by M. R. Forbes
Dilixix should have warned him about the side effects of the pills. She should have told him they would exhaust him. Would it have changed anything? They had saved his life, but they were costing him now.
He put his arm out, catching himself on a wall and catching a look from a passerby. He probably looked drunk to them. He pushed himself back up and kept going, concentrating on each step. One at a time. It was the best he could do.
The minutes passed. So did the distance. He closed within a block of the Museum. He could see the lights and hear the murmur of an assembled crowd. He had seen on the Galnet that this was a charity event and there would be entertainment celebrities in attendance, along with plenty of other wealthy individuals who weren’t part of the government. Of course, the crowds had come to see the rich and famous, not the legislature.
He rounded the corner, getting a look at the museum. Like most of the classical buildings around the world, the original footprint and facade had been maintained, an outer shell added to increase the floor space around it. In the case of the Museum of Natural History, that meant a transparent frame which encased the original building, with an additional thirty floors of exhibits above it, most of which covered life on other Republic planets. Those floors had full, clear windows, through which he could see the outer edges of the exhibits, carefully designed to be attractive from both viewing angles.
The newest exhibit usually occupied the original floor of the building, a space that was over a thousand years old. It had been cleaned and restored a couple of times, but it was still the original stone, still the original tile. It had survived the wars of the past, the violent history of what had then been called the ‘modern’ world, and was now one of the largest museums in the galaxy, along with the Louvre in Paris, and the Dryythph on Ganemant.
The Gants’ love of Terran history wasn’t limited to Gant.
Olus scanned the area, eyeing both the crowd and the security around it. The building only had one access point from the front, another from the side, and a third on the roof. He wasn’t getting in through the roof, so that left him the front or the side. He noticed that there were a few catering trucks in a line a block away, waiting for access to the facility. That was his ticket in.
He tried to walk toward it, stumbling in his weakness. He cursed under his breath, withdrawing the pills and downing them. He didn’t know if they would restore his strength; Dilixix hadn’t said. He was hopeful.
It took about a minute for him to start feeling the effects of the pills. His energy started to return, his body responding to the stimulants and adjusting. He was near the caterers now, approaching the truck at the rear. A Policeman was attending to the front truck, checking their credentials. He looked around and then dropped onto his back, pulling himself on the ground beneath the vehicle. It was hovering slightly off the ground, but wouldn’t stay that way once it was ready to park. He would have to be quick to get out before he was crushed.
He gripped the coils, ignoring the coldness of them, letting himself hang until they started moving. They did a moment later, and he used his arms to pull himself up and hold it, a feat of strength he wouldn’t have been able to duplicate two minutes earlier. He could see the feet of the Police and the security guards as the trucks slid past the open transparent gate and onto the grounds, and then from the grounds into the original building. As soon as it slowed, he let go, falling onto the floor and rolling to his feet, diving behind a parked vehicle before he could be spotted.
He was in.
He made his way along the side of the room, back toward the caterers, keeping low and out of sight. Security was much lighter inside, composed of cameras that were watching the unloading area. He hesitated nearby, waiting for the workers to clear the area and then ducking into the museum proper without being seen. He stood up and straightened his jacket, walking casually through the corridor. One of the caterers came out of a nearby restroom, walking past him without sparing him a second look.
He kept going, down the hallway and into another corridor, from that corridor to the kitchen. A man in a black tuxedo emerged from it.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said. “Are you lost?”
“Yes,” Olus said, offering an embarrassed laugh. “I managed to find a bathroom, but now I can’t find my way back out to the party.”
“I’m going that way myself. I’d be glad to show you out.”
“Thank you.”
Olus followed the waiter.
“Crazy party, huh?” Olus said as they walked.
“It’s been some time since we’ve had so many celebrities here,” he replied. “Personally, I’m more interested in the Council. They promised to make a statement about the missing starships.”
Olus was caught by surprise. “What kind of statement?”
“Hopefully that they’ve been recovered. I have a friend whose sister is out near the Fringe. She’s worried the Outworlders are going to use them to start expanding their borders.”
“The Outworlds have an open galaxy on the other side of them,” Olus said. “Why would they need to expand inward?”
“Why does the Republic keep fighting with them? We both know there’s enough space to go around. It’s politics, right? The machinations of the powerful and stupid.” He laughed for a moment before lowering his head, realizing Olus might be one of them.
“Everybody wants what they don’t have,” Olus agreed. “Just like the Outworlds wanted the Fire and the Brimstone.”
“Is that what they’re called?” the man said. “I hadn’t heard their names anywhere.”
Olus could have kicked himself. That was an amateur slip. Was it the meds?
“That’s what I’ve been calling them,” Olus said. “I don’t have an official name, either.”
“As you say, sir,” the waiter said. “Here we are.”
A hidden door slid aside as they approached, revealing the main lobby of the museum ahead of them. It was packed with individuals in tuxedoes and long dresses, most of them too pretty and much older than they appeared.
“Thank you,” Olus said.
“Of course, sir.”
The waiter wandered off. Olus moved along the outskirts of the room, looking for Davis, or even Vee. They had to be here, somewhere. He scouted for the Council members as well, eager to find them and warn them.
“Captain Mann?” someone said nearby.
Olus turned, finding Councilman Granges an arm’s length away from him. How the hell had he not seen the man?
“Councilman,” Olus said.
“I didn’t realize you were invited to this thing,” Granges said. “How have you been?”
“I’ve been better, Councilman,” Olus said. “But I wasn’t invited. I came here to warn you. The Republic is being threatened, sir. Half of the Council has been compromised. You’re one of the few that haven’t.”
“What? Captain, are you feeling well? You’re very sweaty.”
Olus hadn’t noticed. He wiped his forehead, feeling the moisture. “Sir, I’m very serious. Consider some of the legislation that has been presented these past few months, and you’ll notice a pattern of deconstruction, one that aims to weaken the government of the Republic in anticipation of a military takeover.”
Grange’s entire face turned to stone. He glanced over at the woman near him, and then came toward Olus, putting his face in close. “Where did you get this?”
“I’m the Director of the OSI. Or, I was. They’re in the middle of setting me up to take a nice fall because of what I know.”
“Who is they?”
“It’s a long story, Councilman. You need to get out of here. Now. Go home, surround yourself with security, and stay there. I need to find the other Council members.”
Grange seemed convinced. He turned back to the woman, reaching out to her. “Cynthia, we’re leaving.”
“What?” his wife said. “You’re supposed to be making a speech in twenty minutes.”
“Change of plans. I-”
Granges froze in place.
“I,” he said again. His head turned. He looked at Olus in a panic. His skin was pale, face flushing. He raised his hand to his throat, trying to pull his tuxedo away from it. Trying to breathe again.
Olus reached under his coat, finding his gun there. He slapped one of the magazines into it as he drew it out, spinning around and searching for Davis or Vee.
“Where are you?” he said.
“I’m right here, Olus,” Davis replied.
Olus spun again. Davis was standing beside Councilman Granges.
“I was hoping you would make it, Captain. It will make it easier to blame this whole thing on you. A rogue assassin is a terrible thing. A tragedy.”
“How do you propose to do that?” Olus asked.
“Like this.”
Davis raised his hands and closed his eyes. Almost immediately he was on fire, blue and orange flames spreading around him and bathing him. He was unharmed by it. In fact, he smiled as it licked across his face.
“When they run forensics, they’ll find you right at ground zero, Captain,” Davis said. “Not eight hours after you murdered General Omsala.”
It took Olus a moment to realize what Davis meant. He lifted the gun, trying to get it pointed at the Evolent’s head. Someone knocked it out of his hand.
Vee. She was on fire as well, burning with the same flame. The others in the room had noticed, and they began to clap, thinking the two Nephilim were some kind of entertainment.
“It’s showtime,” Vee said.
The flames along her body exploded outward, washing over him and everything in the room.
All he heard then were screams. Hundreds of screams. He looked at his hands, noticing that he was unscathed. The flames weren’t burning him. The pills? How were they protecting him from this?
“What?” Davis said, noticing as well.
Olus threw a hard right hook into Davis’ jaw, the force of the blow knocking him down and putting out his flames. He turned toward Vee, bringing a knife into his hand and swinging it at her face. She ducked under it, putting out her hands. The Gift slammed into him, knocking him back a dozen meters. He slid on the floor and got to his feet. He was surrounded by burning guests. The screams were nauseating, the destruction already exponential. Flames ate at everything around him, and Davis was back on his feet ahead, burning up once more.
He scanned the room in a near panic, searching for Councilman Grange. He found him beside Davis, recognizable only by the few unburned scraps of his coat and hair.
Olus did the only thing he could think to do.
He ran.
26
Abbey found Phlenel in the Brimstone’s medical ward. It was more luxurious and modern than the space on the Faust, with enough room for six examination tables and two medical bots, as well as the latest equipment for treating all types of wounds. The Hurshin wasn’t alone in the ward when she arrived. One of Ursan Gall’s subordinates was there, too. Ensign Ligit. The one Dak had told her Ursan had nearly killed in a fit of wild anger. He was pressed into the corner of the room when she arrived, watching Phlenel fearfully.
Not that Phlenel was doing anything threatening. She and her bot were rooting through the cabinets of the ward, examining each container and putting them back.
“What are you doing?” Abbey asked.
“Inventory,” Phlenel’s bot replied. “I will move on to the supply room and hangar later, to see what mechanical surplus the ship might have. Pik has asked me about replacing his other hand.”
“We aren’t replacing his other hand,” Abbey said. “Not while it still works.” She shook her head. He was enjoying his augmentation a little too much.
“I understand you are in charge. I will do as you say.”
“Good. Can we talk for a minute?”
“I believe you are intending to address the crew?”
Abbey nodded. “In a few minutes. I wanted to talk to you alone, first.”
Phlenel stopped what she was doing, turning to face Abbey. She had changed her form again, mimicking Ensign Ligit.
“We are not alone,” she pointed out.
“Right.” Abbey looked over at one of the medical bots. “What is the status of Ensign Ligit?”
“Concussion. One additional day of rest is recommended.”
“Can he be discharged to his quarters?”
“Yes.”
“Ensign,” Abbey said.
Ligit looked over at her. “Uh. Aye, ma’am?”
“Why are you still here? The bot says you can rest in your quarters.”
“I. I wasn’t sure where to go, ma’am. Considering the status of the ship. Considering, you know, you’re the enemy.”
He shrank back as he said it. Abbey sighed under her breath. So far, with the exception of Dak, she was unimpressed with Gall’s mercenaries.
“I’m not your enemy,” she said. “Your enemy is out there. Have you spoken to Commander Dak?”
“No, ma’am.”
“He’s on the bridge. Go and speak with him. Medical bot, please provide Ensign Ligit with a discharge report.”
“Please authorize,” the bot said, projecting a keyboard into the air ahead of it.
Abbey approached it, typing in the main authentication code for the Brimstone.
“Thank you,” the bot said. It produced a small chit a moment later and held it out for Ligit.
Ligit climbed off the bed, took the chit, and gave Abbey a weak Outworld salute before fleeing the room.
“Dak,” Abbey said, activating her communicator.
“Yeah, Boss?” he replied.
“Ensign Ligit is on his way to you. The medical bot recommended another day of bed rest, but I want you to talk to him and make sure he’s not going to lose it. He was acting a little squirrely.”
“I don’t know what squirrely means, but I’ll talk to him.”
“Thank you.”
She closed the link and returned her attention to Phlenel. “Now that we’re alone, I want to know why you helped us, and why you came with us.”
“I was hiding on Machina Four,” Phlenel replied. “It was not safe to hide there any longer. It is safer with you.”
“Don’t be too sure about that. What were you hiding from?”
“Gloritant Salvig Thraven,” Phlenel said, surprising her.
“You know him?”
Phlenel’s bot nodded in unison with a spot near the Hurshin’s head flaring internally like a red lightning bolt. “How much do you know about my kind?”
“Not much,” Abbey admitted. “You’re the first I’ve ever met.”
“We didn’t have spaceflight before the Terrans found our world. We didn’t have much technology at all. But we are mimics. We learn immediately from what we see. Two hundred years ago, Hurse was almost a swamp, and we lived communally, like algae in a massive pond. Then your kind arrived. We rose to meet you and delivered an emissary to your world. When the emissary returned, everything changed. He spread his learning, and we adapted and altered. We became modern.”
She paused. A blue flare translated to synthesized laughter from the bot.
“I am nine hundred Earth Standard years of age. I was there when the Terrans came. I evolved with my people. I was one of the first to volunteer to leave, to collect knowledge to bring back to my homeworld and share with the others. It was challenging at first, but eventually I found a position in the RAS Supply Branch, first as a crewmember on Republic supply haulers, and later I was promoted to Captain, once I had learned to build and made an interface to communicate through.” She motioned to the bot. “The position was adequate for a time. There is only so much you can learn about the galaxy when you are confined to one part of it.”
“So you quit the RAS and went to the Outworlds?” Abbey guessed.
“I did. Forty years ago, I purchased a trading vessel of my own and made it a point to visit as many Outworlds planets as I could. It took nearly ten years, but eventually
I had seen most. I would wear clothing then, and synthetic flesh to cover myself and hide my true origins. Very few had ever seen a Hurshin, and were often nervous around me, as Ensign Ligit was. I became very accustomed to passing as human, even if I couldn’t speak. I’ve even had Terran lovers.” She laughed again.
“Where does Thraven fit in?”
“Fifteen years ago, he hired me to ferry a dozen individuals from Gordon in the Outworlds to Earth. It was an illegal transport, but I bore no qualms about legality. What were a dozen more on Earth when there are already so many? The payment was high, the experience fresh. I accepted.” She paused again, a dark thread winding its way through her translucent body. “I knew they were wrong as soon as they boarded. I could sense it, the way I sensed the difference in you. They were like the Hurshin, but not.”
“Children of the Covenant,” Abbey said. “Goreshin?”
“Yes. I tried to take them. I tried to make the delivery. But inside I felt only cold. Only wrong. They were abominations. Twisted from what they were intended to be. I could not accept it. I killed them, sold my ship, and went into hiding on Machina Four.”
“You killed them? A dozen Children? By yourself?”
“As I said, Hurshin learn by observance. Once we learn a skill, we do not forget it. I know how to fight. And my form is adaptable.” She held up a hand. It quickly changed form and hardened, tuning into a long blade. “Terrans rule the galaxy, but only because the Hurshin have no desire for possessions or power. We are interested only in knowledge and new experiences to share.”
“But you don’t mind murder,” Abbey said.
“It is a mercy to kill something that has been changed from what it was supposed to be.”
“Does that mean you would kill me, too?”
“Yes.”
She said it simply and without hesitation. It sent a chill through Abbey. Then again, when the time came she might want her to do it.
“Sam and his people were Children, Goreshin like the ones you were transporting. Why didn’t you kill them?”
“I feared Gloritant Thraven from the moment I met him. There is nothing inside of him. He exists for one purpose and only one purpose, and it drives everything he is. There is no compassion, no empathy, no remorse. He sees only the future.”
