The Omcri Matrix

by Deborah Chester

  “But from this what learned you?” cried Tith. “Me, you hurt. What purpose had you?”

  “It was not my intention to hurt you. Tith, do you know what Omcris are?”

  Tith snarled, sick horror replacing the momentary clearness in his eyes. “Them I saw.”

  “Then you know they are bad creatures. And they serve something which is worse. That day when I met you, I was just trying to get help in order to stop them.”

  “But me you hurt.” Tith let his head fall back. He closed his eyes, looking drawn. “When I am grown, you will I hunt.”

  “It is your right.”

  Tith looked at him in startlement.

  “Yes.” Haufren met his gaze honestly. “I am trying to tell you that I was wrong in what I did to you. Just as my uncle was wrong. I wanted you to know why I hurt you so you would understand. I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

  “Give I shall not.”

  “What I do expect is your help. The Omcris have taken Costa away. We are going to bring her back. Will you help? You, like Silta, are a hunter.”

  For a moment Tith seemed to swell with pride at the compliment, then suspicion returned to his gaze. “She also gave hurt.”

  “The Omcris have possessed her. They made her do those things. Surely you sensed she was not herself.”

  Tith’s eyes fell. He looked embarrassed. “To know such things is not yet permitted. But…yes, this did I feel.”

  Haufren held out his hand again. “Will you help?”

  Tith sighed, looking thoroughly ashamed. “This cannot be done. Blood has been drawn. Between us is challenge. Trust me you cannot.”

  Haufren cocked his head to one side, not quite able to hide his smile. Deliberately he rubbed the back of his hand across his pants, smearing fresh blood into the old. “Do you know, I’ve been cut in so many places today I can’t remember whether you bit me or not?”

  For a moment there was silence, then Tith levered himself weakly out of the locker and wrapped his short arms around Haufren’s neck. Butting his round head under Haufren’s chin, he whispered:

  “If permitted it were to travel in time, back would I go to help you save your matre.”

  Without a word, Haufren picked him up and carried him outside where the rain had stopped once again. A pale mist curled around the trunks of the trees. It would be dark soon.

  Silta came up to eye him critically. “Brith, your face is wet.”

  Haufren nodded, letting his arms tighten briefly around the small body curled against him. “It’s raining,” he said and walked away toward the other sled.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nogales’ sled was slow but uncannily quiet. Duval piloted it with Nogales standing beside him. Tith had gone back to sleep, and Haufren sat at the rear, braced into the corner and wincing while Silta tended his cuts. Darkness came swiftly, and Duval switched on the powerful running lights, thus negating the advantage of the quiet air jets. White tendrils of fog curled back as though melted by the lights, and the warm air condensed on Haufren’s face as he glanced up constantly. He kept hoping for a cloud break. Even a glimmer of moonlight would be enough for Duval to steer by, and they could shut those damned lights off.

  “Be still,” said Silta, dabbing something which stung mercilessly onto Haufren’s arm. “Someday you will find yourself without me to patch you up, my friend, and then what will become of you?”

  Haufren made himself grin; it was better than groaning. “I have needed you plenty lately. Ouch!”

  “Be still.”

  Silta capped the antiseptic and tossed it back into the kit. Haufren sagged with relief, not sure the wounds were worse than the remedies. For a few moments they sat together in the darkness, listening to the gentle slap of leaves against the belly of the sled and the occasional scream of a night creature. Exhaustion lapped around the edges of Haufren’s mind. He thought of a good, contour bed in a safe, dry place with genjin wine and meatbread waiting on a little table nearby, and someone warm and gentle to companion him.

  “Silta,” he said, breaking the stillness. “This is foolish.”

  “Sleep,” said Silta sternly.

  “We need a full contingent of Rangers. If this really is an access point—”

  “We have three good men and a fool,” said Silta. “I sense many lies within Nogales.”

  “But—”

  “Exhaustion is speaking, not sense. We both have been in the corps long enough to know there is never an ideal situation in the field. We never have enough men, or enough warning, or enough supplies.” Silta laughed softly deep in his throat. “Are you not ready to be a hero yet again?”

  Haufren smiled wryly. “And you?” he countered. “How long until you grow tired of this hobby and go back to Zethia to be lord of the estate?”

  “When we face Omcris the boredom of endless protocol and matriarchal domination becomes most appealing.” Silta lifted a hand to smooth the fur between his ears. “Did I tell you the Fleet Council has been besieged by a contingent of howling Drughans seeking a direct reprimand of Fleet-admiral Vance? It seems they blame us for the loss of their Kublai. We did not provide adequate protection for His Supreme Glory.”

  “What?” said Haufren with mock surprise. “Defiled unbelievers protecting the Blessed One? Sacrilege!”

  “Mewling idiots,” said Silta, opening a ration packet and handing it to Haufren. “How conveniently they forget all their lodged complaints against Ranger activity. Well, this is their own fault. If they had not revived the cult of Kanta, the Omcris would not have had an opening.”

  “If not the Drughans, then some other race,” said Haufren, chewing without much enthusiasm. The contents of his packet were rubbery as well as tasteless.

  “Pfit!” said Silta with scorn. “No one else could be as stupid. I tell you, Brith, that my people used Drugh for a hunting ground long before the Kublai’s ancestors crawled from the dust. Now they lord themselves over the Commonwealth and cause these difficulties which they expect others to clean up. It is a great pity we cannot give them all to the Omcris, but I promise you this, my friend, they will not escape charges for what they did to you.”

  Haufren’s reply was cut off by the sudden descent of the sled. Perhaps twenty meters above the ground, Duval put the craft on hover, then with delicate maneuvers that had Nogales gripping his brace and Silta leaning forward with excitement, Duval eased the sled into a vast fork of a spreading tree. As soon as the jets cut, Silta inhaled deeply.

  “This spicy scent…so fragrant. What is it?”

  “A muyar tree,” said Haufren, frowning as Duval cut off the lights before he could get safely out of the sled onto a broad limb. He did not want to fall out of a tree again anytime soon.

  Silta, whose night vision probably equaled Costa’s, jumped out with sure agility. “It is a fine night for hunting.”

  Duval switched on a glowlight and then set out a sonic protector that made Silta hiss with annoyance. Tith woke up with a muffled cry.

  “We dare go no closer until dawn,” said Duval grimly.

  Ears flattened, Silta made a point of looking at Haufren. “Major?”

  Haufren nodded. “Duval is right. The night is no time to hunt Omcris. We’d better get what sleep we can.” He heard himself slurring his words and fought back a yawn. “Who will take the first watch? Silta?”

  “Acknowledged,” said the Zethian, and they settled into their makeshift camp.

  Dawn came gray and wet.

  Haufren awoke with a start at a touch on his sore shoulder. He sat up, rubbing the grit from bleary eyes, and found himself barely able to move as every muscle protested stiffly. “Silta,” he said angrily.

  The Zethian stopped arranging the fur over his eyes with a clawtip and shrugged. “What could Duval and I do, Brith? You would not wake up. A log would have been equally useful to us.”

  Haufren scowled, resentful of being in such bad shape that they had to make allowances for him. He limped over to the end
of the branch, glaring out into the dripping jungle. A delicate, rather pretty little creature he could not identify sat in the next tree, busily grooming its scarlet-tipped fur without fear of him. Haufren narrowed his gaze, focusing inwardly. He had to draw on all the reserves he had left. He had to put aside weariness and concentrate on the task ahead. Whatever they were about to face, providing they could find the trail at all, he had to be able to function, to perform. He could not afford to be slow. He could not afford to be careless.

  Finally he nodded to himself and turned around to face the others. Nogales and Tith squatted miserably beside each other with no visible friendliness between them as they shared rations. The light was growing stronger; objects were becoming more distinct as the fog curled back.

  “Are we ready?” he asked, holding his aching shoulders erect and making his voice crisp. “Then let’s move.”

  Half an hour later the sled landed on the southern perimeter of the ruined city. Haufren belted on a strifer and swung a light pack over his right shoulder. Squinting slightly against the thin spits of rain, he scanned the jumbled stone spreading out endlessly around him.

  “Duval,” he said. “Do you know the location of the temple or the Archives?”

  “I did,” said the patroller, frowning as he, too, looked around. “All the landmarks are gone. Whoever blew up the ruins did a thorough job. But we should head that way.” He pointed northwest.

  Haufren nodded. “You lead. Silta, I’ll carry Tith. You bring up the rear. Nogales, stick with me.”

  “I’ll carry on my own search, if you don’t mind,” said Nogales angrily. He drew his strifer. “You got here; now I’ll take my sled back and get on with my own affairs.”

  “Fool!” said Silta, flattening his ears. “You—”

  “Nogales, the Omcris must be stopped,” broke in Haufren urgently. “You’re an engineer. We may need you to design some way to block the transenders—”

  “Nonsense!” snapped Nogales. “Invasions from another galaxy and marauding Omcris are just a fantasy to mask your real activities, Ranger. Well, I’m not some starry-eyed child you can play protector of the universe to; I’m a man of some position. And there isn’t a merchant in any system that doesn’t know you Rangers are smuggling controlled substances across the galaxy and building up a vast storehouse of bullion on the Settle asteroids.”

  “What?” Duval blinked, his mouth falling open.

  Haufren and Silta exchanged looks, Haufren’s amused and Silta’s furious.

  “You dare much, human!” said Silta, starting for him, but Haufren threw out a hand to hold the Zethian back.

  “That rumor is at least a century old,” said Haufren. Regarding Nogales with contempt, he smiled and shook his head. “And I thought Playworld was a sophisticated planet with the most up-to-date information.”

  Nogales reddened, but he did not lower the strifer. “I’m taking the sled. I’ve got to find Jillian before it’s too late.”

  “If she were on the planet, we would have found her by now,” said Duval.

  Haufren’s eyes caught Silta’s. He let them flicker in a brief signal. Silta drew in a breath to show he understood.

  “We need you, Nogales,” said Haufren, stepping forward. “And we need that sled. I’ve walked out of this jungle once. I don’t intend to do so again.”

  “Stop there!” said Nogales shrilly, waving the strifer. “No tricks. I—” He broke off with a yelp of pain, staggering back and tripping over a stone block. The strifer clattered to the ground, and Haufren pounced on it.

  “Thanks, Silta!” he said over his shoulder.

  The Zethian’s slitted eyes remained locked on Nogales a moment longer until Haufren had straightened and walked a few steps away, then he lifted his head and blinked. Nogales pushed himself up groggily, outrage and fear warring across his fat-blurred features.

  “You…how dare you! Telepathy is forbidden here. The practice of it is a felony—”

  “Definitely a backward world,” said Silta, shrugging, and turned away to lift his pack off the sled. “Duval, is there sufficient concealment here or should we park the sled elsewhere?”

  Duval, who was eyeing both Silta and Haufren with revulsion, frowned and lifted a hand to rub the back of his skull. “I think it’s—”

  “Sistat!” shouted Tith. “No! No!” Breaking into a run, he butted his way past Haufren, who snatched at his furry arm.

  “Quiet, Tith!” he said, half in annoyance, half in alarm. “What is—”

  “Demon things! Before they wanted me. Go I shall not!” Wildly he flailed out at Haufren and wrenched free.

  “Tith! Damn it! Come back!” Haufren threw himself after the nib, but Tith darted between two huge stones and vanished.

  Cursing in Zethian, Silta leapt atop a leaning wall and crouched there with his ears flat and his round yellow eyes blazing. “Nothing! May Basa herself eat his dreams. Now I must hunt him—”

  “Mercy of Moii!”

  Haufren turned at that strangled whisper from Duval and found the patroller staring at the sky. Haufren glanced up, and immediately crouched down behind a rock with his heart hammering against his ribs. “Down! Everyone down! Silta!”

  But Silta was already rolling off the wall with liquid grace, reaching out with one powerful arm to drag Nogales down to cover with him. Together they all watched the Omcri float past overhead, pale robes billowing gently as though undampened by the falling drizzle. A thin scream reached them, and a figure writhed and struggled in the Omcri’s arms.

  “That…that’s one of my Ishuts,” whispered Nogales, gray-faced. “They know—”

  “Damn, of course they know.” Haufren clenched a fist in frustration. “Or they will as soon as that one gets back to the others. Come on!” He started to jump up, but Duval clamped a restraining hand on his shoulder.

  “Are you mad? We’ve lost the advantage of surprise. If they’re expecting us—”

  “That’s why we must go now, before they have time to organize something against us.” Pulling free, Haufren stood up, keeping a wary eye on the Omcri as it floated on. It was heading northwest. “We’ll follow it.”

  “It will sense us,” said Silta with a reluctance that showed plainly he agreed with Duval.

  “Not if you blanket our mental patterns.” Haufren looked at him impatiently. “You can shield us, can’t you?”

  Silta did not reply for a moment.

  “You’re not messing with my mind,” said Duval sharply.

  “Nor mine!” said Nogales.

  “You are both fools,” said Silta with regal annoyance. He swept out his hand. “The nib, Haufren. What about him?”

  Haufren frowned, hesitated, then regretfully shook his head. “We can’t wait for a search—”

  “Unnecessary,” said Tith’s gruff little voice. He edged into sight as they all jerked to glare at him. His ears drooped. “Shame I have. Good hunter I shall never be.”

  “Indeed it is doubtful,” said Silta angrily. “From now on you will stay close and do only what you are told. Understood?”

  Tith bowed his head. “Shilorr,” he said softly.

  “Right.” Haufren glared at Duval and Nogales. “Go along with Silta. He won’t hurt you. He won’t even be invading your thoughts. But if you are shielded you should be safe from the Omcris, even if they try one of their possession tricks.” Unsnapping his holster flap, he drew his strifer and charged it. “Let’s go.” Without looking back, he started after the Omcri.

  Within minutes, however, it descended and vanished from sight. Haufren, panting lightly from the quick pace he had set, paused and lifted a hand to wipe the rain from his face.

  “Damn,” he said under his breath. “Duval?”

  The patroller stumbled to a halt and took his bearings, looking strained and nervous under the shield guarding them all. To Haufren, who had been shielded before, it was no more than a slight pressure over his eyes. But the others probably were experiencing a fierce headac
he, worsened, no doubt, by their refusal to relax.

  “We are close to the Street of Souls,” whispered Duval hoarsely. Water collected in his thick eyebrows and spilled down into his eyes, making him blink with a violent start. “The Archives were located there…underground so as not to disturb the original architecture. And the street led to the temple. The Omcri probably went down there, or close by.”

  “Good.” Haufren shifted to one side. “Take the lead.”

  Grimly Duval moved ahead, his movements sure and quiet. Nogales stumbled awkwardly after him, hampered by his bulk and lack of fitness.

  Panting harshly, he glared at Haufren. “You shall regret this coercion, Ranger. I am a citizen of Playworld, a planet free of your jurisdiction. You’ll be taken to court so fast you will wish—”

  Haufren gave him a shove, tired of the man’s bluster. “Move on. And keep quiet.”

  Silta, bringing up the rear, glanced at him with eyes that were slightly unfocused with concentration. “We shall be probed,” he said softly, moving past Haufren without a break in stride.

  Haufren nodded. It was why he was taking up the rear position. His hand curled more tightly about the butt of his humming strifer. “Take care, my friend. And if our two fools go on fighting your help, protect yourself first.”

  The fur rippled along Silta’s strong back. He swept out his hand in an ancient gesture of contempt. “This is an evil place, Brith. Old power lingers strongly here.”

  There was no need to answer. Haufren felt it too.

  In silence they threaded their way through the rubble onto what had originally been a broad avenue lined by stone buildings. At one time it must have been impressive. Now the street was clogged by mounds of stone and petrified support timber from fallen walls and masonry. Ash and dust coating everything streaked and ran in streams of pale mud that clung greasily to their feet and made the going treacherous. Nogales slipped and fell full length, sending up a splash that drenched Silta. His cry echoed loudly down the street, freezing them all until at last an unnatural silence returned to the ruined city.