred, moaning, and her grip tightened on his arm.

  “Easy, Major.”

  Blood seeped up through the gray tunic, dulling the silver braid with an ugly stain that looked black in the dim light of her torch. His lean, hawkish features twisted with pain, but as she pulled open his tunic he opened his eyes.

  “No, Garth—” A shudder ran through him, and white suddenly ringed his clamped lips.

  “Don’t talk.” She frowned, hot blood running over her hand as she pressed it to the spongy mess of his side.

  Obviously the box had possessed some sort of stasis unit to keep him alive, and now that he was out of there she had better work fast if he were going to live long enough to give her any answers. Unbuckling her belt, she pulled off her tunic. The cloth was lightweight but tough, fashioned to withstand the abuse of her profession. With a grimace she took her cutter to it, slicing the cloth into strips which she knotted together. The sleeves were torn off and folded into a pad which she bound over the wound, pulling the edges as close together as she could. After an initial jerk, the Ranger passed out again, to her relief. She was no medic, and the less he experienced of her rough handling the better.

  He lay stuffed into the tree fork like a rag, but short of untying him she did not see how she could make him more comfortable. And if she did untie him, he was likely to roll out and fall. Desperately she crouched beside him, staring at his pale, drawn face. He was very bad. With a sigh she dug into the medikit, searching for something, anything she could give him that might help.

  “Damn it!” she said aloud, becoming frantic. “Didn’t those fools pack anything useful?”

  “Droxyhyazine,” he whispered, startling her into dropping the kit. Only a quick snatch saved it from falling to the ground below.

  She stared at him. “What?”

  “Droxyhyazine will stop it from spreading,” he said, his eyes shut and his voice barely audible. “Blue nodule…usually clipped in with the painkillers.”

  Her hand closed on it in puzzlement. “You need a coagulant, not a stimulant.”

  “Both, then. But the droxyhyazine first.”

  “Look, Major, you don’t—”

  He gripped her wrist with a hand that was icy cold, and opened his eyes to glare at her with an arrogance that even pain and loss of blood could not diminish. “Am I cold?”

  “Yes.” She frowned. “You’re losing blood—”

  He grimaced with impatience and forced her hand against his side. “No! There! Am I cold there? You know what Omcri poison does. Did they get to me?” A shudder ran through him, and he fell back with a ragged gasp.

  His torso was lean and rock hard with muscle. Several white scars marked the skin, but there was nothing more. She scowled, deciding he was delirious, and gave him a full dose of coagulant.

  “You have a hole in your side big enough for me to put a fist through, but that’s all I see.”

  He mumbled something she could not understand, but the relief in his voice was plain.

  She crouched there on the limb beside him for a moment, then said, “Will you identify yourself, Major?”

  He moved restlessly, but did not reply.

  “Please!” She shook his arm. “It is important that I find out all I can about the Kublai. Why were you an intended sacrifice? How were you captured? And where? Can you answer any of my questions? Please try!”

  Somewhere in the distance an animal screamed in death, then silence blanketed the jungle once again. The major was unconscious. Sighing, Costa crouched down on the limb with her back against the main trunk and gingerly stretched out her wounded leg. It throbbed viciously, but she made no move to attend to her hurts or even to dig through the pack for rations. Exhaustion washed over her. The man was probably dying; by dawn she would be alone in the wild, always hostile jungle.

  The sharp bite of a needlewing jerked her awake. She sat up, wincing at the crick in her neck, and exclaimed in anger as she realized she had fallen asleep with the glowlight shining wastefully in her lap. Another needlewing bit viciously. She slapped at it and dug out a spare tunic from the pack. Her singlet was glued unpleasantly to her skin, and the failing light of the torch made the sweat shimmer on her bare arms like drops of oil. The pinprick on her right forearm had become an angry spot circled faintly with a thin dark line. Alarmed, Costa touched it hesitantly. The skin was cold and slightly withered as though it had received a freeze burn.

  Omcri poison? She regarded the major as she pulled on the oversized tunic. Then at the buzz of more needlewings, she hastily switched off the light.

  For an instant the darkness made her feel as though she had been swallowed by something feral. A dozen different musks marking territories warred with the fetid scent of rotting earth, yet when it stirred the warm breeze brought her the clean, spicy smell of muyar leaves. By feel she fumbled through the pack and managed to pour herself a welcome cup of cold gel.

  The weight of the communicator on her belt recalled her at last to her duty, and she was just thumbing it on when the major moaned.

  “Water?”

  Guiltily she choked on the last swallow of her gel. Switching the glowlight back on, she poured out more and held the cup awkwardly to his lips. He gulped avidly, then coughed and spat part of it out.

  She grinned. “I know. The taste is something you learn to ignore. Drink it all. It’s full of supplements.”

  He obeyed her, grimacing, then let his head fall weakly back. His eyes were dark hollows in the muted light, and a clammy sweat glistened on his forehead.

  “Identify yourself.”

  She looked at him. “That was my request first, Major.”

  He shrugged. “I wear a Ranger’s uniform with the stripes of a major on it. That’s enough data on me for now. Who are you, and what planet is this?”

  She didn’t like being on the receiving end of an interrogation, but she supposed, considering the fate that had been recently intended for him, that he deserved to have a few of his questions answered.

  “This is Playworld. I am Lieutenant Costa, of the Planet Patrol. From appearances, the Kublai of Drugh intended to offer you as an illegal sacrifice in the an
cient ruins of Kanta, which are located about fifteen kilometers from this point.”

  He frowned, obviously trying to fight off his weakness. “And you rescued me? But how did you know—”

  “The expedition was attacked and massacred this afternoon. The Kublai appears to have been abducted. In searching the remains of the camp I discovered you.”

  “Oh.” His eyes flickered. “Lucky chance, then. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

  “No, it was not lucky chance,” she said through gritted teeth. “The Kublai was set up for today’s attack. And as squad leader, I am responsible for his safety. Now, identify yourself, Major, and tell me how you came to be in that box.”

  He laughed weakly. “Report to a local Pepe? Slinny-loo, you are out of your mind. I don’t fall under your jurisdiction.”

  Her eyes heated to a bright, hard topaz. She glared at him, swallowing down the insult because she had to, and thumbed on her communicator to far range.

  In the distance an orph bellowed to a chorus of answers. The moon, so renowned for its beauty, hung far overhead as a pale, useless sliver, but the wind had risen slightly, lifting some of the oppressive heat.

  “Squad four-niner to Beros Central.”

  “Don’t report in!” he said sharply enough to make himself wince.

  “Why?” She lowered the communicator to look at him suspiciously. “Since I have no jurisdiction over you, Major, perhaps you will find my commander—”

  “No,” he said through his teeth. “This is a security matter.”

  She frowned in exasperation. “You can’t slap security over this. Squad four-niner to Beros Central—”

  “Don’t be a fool! This isn’t some common tourist you’ve lost and must report in—”

  “There are no common tourists on Playworld,” she said, losing her patience. “But, yes, all the more reason to report in to Janal. Someone has got to get out here before the carrion eaters remove all clues of who these attackers were. A team needs to be dispatched after the Kublai. And the ports have to be sealed. We—”

  “He won’t be taken off-planet.”

  “You sound very sure.”

  “Does Playworld have Kanta archives?”

  “Yes, a socio-religious study group was given permission last year to come in along with a team of archaeologists. But the origin of Kanta temple worship has nothing to do with—”

  “It has everything to do with this. Stop meddling in things you do not understand.” He tried to sit up and failed. “Why am I trussed up like someone’s dinner?”

  “So you won’t fall out of the tree.” She shone the light briefly into his face and saw the sheen of fever there. Needlewings swarmed in, and she slapped violently as she boosted her communicator and tried again.

  Finally a crackle of static answered her.

  “This is Beros Central, four-niner. Limited communications from this mark.”

  A low beep sounded, infuriating her as she realized she had been relegated automatically to a drone connection. Throwing aside caution and code regulations, she said tersely:

  “Emergency priority to Janal. Mark: Kublai abducted. Mark: four-niner expedition destroyed. Repeat: four-niner expedition destroyed. Respond priority requested.”

  Static replied, and she grimaced impatiently as she waited for the message to be routed. Janal was probably at home in bed. But, by Demos, if she got hooked up to that idiot subordinate…

  “Lieutenant?” Janal’s clipped, unmistakable voice responded faster than she had expected.

  “Lieutenant, you’re writing your death warrant if you mention me,” said the Ranger very softly.

  “Commander, this is four-niner,” she said without glancing at him. She rubbed her gritty eyes and wished for stolid Duval at her side now, Duval and Puce and Rebo.

  “Costa, switch to open channel beta.”

  Costa jerked to alertness. “Commander, I do not advise. Monitored communications—”

  “Disregard and switch, Lieutenant.”

  She had no choice but to comply, uneasiness crawling through her gut.

  “Now, what the devil is going on out there?” demanded Janal, suddenly coming in much more plainly. “I thought Central could depend on you to keep that expedition out of trouble.”

  “Uh, sir!” she responded blankly, disconcerted by the oddness of that remark. Janal must know he was being snooped, and if so, he was warning her in the only way he could.

  “Is Mah Bessam there? Put him on!”

  “That’s a negative, Commander. The Mah has apparently been abducted along with the Kublai.”

  “The sule of the Kublai’s guard?”

  “Dead. Everyone else is dead, sir. However, I did find an officer of the Rangers inside the box marked for the official sacrifice—”

  “What was that?” he asked through a sudden blast of static. “Repeat transmission.”

  She frowned, her uneasiness growing. Interference on an open channel usually meant someone was monitoring it. The attackers had obviously thought they left no survivors. Was she now informing them otherwise? “Sir, on this channel I prefer not to—”

  “That was an order, Lieutenant!”

  Sighing, she relayed all that had happened. “As for this major, sir, he refuses to identify himself or explain—”

  “Put him on.”

  She pulled herself upright, teetering slightly on the branch, to hand the communicator to the Ranger. But his eyes were shut, sunk in deeply in a face that had gone gray.

  “Major!” She shook him in annoyance, but he made no response.

  “I find it hard to credit such a report…” Janal was saying through another burst of static. “…unlikely. The Kublai had cleared all points of the ceremony with our regulations. Where is this Ranger, Costa? Put him on, if he exists.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” she had to say. “He’s unconscious and severely wounded. Sir, please. This massacre must be investigated as soon as—”

  “Yes, massacre is a very good term for it,” said Janal coldly, clipping the words. “Did you sell the planned coordinates of the expedition to the Omcri in the wineshop, Lieutenant?”

  “Sir!” She gasped, the accusation hitting her like a punch in the stomach.

  “That expedition was the only one cleared for Jungle Sector C. No one could have possibly tracked you so quickly or so easily had they not been given the coordinates. I realize that you’ve been bitterly disappointed in your ambitions, Lieutenant, but I thought the Directors could count on your loyalty. Instead you have permitted a small personal setback to destroy your good sense. Not only have you exchanged the safety of an important personage for your own gain, but you have sacrificed the lives of your squad as well.”

  “Commander, I—”

  “You will of course be stripped of all rank and privilege as soon as you return to Beros. At that time I expect you to surrender yourself to security for trial. Also, you will—”

  Costa thumbed off the communicator with a snarl, her insides heaving as the hurt and bitter anger plunged deep. She stared blindly at the communicator for a moment, then smashed it to bits with the butt of her strifer.

  “Wasn’t that a bit drastic?”

  Her head jerked up to find the major’s eyes glittering at her. She started to lash out at him, then threw the ruined communicator into her pack with force. “Janal set me up. For years he was my mentor, almost a father to me. He knows I would never betray my duty. He knows!”

  “But you were tempted?”

  She stiffened. “Ranger, you dare too much! A warrior is tempted often, but seldom bites. You, on the other hand, have many things to account for. You are here on a non-Commonwealth planet without authority. Your physical condition may gain you some leniency for this infraction of treaty, but when I take you back to Beros, you can stand in the Hall of Accusations.”

  His eyes, opaque and smudged into deep shadows by pain, never faltered from hers. “But you aren’t taking me back, are you? Because you aren’t go
ing back yourself.”

  Blood thundered in her ears, and she bared her teeth grimly. “I will not be framed by those flin, whoever they are! No, Ranger. I will not go back until I have found the Kublai and my justification.”

  A mirthless smile just barely pulled at his lips. “Good. Those who are out in the cold rarely fail, do they, Lieutenant?”

  “No,” she replied and bleakly switched off the glowlight.

  Chapter Four

  Jillian Nogales hastened down the deserted Street of Souls, afraid of the dark pools of shadow where anything might lurk in this hour before dawn, but determined to let nothing stop her. The silence was absolute as though only death lay cold within the windowless buildings lining the stone-paved street. And in that unnatural quiet her straining ears could clearly hear the soft whir of the suspensors artfully concealed beneath her town robe. Her hand clenched within its wide sleeve…concealment, artifice, dependency. How she hated this gnarled, rippled body which imprisoned her with its defects! But soon, very soon, she would be free.

  Impatience clawed at her throat, but she could go no faster without upsetting the gravity balance of the suspensor which evened out her limping gait into a smooth sway. Some of her father’s numerous acquaintances found her odd walk seductive. Others of more perception looked at her with pity.

  She hated pity! She would kill to keep it away!

  A red door glowed at her. She halted before it, panting, and rapped once. Stone grated quietly on stone as it slid aside. She lurched through, her weak heart hammering painfully against the delicate walls of its sealant, and the door grated back into place with a thud that boomed against the total darkness surrounding her. The place was cold enough to make her shiver despite her body temperature regulators, and the air she breathed in was still and ancient like that of a tomb. Was it to be her tomb?

  Panic made her whirl back to the door, but with an effort she caught herself, forcing up her head and drawing in deep breaths until she grew calm again. No one must see her fear.

  She waited another minute to make sure her resolution was like armor, then she pressed the small button on her wristband. There was no immediate response, and the darkness stood around her like a wall. But at last, just when she grew angry at the delay, a dim glowlight flickered to life before her like the opening of a blood-red eye. She squinted at the hooded shape which formed from the shadows and approached her soundlessly. It passed within centimeters of her, chilling her as the cold of its being touched the flesh of her cheeks. Her nostrils wrinkled at the musty scent of ice and dried leaves, but when the creature lifted an arm to beckon, she followed it across the blood-shadowed courtyard into a low tunnel and the flame-illumined chamber beyond.