“First name I looked for. Used it to break the encryption code. Used to think he only had two or three ships and we got one of them. I thought wrong. We need to be able to track these suppliers back to their source. The last message we received from you,” he reminded Axylel, “was that you were close to the source.”
“Was it?” Axylel shook his head in confusion. “The last thing I remember was—I don’t remember the last thing I remember.”
“I spoke to the captain a few minutes ago,” Pilsane said. “Managed to find out the suppliers’ names just after I talked to him. Thought I’d run them past you and see if they shake out any memories before speaking to him again.”
“And he’s sure to be here to talk to me himself pretty soon,” Axylel said. He closed his eyes for a moment, and an expression of weary resignation made him look years older. “He’s going to get into my head.”
“There’s a lot in there you don’t want him to know,” Martin said.
“Don’t want anyone to know,” Axylel said, looking at Pilsane. “Don’t want to know myself.”
“Sit down.” Pilsane gestured toward the chair by the computer console. “Start by going over the list. Maybe that’ll jog a memory.”
So you won’t have to do it for him, Martin thought. He retreated to sit on a bed as Axylel sat down reluctantly to study the datacube. Pilsane moved away from the computer and joined Martin on the bed. They sat and watched Axylel. After a few moments Martin turned his attention away from the young man’s tense profile and ran a scanner over Pilsane, who frowned at him.
“About time you got off the Rust regimen, don’t you think?” Martin asked. “I think I should call Roxy down to heal you.” He checked a chrono. “She’s had plenty of time to rest.”
“You want to get her away from Pyr,” Pilsane guessed.
“I am showing a doctor’s concern for you as a patient with a terminal illness,” Martin replied. “Yes. I want her away from Pyr. Permanently.”
“Not going to happen.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“You and I both.”
Martin took exception to Pilsane’s comment. “She’s a wonderful woman. Gentle. Civilized. Far too good for pirate scum like Pyr.”
Pilsane stroked his jaw. “I’m referring to the psychopathic witch Pyr left here with. Who are you talking about?”
“Same woman, different point of view.”
“Good-looking woman.” Pilsane continued to stroke his jaw. He smiled.
A rush of heat went through Martin at the thought of Roxy, blonde and buxom and legs that went up to—”Yeah,” he said. “Good-looking woman. That Tinna, though,” he went on as a buzz of pleasure went down his spine and settled into a hard ache in his groin. “Now, that’s a fine-looking woman.”
Pilsane ran his hands through his long hair and shook his head. He and Martin exchanged a look. “Warm in here,” he said.
“Yeah.” Martin leaned back and supported himself on his hands. He looked at the ceiling as a burst of desire shot through him. Heat sizzled along nerve endings. Lust, yes. Unquestionably. Great stuff. But that wasn’t all it was. There was something else in the air. Intense. Edgy—but—nice. Warm, but not fuzzy. Romantic. Didn’t stop him from getting horny, though. He continued to look at the ceiling. He heard a sharp intake of breath beside him. “You hard, Pilsie?”
“Definitely.”
“Think there’s an orgy going on somewhere and we weren’t invited?”
Pilsane grunted.
“You want to know what’s going on?” Not that Martin didn’t have a good idea. There was a powerful telempath on board the Raptor. Best guess was she was getting laid. By a very powerful telepath. Very rude of them, not keeping their thoughts and feelings to themselves—or at least inviting everybody else to the party.
Or—
They didn’t know what they were doing and couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop what?
Martin sat up, and fought down the arousal with all the will he could muster. “Bonding.” He shot a frantic look at Pilsane. “You know what it feels like when your people bond?”
Pilsane’s fair complexion was already flushed, now his skin went bright red. “None of your business, demon!”
At the same instant Axylel surged to his feet, sending the chair flying. “Father!” he shouted over Pilsane’s outrage, and ran for the door.
Martin and Pilsane rushed out close on his heels.
———
Linch was already standing outside Pyr’s door when they reached the captain’s quarters. Mik came hurrying up a few seconds later. Linch squarely blocked the door, and the look he gave them dared them to try to get by him.
“What’s going on in there?” Mik demanded. They all looked at him and he went bright red beneath his white hair. “I know what’s going on—but what’s happening?”
“Bonding,” Linch said, smiling his thin smile.
Was that a hint of regret Martin saw in the pilot’s eyes, along with joy that could only be called fierce? Interesting relationship Pyr had with his crew. “That’s my sister-in-law in there,” he pointed out to the man who’d set himself up as guardian of the gate. “I would very much like to go in there and put a stop to what’s happening.”
“Why?” Linch asked.
“Could you?” Pilsane wanted to know.
“Should you?” Mik asked. “We’ve been wanting Pyr to find a companion for years. He shouldn’t be alone.”
Pilsane turned on the engineer. “But bonded! She’s a demon!”
“She hasn’t saved your life yet,” Mik said. “You’ll change your mind about her after she fixes you.”
“She’s family,” Martin told the aliens. “My family. And I want it stopped.”
“Too late,” Linch said. The thin smile widened into an evil grin.
Martin knew it was true. The sizzle and shimmer in his brain and body was quickly fading into a pleasant afterglow. He wanted to smile, to wish everyone well, maybe even hug all these elf-eared alien in-laws. If he’d had some rice, he would have thrown it.
And he wanted to shout in outrage, and to change the steps that led him to this door. She was a little sister he’d dragged into danger. This was his fault. But he could have done nothing else with so much at stake.
“Why not an outworlder? Who but an outworlder?” Mik said to Pilsane. “The five of us are all more like the outworlders than we are the People, aren’t we?” He clapped Martin on the shoulder. He was a huge man, with a hard hand. “Welcome to the clan, little brother.”
Martin was about to argue with Mik, and Pilsane looked ready to protest as well, but the door to Pyr’s quarters opened before anyone spoke and everyone’s attention instantly shifted. Pyr was dressed, Martin noticed, but he looked distinctly disheveled. He didn’t look particularly happy at being disturbed, either. Then he looked at Axylel and his expression changed to one of profound pleasure. He spoke a few words in the language that made Martin’s translator implant buzz. The implant was an organic AI device, and Martin was certain it was annoyed at not recognizing the language of the People. Axylel set off more buzzing when he answered his father.
Then Pyr said in Standard, “Come in,” and everyone in the hall hurried into the captain’s quarters.
Roxy was seated in a chair, calm and regal as she worked her waist-length hair into a thick braid. She had the purple and gold cloth wrapped around her sarong-style. She was not looking inutterably smug, as Martin had somehow expected her to. She did smile when she saw him, and there was something new and sweet in it. No, not new. Her open happiness reminded him of the kid he’d known back on Terra, before the war and Eamon Merkrates took their toll on her. He wanted to ask if being bonded constituted an official divorce, but didn’t think this was the place to bring up the subject.
“May I be the first to offer my congratulations,” he said instead. Martin didn’t know if he meant it, but it was too late to protest the inevitable.
She fi
nished the braid and tossed it over her shoulder. “I was prepared for an argument, Martin, not meek acceptance. Can’t I even whine about how it’s all your fault?”
“I know it is. I should never have forced you to leave Bonadem.”
She folded her hands in her lap. “Actually, this is all probably Racqel’s fault. It would have helped if she’d specified which great warrior I was going to end up with. Of course, if you hadn’t talked me into trying to teleport… You weren’t lying to me about the telepathic spy, were you?” She stood up. “Cause if you were—”
Martin held his hands up before him. “That was the truth. I swear it on your sister’s honor.”
“Which sister?”
“Racqel.”
She sat back down. “Okay. I believe you.”
Martin began to comprehend the seriousness of what had happened. There were lots of different ways telepaths linked with lovers, but only one that involved teleporting. Of all the telepathic races, koltiri were the only ones he knew of that could teleport. Sometimes, telepaths from other species were able to join them in that space between space where koltiri went when they teleported. Join them and bring them home. If they were meant to. He understood about shalsae and how it came about—hadn’t Reine and Rafe been fighting against it for years? No Shirah wanted that sort of connection after what had happened to their parents. If Roxy hadn’t looked so happy, he might have apologized again.
“We have a great deal to do,” Pyr interrupted any further conversation between Martin and Roxy. “A great deal to talk through.”
Pyr came to stand beside Roxy, his hand on her shoulder. The room wasn’t small by ship standards, but it wasn’t big enough that seven people could fit into it with enough psychological space to be comfortable. They all moved as far apart in the confined space as possible; Mik sat on one side of the bed, Linch in the room’s other chair, Pilsane leaned against a table, and Martin perched on a cabinet.
It was no surprise to Martin that Axylel was the one who stood by the door. The way the young man looked at Roxy was surprising. Martin could have understood hatred, hostility, anger, curiosity, or even masculine interest in the woman who was so intimately involved with his father. Axylel exhibited none of those understandable reactions to Roxy. Instead, he looked at her with a strange brightness in his eyes and a numb expression on his handsome young face, as though gazing upon the source of some great revelation.
Martin watched him for a few moments, while everyone else in the room waited for Pyr to speak. Martin broke the tense silence instead. “What?” he asked Axylel.
“Meek.” Axylel’s gaze swiveled to him. “She called you meek.” His shudder was violent and visible. “Are you one of them?”
“One of what?”
“The Meek. Are you? Will you die meek and—”
“Blessed.” Roxy, Pyr, and Pilsane spoke the word as one. Roxy and Linch jumped to their feet.
Pyr slapped his left palm against his forehead. “I’m an idiot.” He held his hand out in front of him, staring at it. He flexed it into a fist.
“That’s an Orlinian expression,” Pilsane said. He glared at Roxy. “How do you know about Orlin?”
“Where?” Martin asked.
Mik got up and went to Axylel. The young man was very pale. Mik helped him into the chair Linch had vacated. “You’re remembering. Good. What do you remember about Orlin?” he asked Axylel. His words were gently urging, and Martin knew Mik was being as gentle with telepathic probing, helping Axylel open the door Roxy’s words had cracked.
Linch also stared at Roxy. “I heard you speak of meekness recently, but I had forgotten where I’d heard the saying before.”
“Sagoura,” Roxy said. “The person who brought the plague into the United Systems. He said he died meek and blessed.” She looked at Pyr. “What do you know about this?”
“Not enough.” He looked to Pilsane. “I don’t pay much attention to those crazy fanatics.”
“My job,” Pilsane agreed. He turned to Axylel. “This Sagoura was one of the Meek? Is it the death cult that’s spreading the disease?” Axylel was wide-eyed with shock as buried memories rushed to the surface, but he nodded.
Pyr went to his son and knelt in front of where Axylel sat. He made sure he had Axylel’s undivided attention before he said, “Tell me.”
“The whole thing led me in a circle,” Axylel answered. “I was able to make them believe I had defected, that I wanted to get in on the Rust trade and take over the border. No one ever doubted my motives. They knew your reputation, that you’d come looking for me. I was the one who suggested using your hunt for me as a trap for you.” He laughed. “I was certain I would find the information and get away before any trap could be sprung. I went from dealer to dealer, helped deliver shipments, got closer to the source each day. I finally met Persey. He claimed to be the top man and the source of it all. Got into his head as much as I could, planted the notion that he wanted to introduce me higher up the line, and he bit.” He laughed soundlessly. “Took me back to Orlin. Got into one of the priest’s orgies. His priestesses are the ones who know how to bite.”
“I know,” his father said. “Mine put poison on her teeth.”
“They make the Rust and store it in the temple,” Axylel went on. “But the priest isn’t the one in charge. Neither is Persey.”
“They work for a Trin,” Martin said. He and Roxy exchanged a look, sure of what they knew no matter how Axylel responded.
Axylel looked Martin’s way briefly. “Do Trin look like Kith?” Martin nodded. “Then they work for a Trin. He lives in the temple. Lurks deep in the holy of holies. I met him there. It was his idea to send me to Halfor.” He fought down panic. His voice was angry when went on. “A gift. A way of distracting you. A hope that you would eliminate Halfor for Persey, or that Halfor would kill you, since Persey’s assassins kept turning up dead. They wanted you both out of the way. They drugged me and—made me forget about them before they sent me to Halfor.” He looked up accusingly at Mik, then his gaze slid to Martin. “Hard to keep a telepath from remembering.”
“Persey wants to be emperor of the Bucons as reward for helping this Trin,” Pyr guessed. “Idel simply wants to help the universe die.”
“A pair of idiots,” Linch observed. “Dead ones, I trust, Dha-lrm.”
Pyr nodded. “As soon as we get back to Orlin.”
“How?” Pilsane asked. “We’re stuck in the middle of a Bucon fleet.”
“Ask the Bucons for help?” Roxy suggested.
“Bring them in on a Trin hunt?” Martin said before anyone else could get in a protest. “I don’t think so, Sting.”
“I won’t allow a Bucon fleet that close to the border,” Pyr added. “I know how our fleet on the other side of the Rose would respond.”
“It’s likely that Persey has informants on board one or more of Manalo’s ships,” Pilsane said. “We don’t want to risk his receiving any prior warning.”
“Fine, fine,” Roxy said. “It was only a suggestion.” She turned a quizzical look on Pyr. “Suicide mission, dear?”
“Looks like it, sweetheart.”
She sighed. “Good thing we didn’t make any honeymoon reservations.”
“Good thing. What’s a honeymoon?”
“The question is how?” Linch interrupted before Roxy could explain. He looked to Mik. “How do we escape being chased back to Orlin with only a ten-minute head start?”
The big engineer threw his hands out. “You tell me, Li-nal. With a Shireny cloak, we could get clean away with no one able to track us. But we don’t have a Shireny cloak, and there’s nothing I can do about that.”
Axylel was the only one in the room who looked Martin’s way, but only for a fraction of a second, and he didn’t say anything. Martin pretended not to understand what the datarat implied as the aliens who wanted to save the worlds went on talking about how to go about it. Martin noticed Roxy fold her hands in her lap and firmly not look his way. Hmm. He
watched and listened and thought about duty on lots of different levels. Duty and friendship and trust and doing what was necessary for the greatest good despite the world you came from. And what it came down to was a matter of trust.
Sometimes even he had to trust.
“Oh, hell,” he said loudly after about five minutes of listening to improbable escape plans. Everyone looked his way. He looked at Roxy. “It all comes down to the matter of who’s family, doesn’t it, Sting?”
She smiled at him, in a serene and mystical fashion that made her seem far older than her real age. “On the universal level proclaimed by the Neshama Seedings?” she asked. “Or on a more personal level, Viper?”
Martin gestured around the room, taking in Roxy, Pyr, his crew, and himself. “We’re all family here, right?”
“Yes,” Roxy said.
“Yes,” Pyr said.
One by one all the others nodded or spoke their agreement, though Pilsane looked pained when he added the final, “Yes.”
Martin rubbed the back of his neck. He sighed. He opened his mouth and committed treason. “You want the Shireny cloak, I can give it to you.”
Everyone stared at him. It was Roxy who pointed out, “You’re not an engineer, Martin.”
“No, but I am married to a couple of the best. I’ve been acting as a courier for the Systems’ premier design team for nearly a year now. What do you think I was doing away from the Odyssey when Glover found me?” he asked Roxy. “Delivering a bit of Shireny data that Reine put in my head, that’s what. Ever since the telepathic spy was detected, Reine’s been planting information in my mind that a touch telepath extracts at another point, away from the Odyssey. I have to leave the ship occasionally for official business, so—until now—the secret of how the data’s transferred to the people who build all that crap my wives design has been safe.” He touched his temple. “You want the cloak, Mik, it’s in here. But you have to promise to be gentle with your probing,” he added with a leer.
Mik was already grinning eagerly, but Axylel spoke up first. “But you said your head would explode if you were interrogated.”
“Only if I want it to,” Martin said. “And right now, I’d rather go Trin hunting than get myself blown up.”
Gates of Hell Page 30
