“What? What's going on over there?"
Lavan pointed to the aft monitor and increased its magnification. SESC 128 Alpha was backing down on JS9. Its only weapon was an ancient fusion plant, running at full power and aimed directly into the station's core, drenching it with dirty, man-made radiation. The shielding of JS9 was not designed to withstand such a concentration from the outside, and all the station's electronics were being bathed in the whole spectrum of old Earth technology at work. Reese's slow-motion maneuver had eliminated any threat from JS9 long enough for them to get out of range.
Not bad for flying blind, Mr. Reese.
* * * *
Whitaker, in a perverse way, was pleased with himself. He'd argued his point long and hard—and he'd done it well, but, as he had expected, he lost. It was a foregone conclusion, but he'd presented the case for the Hermes, and the two crews being held in detention, rationally and logically. Most importantly, he'd kept his temper in check during the entire ordeal. He'd been aware, before being called in, that logic and a solid rationale would not play well in a room bulging with rampant paranoia, where everyone was busily dodging everyone else's shadow out of fear of what might be hiding in it. So, he'd been prepared for their stupidity—in more ways than any of them could begin to imagine.
Immediately after receiving a presidential level rejection of everything he'd said, including, “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” Whitaker pressed the button that sent a brief burst of radio energy to Deimos Outer Station, where his officers quietly, quickly seized total control. He took the next shuttle up.
Billings, his second in command, greeted him as he cleared the service airlock into the station's life support maintenance bay.
“Dean. Glad you could make it so quickly. We were worried that they might have nailed you to the floor."
“They probably would have if I'd pushed any harder. How goes it here?"
“One minor skirmish with some SSC boys on the main hangar deck, but they got smart and quit before anyone was hurt. Since then we've received two shuttles and processed one freighter. None of the people involved seem to suspect anything—so far."
“Let's try to keep it that way."
They rounded a turn in the passage and entered an elevator that would take them out to the one-g ring. The doors sealed silently behind them.
“Everyone's excited about this whole thing, but a few, myself included, are wondering about what the odds are of our getting away with it. Any comment?"
Yes, what were their chances? It was a good question, and it deserved an equally good answer, but Whitaker didn't have one. Not yet. There were too many unknowns involved. Particularly when it came to relieving the three military transports of their hyper-human cargo and transferring them to the first New Earth Class cruiser that lay under heavy guard, awaiting its maiden voyage.
The operation was going to require perfect timing. They had to get all the personnel off the station and headed planetside at the same time they disabled the Deimos Control Complex. After that, all their vulnerables would be dangling in full view of the entire system. There was nothing they could do about that—other than run like hell.
“Right now, I'd say that our chances are not too bad. When we start moving, our odds will drop to a point dead center between nil and zero."
“That's blunt enough. So, I guess we try harder, right?"
“That's about it. Do we have communication?"
“All secured and Finder modified."
“Okay. When we bottom out I'm going to send a note to a girlfriend. You get the others ready for action. The longer we sit here, the worse our already rotten chances get."
* * * *
“Rammix?"
“Yes, Alex."
“What is the current deployment status of military ships capable of reaching us before breakout?"
“Two Denver Class cruisers at Titan Station, and one New Earth Class fast cruiser at Deimos Station."
“That's all? There's nothing else within range?"
“No, Alex. Nothing else is listed, and I have not monitored any communications indicating intended ... There is a scrambled message coded for you on Finder two-one."
“Two-one? What the hell? Play it, Rammix."
“Dr. Lavan is here and the message is coded for you, Alex."
“It's all right, Rammix. She's with me."
“As you wish."
Pax settled into the form-fit cushioning of her shell as the third pulse inertial effects began to give some real sense of weight, while Lavan jockeyed herself into a position allowing her to see into Pax's faceplate.
What do you want, baby-face?
“Alex, it's almost time. We need to be getting—"
“I know. Let's see what we have in this message first."
“It's probably just Yamaguchi wanting to show us his impression of a station security commander going into an uncontrollable nervous melt-down."
“Maybe. Shh—here it comes."
Both their faces paled as Whitaker's strong, chiseled features filled the screen. Until recent events, Pax had had some rather strange feelings about that man—the sort that made certain parts of her anatomy tingle. Now, she was hotter than ordinary anger could describe. She couldn't help noticing that the tingle was still there ... only stronger.
What do you want, you traitor?
There was something different in his expression, but she was unable to decide what it was.
“Pax, whatever you do, don't stop. Don't listen to anything anyone from SESC tells you because they will be lying. Assume all SESC personnel to be hostile to you, your crew, and your mission. I want you to have your Rammix go to full range defensive, now, if you haven't already done it, and I want you to be prepared for anything. There are two cruisers out at Titan Station that can reach you before breakout. Destroy them ... If you have to. Your Rammix will probably tell you there is one here at Deimos Station as well. It would be a good idea to have your Rammix remove that one from the list and log it as a friendly. Anything else that moves is a target.
“The government has detained the BetaTri Australe and Procyon Explorer, but the other three have managed to reach breakout, and they are on their way out of the system. We are going to try to send the others out as well. If that is successful, I'll be seeing you. If not—well, it was good knowing you. I wish you good speed and clear space. Whitaker out."
“Well, I'll be damned,” Pax said, trying not to let her voice quaver.
“Uh-huh."
JS9 was a speck of light on the monitor when they aligned with it on their second pass. This was the last time the station would be visible as they spooled off on their departure tangent the next time around. Pax wondered what the SESC was going to do to Reese, then tapped Lavan's helmet lightly.
“Time to go to sleep, mommy?"
Lavan nodded.
* * *
Chapter VIII
Niki was grappling with ethereal non-memories and ghostly shadows of a past that could not have been his own. He was having difficulty coping with the indiscriminate, out-of-order changes happening in his mind. Old, familiar memories were being disassembled, then reconstructed and supplanted by things of which he had no comprehension. The main problem was, they all felt as though they were a part of him that belonged, even though he knew better.
Dreams that were somehow not dreams invaded his conscious now, often skewing reality so much he had to sit down and wait for the feelings to pass. Always the dreams. He couldn't close his eyes without seeing things he had never seen—could never have seen and didn't want to see. Bits and pieces of mysterious half-knowledge that he was sure could not belong to him drifted in and out of focus. They were looking for places to attach themselves and were finding those places with increasing frequency, his life now a confusing jumble of himself and his real history mixed with someone else's ... someone alien. It was most exasperating when he and the other existed simultaneously and competed for control. Niki was becoming lost
within himself and, added to it all, there was Pasha Valdar. Pasha didn't realize it, of course, but they were deeply in love.
Niki, keenly aware of it, didn't have the courage to tell her after only one day. Maybe she would figure it out, then she would tell him, and he wouldn't run the risk of appearing a complete fool. Meanwhile, he would revel in the feeling it gave him. The feeling was two-sided because it delighted and frightened him at the same time. And—strangely—he found he didn't care about her seed lot. Very odd. Very disturbing.
The entire day passed in a wild fantasy as waves of emotion swept over him. It was a day to wallow blissfully in, like a garmouse in the fresh, wet mud of Quarteryear. There wasn't a single living creature happier than a garmouse in new, warm mud. Dulling it all was a nagging guilt over his not caring about Pasha's seed lot. Both Niki and the other who insisted on taking up residence in him didn't have the slightest concern that Pasha Valdar was from the wrong line. That thought bothered Niki—not that she was wrong lot, but that he didn't care.
Niki didn't trouble himself with packing the few things he had, nor did he turn on the V-screen for fear the noise would dilute the feeling he carried. There would be plenty of time to pack in the morning. She, Pasha Valdar, would be picking him up at midday tomorrow to take him to East End.
Niki settled onto the bed and twisted his body to fit between the hard spots, then allowed his eyes to close so he could look at her again. The vision came easily, drifting in on a tide of emotions never experienced in his prior life, and he didn't want to lose them because they were warm, exciting ... and forbidden, frightening ... magically comfortable.
There she was, a little vague, but definitely Pasha. Her skin, a rich cashow golden brown, was smooth and supple. Her eyes, very dark, large, tilted slightly upward, infinitely deep, were set in a sensuously exotic face wrapped in a frame of the blackest of black hair falling in tight, shining waves to her shoulders, then overflowing down her back and cut square at her waist. By all the true Ancients, she was beautiful—absolutely the most lovely woman on Paz, of that he was quite sure.
Tonight he knew he was going to sleep, and he did, but not as he'd hoped. His vision of the lovely Pasha faltered, rippled, and faded into a great, gray behemoth named La Paz, plunging through the black emptiness of space at an impossible speed. Voices, oddly distorted, sang to him without tune, like the priestly chant of the Halfyear ceremonies, “We are coming ... be ready. We are coming ... be ready. We are coming..."
Niki awoke with a start. He was late. He had slept a full three hours longer than he'd intended, and he was tired, desperately tired, with a dull, dragging fatigue.
For the love of the Ancients, there's no reason for this. I slept all night and half the day.
Hustling about the cube, Niki unceremoniously stuffed a bag with all his belongings, and even those things that didn't want to fit managed to disappear. He bolted out the door, late ... late. Pasha would be there any minute. He stopped briefly at number four to return his key card and tell the controller he could keep the unused rent, then rushed out the gate into the street. He didn't have time to assume a nonchalant stance—she was there in the dock, waiting for him.
“Sorry, I'm late,” he said, half falling into the transport and dragging the bulging bag onto his lap.
“Great day, Mr. Kaznov,” she beamed at him. “You're not late—I'm early. I thought I'd take you to get something to eat before we go to East End. That is, if you don't mind."
“Mind? That sounds fantastic, Pasha,” he said, enjoying how her name sounded coming from his mouth. “I didn't have a chance to eat this morning."
“I can see that, and I know a wonderful little café that's almost on our way,” she said while taking her place on the track.
“How did you know I hadn't eaten? Have you been waiting that long?"
“No, I just pulled in before you came out the gate. But ... just look at your hair, silly.” She laughed with a unique gurgling sound and swiveled the mirror to his side of the transport.
During the ride, Niki came to the conclusion that everyone in New London drove their transports to the limits of good judgment, Pasha included. But they managed to get where they were going safely, so he said nothing. Pasha maneuvered the transport in behind the restaurant and into a hidden service bay, then to a small docking area near the back door. He wondered why she hadn't stopped out front where all the docks were empty but decided not to ask.
“Come on, Niki, this is it,” she said cheerfully. “I have a friend here I'm dying to have you meet. Oh, I'm sorry. It is all right if I call you Niki, isn't it? Mr. Kaznov seems awfully formal, don't you think?"
“Why, yes, of course it's all right. And I'll call you Pasha.” He loved the sound of that name and how it felt rolling off his tongue. Pasha.
“You already did, silly. Now, come on.” She guided him to one of the corner booths ringed by a soft surround of light fabric and sat down across from him.
Niki felt romantic. Anyway, he thought that was what it was. Inside the curtained enclosure the light of a too-bright Vegamwun softened and changed color to a brilliant, radiant gold that played on her hair like Almug's reflection on the waters of Vahstok Harbor. Her beauty overwhelmed him, and he blurted out, “Pasha, have you, uh ... do you ... I mean, are you paired or promised?” He felt stupid and clumsy. “I mean, is there a male in your life?” Niki was trying, but his limited social experience was making it all come out wrong and a warmth was growing in his cheeks.
Pasha responded with a gentle smile and moved her head slowly from side to side. “No, Niki, not yet."
Before Niki had the chance to make a complete fool of himself, the curtain parted and a woman about Pasha's age stepped through. She was dressed in a long blue robe of a material that resembled the curtain around the booth and allowed the soft light to pass through, revealing her firm nakedness. Her robe kissed the floor and was topped with a hood drawn in tightly so only her face was clearly visible. It was a nice face, serene and kind—a face Niki instinctively felt he could trust.
“Great day, Pasha,” she said with a velvet-smooth voice he found disarming. “Is this the man you mentioned? The one who came to your office?"
“He is, Sister Trina,” Pasha replied. “Sister Katrina Del Antaris, it is my pleasure to present Mr. Nikisha Kaznov of Nurusha and, I hope, our new friend."
“Welcome, Nikisha Kaznov of Nurusha. I have some questions I would like to ask you. I hope you do not mind."
“No,” he said hesitantly. “No, I don't mind at all,” he lied. Since he'd arrived on the Continent there had been questions from all sides—and he had few answers. The only one who didn't do that to him was Pasha, but she had access to Washton's files and he figured she didn't need to ask much of anything.
“Fine,” Antaris said, taking a seat next to Pasha. “Nikisha, have you been having some strange, inexplicable dreams lately?"
How did she know that? He had mentioned it to no one he could think of, except while in the hospital, of course, and he vaguely remembered saying something about it to Mr. Washton. Maybe that was it. Maybe she worked at the hospital, or had access to hospital records for some reason. Or could it have come from his visit to Mr. Washton's office?
“W-well, yes. I suppose you could say that. Sort of strange, anyway. Why do you ask?"
“Dreams,” she continued, “about places you have never been. Seeing things you could never have seen. You are having great difficulty getting any sleep—understanding things you should not. The visions you have had, voices you have heard are unsettling to you."
Everything she said was being couched as a statement of fact, as if she could see what was inside his head. He felt uncomfortable and threatened by this soft-spoken woman.
“Do ... do you work at the hospital?"
“No, Mr. Kaznov, I do not work at the hospital. I am correct, am I not?"
“Yes, but how do you—"
“When you were in the museum, you went to see the sh
uttles and you felt comfortable with them. They were not simply familiar, you actually understood things about them that no one on Paz could. Our best scientists have theories and ideas about them culled from years of study and research, but for you, Nikisha Kaznov, what you know is fact. There is no doubt in your mind that what you have seen is not merely a guess, but revelation—your suspicions confirmed."
Rings of Ahriman. This isn't stuff from the hospital. How can she know these things?
“Uh, yes, you're right. But ... but how do you know all that? I haven't told anyone about—"
“It is all right, Nikisha. Do not be alarmed. I am no mind reader, nor am I a witch.” Her gaze remained fixed on him, her eyes soft and understanding. “First, let us have some massak and rolls. Afterward ... I shall tell you all about how I—we have knowledge of such things."
The curtain opened and a very young girl wearing a similar robe, but yellow in color, entered with a tray. “Great day,” she said while she set a large pot of massak and a plate filled with all sorts of sweet rolls on the table. “Will there be anything else, or do you wish to order later?"
“Later,” the mysterious woman, Antaris, said. “Right now I want to speak with our wonderful guest. Mr. Kaznov is the Four, Lira."
The girl bowed slightly, smiled warmly at Niki, and retreated from the booth. As the curtain floated closed behind Lira, Pasha took Niki's hand in hers and squeezed it affectionately. Niki felt a warmth rush through his whole being.
“Nikisha,” Antaris began, “do you know the Riddle of the Ancients?"
“No. I can't say that I've ever heard of it. What is it?
“It is written as a poem, the meaning of which is obscure until the enlightenment begins. It is then that it will make sense—unfortunately, different sense to different people."
She waited a moment as though she thought Niki might have something to say, but he was without words. The woman was talking about things for which he had no response.
Seeds of Memory Page 11
