The Omcri Matrix

by Deborah Chester

  Haufren grinned. “So it did work. I thought it was a small chance at best, but since I couldn’t be sure I would be able to break into a communications line, I—”

  “When I taught you the process of mind touch, it was not to enable you to sunder a small nib! He is a Zauran, branched from one of the three oldest noble Zethian lines, and not to be tampered with!”

  “Silta,” said Haufren placatingly. “I thought you had little use for those old-fashioned societal structures. You said you—”

  “I have said many things,” broke in Silta with a rough burr, his eyes drawn to slits. “You fail to understand. Zauran nibs are extremely sensitive, with extraordinary mental abilities. But they are shielded from any mental training until they are nearly grown. You sundered a nib with the command to send me a message, but he couldn’t obey because he did not know how. Do you realize the torment you have caused him?”

  Haufren frowned, beginning to understand at last. “No, I didn’t realize. I merely saw what I thought was an opportunity, and I took it.”

  “Yes, just as you always do. This is Playworld, Major! These people are civilians, innocent, important civilians, and not scum from a backworld who don’t matter! Now how you got here, or what you are doing here is—”

  “I was captured on Regus,” said Haufren, glancing away with a muscle leaping in his jaw as he remembered that brief second of humiliation at being taken so easily just before the world became black for a very long time. “Simple reconnoitering, but I slipped up and was blasted for it. I ended up in a stasis box and was brought here by the Kublai of Drugh for a living sacrifice to Kanta.”

  Silta blinked, thrown momentarily by that rapid explanation. “You—”

  A soft thud and grunt made them both whirl. Silta whipped out his strifer, crouching in readiness, only to relax as a stocky man in the fatigues of a planet patroller ducked in under the tarp. He was breathing heavily, and his clothes were plastered to his body. His weathered face looked very grim beneath its dripping warrior’s braid. Something about his deep-set eyes and the way he moved reminded Haufren of Costa. He hoped she had had a better day than his, and he hoped her friend Duval was more eager to see her than Silta was him.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?” asked Silta.

  The patroller’s craggy face betrayed intense grief for a moment, then, with working jaw muscles, he glanced down and away. “Puce is dead. I found what the jungle left.”

  Haufren thought of the carpals waiting around him and shivered.

  “You were his prisoner.”

  Haufren looked up to meet those dark, grief-stricken eyes. “Yes.”

  “What caused the crash?”

  Silta stirred restlessly. He knew, thought Haufren. They all knew, but it had to be verbalized just the same.

  “I caused it.” Haufren made himself meet the swift, incredulous accusation in that gaze. Then he added, “Standard Ranger procedure, Pepe.”

  The patroller stiffened at the insult, and Silta put a swift hand on Haufren’s bruised shoulder, letting the claws dig in slightly.

  “Go easy, my friend. This is not the time for an arrogant display of Ranger superiority. The men were close fr—”

  “Oh, can that, Silta!” said Haufren, shaking off the restraining hand. “It’s about time these people were shaken up. Patrollers? Fleet cadets could do a better job!”

  “Haufren—”

  “We have protected this planet for three hundred years,” said the patroller angrily. “And we have never needed Ranger help or the Fleet. It is you who do not understand. You think because of your fancy reputation, you Rangers can fly in anywhere and take over operations, but we don’t need you. And we don’t need the trouble you bring!”

  “That is not what you said a few hours ago, Duval,” said Silta quietly.

  Haufren stiffened. “Duval! You’re Duval?” He sprang to his feet without waiting for the man’s nod. “Where’s Costa? Surely she told you—”

  “Costa is gone. The Omcris took her and Commander Janal. They killed the rest of the squad—” Duval’s voice suddenly broke, and he did not finish.

  “How could they? Did they attack your place? That’s not their usual style.” Haufren frowned, trying not to remember the fear which had grown daily in the girl’s eyes, the fear which he had occasionally fed when it served his purpose. “As long as she had injections of droxyhyazine, they couldn’t possess her.”

  Something in the defeated way Duval shook his head made Haufren’s stomach clutch. He gripped the man’s arm hard.

  “Fool! Didn’t you believe her? Didn’t you give her any?”

  “No.”

  Furious, Haufren lifted a hand to strike him, but Silta intervened.

  “That is enough, Brith! Sit down!” Silta pushed him to the floor with a strength that permitted no argument.

  “How could I believe her?” said Duval, anguish breaking through his gruff exterior. He spread out his hands. “She is charged with treason. I tried to do my duty by holding her until a squad from Beros could come. I didn’t realize the threat to Playworld, to all worlds. She was so anxious to talk to Puce. She knew he would believe her. He was possessed once by the Omcris, a long time ago as a child on Cygni Minor. His family was killed, but he underwent treatment and lived. It damaged his eyes, but he was freed of the poison. She knew he would help her. She thought I would help her, but I—”

  Abruptly Duval turned and ducked out into the rain. Silence stretched between Haufren and Silta.

  “I never realized,” said Haufren slowly, letting the implications sink through him like cold lead. “I thought Puce’s goggles were to protect nocturnal-oriented vision. He was on our side, would have been on our side if I could have convinced him to trust me. Instead, I tipped him out. I looked no further than the fact that he was hauling me into Beros Central and that once I was officially logged as being on Playworld, the old man would be fielding repercussions on all counts.” He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Demos, I’m tired. I’ve botched everything.”

  “Yes, you have,” said Silta severely. “Admiral Vance would can you if he could. Did it never occur to you, Brith, that you are human? That when you are ordered to rest it is for your own good? There are limitations to your species which you must observe. How many missions have you gone on this year? How much leave have you taken?”

  Haufren sighed wearily, not wanting to hear this. “Twice on the—”

  “Twice. Pfit!” Silta spread out his hands, showing the claws. “You were not even supposed to be on that mission to Regus.”

  “Vance gave me go-light.”

  “Conditional. You were to observe and coordinate only. Haufren, as a commander, you need to remember that you must obey orders occasionally, too.”

  “I told you I was captured,” said Haufren, leaning back against the pilot brace with a wince. There was not a place on his body that did not hurt. He fingered the burned rips in his left sleeve, finally remembering that Puce had shot him there. That was why his arm would not work.

  “Why were you captured?” asked Silta relentlessly.

  Haufren lifted his blue eyes angrily to those golden ones. “You can drop the interrogation, Captain. I see your point.”

  “I hope so,” said Silta. “I hope you have learned how much error can be done when you neglect yourself. You lose your reflexes, your timing, your edge, and your wits.”

  “You sound like a training video.”

  “Fool!” Silta reached for him, but Haufren was quicker and caught that slim, furred hand in midair. They strained against each other for a moment.

  “Slit my throat, you wild-tempered cat,” said Haufren breathlessly, “and there’ll be no Haufren V in the next century’s tradition.”

  Silta growled and backed away.

  “I know I have to account for my mistakes,” said Haufren. “But, Silta! Demos! Omcris are crawling all over this planet. We’re mere kilometers away from the ruins of the or
iginal Kanta site. It has to be a gateway, a transender access point. Now tell me the truth, my friend. Did you come here to drag me home for reprimands from the Fleet Council, or did you hope I’d found something at last?” He held Silta’s gaze with the old challenge in his eyes until Silta finally ducked his sleek head.

  “Know you already my answer,” he said quaintly, humor returning to his eyes, and gave Haufren a mock cuff. “As always you succeed in eluding trouble only because you are so damned good. Do you wish me to play doctor, or do you prefer the medical facilities on Beros? We’re cleared now. With Commander Janal abducted, the Directory can’t claim we have no justification for being here.”

  Haufren shook his head, forcing his mind back to the problems at hand. “Do your best patch job. We’ve got to move out as soon as possible.”

  Silta met his gaze. “Before the trail grows cold?”

  “Exactly.”

  “No one likes the hunt better than I, my friend, but if we are going to follow Omcris into their lair I think we need more than three men and a sick child.”

  “There isn’t time,” said Haufren impatiently. “They took Costa. We have to go now. Beros HQ will ask too many questions before they will raise squads for us. And, Demos, what if they want to go through treaty procedure for cooperation between unallied forces? Costa needs our help now, Silta.”

  Silta stared at him. “Why should an ignorant lieutenant from a small-scale patrol arouse such concern? You have brushed aside the local patrollers on a dozen worlds. You have brutally used a nib belonging to the line which currently claims the Zethian ambassador to Terra. You have likewise disposed of this man Puce, who could have been of invaluable help in many areas. What is your reason for this sudden change? Is she not expendable like these others?”

  “No,” said Haufren shortly, hating it when Silta decided to be eloquently scornful. “She’s tough, quick, resourceful, doesn’t whine, and never gives up. She saved my life a few times. I owe her. Understand?”

  “Quite,” said Silta, giving him a second measuring glance. “You are—”

  The angry spitting of strifer fire brought both of them out from under the tarp. Duval was just rising from a crouch, the smell of burning ozone curling about him into Haufren’s nostrils. Lying sprawled on the ground ahead was a skinny, scarred humanoid in a loincloth.

  “Ishut,” said Duval curtly, slamming his strifer into its holster.

  Silta pointed. “You will need your weapon again. There are more coming.”

  “I know.” Duval nodded. “They always travel in layers of advance scouts.”

  Haufren frowned and cocked his head. “Do I hear something? A sled?”

  “Hallucinations, my friend,” said Silta. “You have always been the deafest of our—”

  “I am afraid your friend is right this time,” said an unfamiliar voice from behind them.

  A man, grossly fat and caped in green fatigues, rain poncho, and thick boots, shouldered his way through the undergrowth into the clearing. Scrawny Ishuts with feral eyes and aimed spears flanked him, and he carried an illegal Omcri wand that was five times more deadly than a heavy strifer. Small dark eyes glittered from the folds of fat obscuring his face. And every line of him conveyed a man with angry, undeterrable purpose.

  Duval drew in a breath. “Wob Nogales.”

  Nogales gave him a slight nod. “Sergeant Duval. And these men?”

  “Rangers,” said Duval. “What brings you into the jungle? Where’s your guide? Are you on permit?”

  “My daughter is missing,” said Nogales, sweeping aside the official questions. “Janal can’t find her or won’t find her. I get nothing from his office. Now I find that patrollers have broken into my villa on Lilliput and stolen personal property—”

  “You will be charged for kidnapping the Kublai and starting this mess,” said Duval angrily.

  Wob colored. “The Kublai had no business coming here with his crazy ritual. The Directors were insane to give him a permit. I couldn’t let him ruin my empire, and what I have done to protect it is not the affair of you patrollers!”

  “We didn’t take the Kublai from you, Wob,” said Duval. “Omcris did.”

  “Omcris!” Wob blinked in surprise. “Nonsense! They—”

  “They took Costa. And they took Janal,” said Duval, his voice growing ragged. “Don’t interfere further, Wob. We have a great deal to do.”

  “Then perhaps they took my daughter. I have to find her! She can’t live without her medical equipment and supports. Her power cells will be drained. She—”

  “Go home, Wob. Jillian is probably somewhere having a good time. You won’t find her in the jungle.”

  “I intend to search every inch of this planet until I find her. You, patroller, are hereby assigned to assist me.”

  Haufren scowled. “You’re intruding in military jurisdiction. You—”

  Something large and sleek whispered overhead. Haufren broke off in astonished admiration as the gleaming new sled landed beside them. A drone piloted it, and it was loaded with equipment.

  “It’s practically silent!” said Haufren. “Where—”

  “I redesigned the engines,” said Nogales impatiently. “A hobby. Now, Duval, it is time to—”

  “Are you prepared to shoot me if I fail to comply?” asked Duval flatly. He sounded like a man who had reached the end of his patience. “We are facing an Omcri invasion, Wob. I can’t look for Jillian right now, and you would be better off going home before you get yourself lost or in trouble out here. She isn’t in the jungle. You know that.”

  “I am a father, Duval. As you are. Would you leave one of your children until later? Invasion or not, I can’t! I can’t sit at home waiting. I have to do something.”

  “Go home,” said Duval. His dark eyes shifted to Silta. “He can take the little one to Beros where there are facilities—”

  “No,” said Haufren suddenly, his mind clicking over into gear. “There isn’t time. Mr. Nogales, you said you redesigned that sled’s engines as a hobby. Where did you gain the knowledge?”

  Nogales frowned. “I began as an engineer on—”

  “Fine. You might be useful.” Haufren straightened up and began issuing orders. “We’ll need that sled. Silta, take charge of unloading its cargo. The Ishuts can do it.”

  “But my daughter may need that equipment!” said Nogales angrily. “She may be dying!”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” said Haufren firmly as Silta moved over to the sled and beckoned to the Ishuts. “If we don’t find some way to stop the Omcris and what they’re bringing, we may all soon be dying. Duval, unload what we need and conceal your sled somewhere in the trees where it will be safe. Can we leave Tith with these Ishuts?”

  Duval and Nogales both looked at him as though he were mad.

  “No,” said Duval.

  “My men go with me,” said Nogales.

  “Not a chance,” said Haufren. “Ishuts are too susceptible. The Omcris could turn them against us before we knew what was happening.”

  Nogales was still shaking his head, but Duval moved closer to Haufren.

  “They might eat the little one,” he said in an undertone. “He is not human; they might not understand.”

  “Very well.” Haufren sighed, aware that he was not going to get out of his responsibility toward what happened to the nib. Silta had been right to reprimand him, but he honestly hadn’t known. Now, Silta might soon have more reason to be furious with him if he hauled Tith into danger once again and something worse befell the child. Slowly Haufren limped back under the tarp and opened the locker.

  Tith’s round, pain-glazed eyes stared up at him.

  Haufren found he could not meet the accusation in that gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly and laid a hand on the little shoulder.

  Tith spat fiercely and sank sharp milk-teeth into his hand, biting deep until he drew blood. Choking off a cry, Haufren jerked back his hand. He knelt there a moment, watching the scarlet drops
well up in fat globules as he tried to reach within himself for more than just words. Down deep, buried beneath the layers of unwanted memory, lay the visions of his own childhood hurt and betrayal. It had been a long time since he had dredged them up; even now, a part of him rose in protest to block them away.

  “Tith,” he said softly beneath the splatter of rain on the tarp. “I was born on a colony planet very far from here. The people were very cultured and civilized. They abhorred violence of any kind, and my mother was scorned for her alliance with a Ranger. I despised my father too and avoided him when he came to visit us. But when I was about your age civil war was declared on my world. My mother’s brother and some of his best friends, men I loved and admired, decided that my mother was a bad influence upon society and that her love for a Ranger had brought violence to our world. My uncle was my hero, but he betrayed my mother and let his friends make a political scapegoat of her.

  “It was a day of the growing season, when the sun was shining out brightly and warm. There were few warm days on that world, and I remember pulling on my boots with such excitement I laced them wrong. I remember seeing my uncle from the window. He was coming up to the house with other men. I waved to him, and although he saw me, he did not wave back.”

  Haufren swallowed, his voice rough. “Tith, they pulled us from the house and they tortured my mother and…me. I lived, but she did not. I remember watching my uncle’s face while they clubbed my mother, striking her again and again. He felt every blow as though he were being struck himself, but he made no move to stop the atrocity. He wanted people to hate again, to fight again, to undo all the principles of their civilization so that they would follow his new order.

  “He was wrong. Peace never came again. Those who did not leave the planet were eventually destroyed with it. I hated him as I have never hated anyone else. Every time I thought of him, every time I looked at something which he had given me, or remembered something he had taught me, there was pain. I could never understand how he could have done that to us, not even when I finally understood why.

  “I vowed I would spend my life putting an end to evil and to war and to treachery. That’s why I went to my father and became a Ranger like him and his father before him.”