—Forecast by the Fifteenth Prophet, Who Served Without a Name, est. 2058.xxx UT, reindexed by Heraclitus 7 under Flux Imperative
Ariane wrenched her gaze away from the picture of the Terran TD warhead package. Tahir watched her with fascination, perhaps a hint of terror.
“What are you doing with this?” She spoke slowly, her mind whirling as she tried to recall all the classified briefings she’d had on Terran TD weapons. In particular, she tried to remember the safety and control mechanisms that prevented unauthorized arming and detonation.
“He intends to detonate it.”
“You mean Abram? Is he your father?” She stared back into Tahir’s eyes and knew the answer. “He’s insane.”
“Yes.” He spoke in a matter-of-fact tone with a shrug, as if he accepted and acknowledged this long ago.
“If he can detonate this—”
“He can.”
That’s Great Bull-shit, but Tahir obviously believes this and I need to keep him talking. “Then he’ll kill all of us. A temporal-distortion wave will cause a sun to nova.”
“Ura-Guinn’s sun survived. Abram has studied this and calculated the safest yield and detonation point. He only wants to destroy the buoy.”
“No one knows why Ura-Guinn’s sun survived. Even so, lots of people died from that detonation.” She tried to keep her voice steady. “The flares and mass emissions fried most of the inner-system bodies and habitats. Anyone transitioning from or to N-space at the moment of detonation, anywhere in the Minoan buoy network, was lost.”
“Except you. You’re living proof that someone can drop out of the system during a TD detonation.” His eyes brightened even more and he looked feverish. “Can you do that again?”
A chill ran up her back and she tried to ignore the creepy feeling he gave her. “That was luck, nothing more. We dropped before the detonation, but thousands of others were lost in transition.”
“I read classified reports that said the buoy was going down when you started your drop.”
She paused and quickly reassessed his Terran clothes and his accent, so different from Emery’s. Tahir was educated and, if she could believe him, he’d procured the weapon for Abram. If he read classified governmental reports on the damage at Ura-Guinn, did he also have access to classified weapon designs? His conviction that Abram could detonate a stolen weapon might have merit. She changed her approach; trying to convince Tahir of the ramifications of a TD wave was counterproductive.
“You need to stop him,” she said urgently. “Don’t give him codes or anything else that controls the weapon.”
Tahir’s face went through rapid transformations: helplessness, anguish, and terror. She watched him struggle for control, finally shuttering his face in darkness. With a sinking feeling in her stomach, she realized he could never stand up to his father, no matter how she tried to manipulate him.
“It’s too late for that.” His voice was soft and cold. “You’ll realize that when you meet him. Now turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
She did as he told her, and he tied her wrists with a quick-tie usually used in law enforcement. For a moment, she wondered why he’d waited until now to tie her hands. Did he now expect a suicidal escape attempt? She had no death wish, even if she did have her dark moments. A memory of Cipher took over her thoughts: Cipher holding a stunner and expecting old Ari, or new Ariane, to roll over and participate in a group suicide pact. Even Cipher knew me better than that, considering she backed up her proposition with explosives.
Tahir pushed on her back, breaking the memory’s grip. “Start walking.”
She followed his directions and by her estimate, they wound around the great hall to the comm center. Abram also used it for his operations center, but everyone was obviously used to ComNet coverage, by the number of messengers scurrying about. The confusion indicated Abram’s people weren’t trained for comm-out conditions.
Tahir pulled her to one side of the corridor to let someone by: Emery, the executioner, and his cohort jogged by and turned into the comm center ahead of her. She noticed Emery had blood on his right hand. As he turned, he wiped his hand on his thigh. She hesitated and Tahir pushed again, nagging her into motion.
The comm center was chaotic. Glancing about, she noted she was the lone woman in the room. To her right, Emery, his cohort, and two other men were piling slates on a counter in groups. Beyond the men was a portable display unit with lists and diagrams on its glowing surface. From the conversation, Ariane guessed that they were trying to account for personnel. Had they found everyone assigned to Priamos? They didn’t want any loose cannons rolling about and upsetting their plans.
Good job, Matt, although you couldn’t have known this would happen. Ariane looked away and pressed her lips together, hiding her smile. Matt’s snarled leases had ultimately proven useful. These criminals had a nightmare on their hands, figuring out how many people were working on this moon. The contractors weren’t being cooperative, by the looks of Emery’s hand.
“Hey, do we have her inventoried?” One of the men with a pile of slates pointed at Ariane. She frowned at his choice of words, but he didn’t seem to notice.
Emery turned slowly and scrutinized her, the lids on his eyes so low that they were slits. She tensed. Dokos’s tag, fixed in an inside pocket, dug into her side as she tightened her arms. The quick-tie began to hurt her wrists.
“Her name is Ariane Kedros,” Emery said. Then he looked at Tahir and their gazes locked.
“Kedros . . . Kedros . . .” The original questioner turned to the display and cycled through lists. “Who’s her employer?”
“Aether Exploration,” Emery said in a casual tone. “You’ve got her recorded as female number three in room twenty-two. While you’re at it, mark her as military.”
“What?” All four men looked at her.
Her face stayed impassive and her mind veered away from Colonel Dokos. She made a note regarding Emery’s excellent recollection, which spurred her to observe the room and commit the faces she didn’t know to memory.
“She’s mine,” Tahir said.
“Yes. Cousin Tahir has decided she’ll be useful.” Emery drawled the words. “We’ll see what Abram thinks.”
Ariane felt the tension. She heard the sarcastic tone in Emery’s voice and the irony applied to the word “cousin.” There were complexities here she didn’t understand. Tahir pushed her away from the group and across the large room to another knot of men.
Frank was there, standing awkwardly with his weapons hanging on his belt. His face looked like he was frightened, or intimidated, as he talked to a man whose back faced Ariane.
“Abram, I brought her,” Tahir said.
The man speaking with Frank turned around.
“This is the Destroyer of Worlds the State Prince told us about.” Tahir prodded Ariane in the back with the bulbous flechette pistol.
Abram inspected her, his gaze traveling over her once, stopping on her face. Ariane tried not to recoil. Abram’s face was pitted and lifeless. His dark eyes burned with anger, but had a dead, reptilian quality—she’d never seen such frightening eyes. Trying to meet his gaze was physically exhausting. Nothing in his eyes indicated he was looking at another person; he might have been looking at a slate, rather than Ariane.
“No, you’ve got the wrong person. I know Ari. She’s a pilot,” Frank protested.
With relief, Ariane looked away from Abram, to Frank’s face.
“Right, Ari? You weren’t in the war . . .” Frank’s voice died away as she raised her eyebrows. His forehead wrinkled and his expression became pained. “You didn’t have anything to do with Ura-Guinn. I’d be disappointed—”
“You’re disappointed? That’s a laugh, Fr—” The side of her head exploded and she was suddenly on the floor. She tasted blood and her vision grayed and narrowed to a point as she fought to stay conscious. Abram didn’t pull his punches for women.
She heard an exclamation from F
rank.
“I can’t allow livestock to be insolent. It’s an issue of training,” Abram said dispassionately. His voice sounded far away, far above, as he added, “Take blood and tissue samples from her. The Terran said she has rejuv enhancements, so if she can pass anything of worth on to male progeny, we’ll keep her.”
She ground her teeth, trying not to shriek from the pain in her skull. Someone pushed her jacket sleeve up for samples; then strong hands grabbed her upper arms and hauled her to her feet, and higher. As she dangled, the hands dug into her arms and the quick-tie cut into her wrists. She couldn’t open her eyes or raise her head.
“Put her in with the Terran,” Abram said.
“He’ll kill her,” Tahir protested.
“I merely assist in both their arcs of retribution,” was the cold, flat retort from Abram, but she didn’t understand the words.
They dragged her out of the room.
“We need her, Father!” Tahir tried to keep desperation from cracking his voice.
Abram whirled on him, eyes blazing wildly. “You are never to call me that again.”
Tahir lowered his eyes respectfully, but he didn’t back away. This would make Abram curious, if nothing else.
“What interest do you have in her?” Abram’s eyes narrowed.
“She’s useful. She’s pilot trained.”
“I have plenty of pilots. As a female, her only useful function is producing eggs.”
“Abram, this is a moment when fate balances on your decision. She has destroyed a world; consider what her final punishment would be.”
Tahir had never publicly stood his ground with Abram, not in this way. He added, “You yourself spoke of the arc of retribution, written by the Fifteenth Prophet. If you hesitate to be the agent of her completion, then let me.”
Glints in Abram’s eyes indicated that Tahir was on perilous ground. “Be careful—that prophet speaks of great deeds and significance, not the small, mean life of womanhood.”
Tahir suppressed his frustration. This would be so much easier if Kedros weren’t a woman, but she was the best chance for escape he’d ever get.
“What could be more significant than destroying Ura-Guinn? She detonated the first and only temporal-distortion weapon used in warfare,” Tahir said calmly and methodically.
“She merely did as she was ordered.” Abram made a dismissive gesture with his hand.
“As do all our followers for a free life?” Tahir said the words clearly, so everyone in the room could hear.
Abram jerked his head back and his eyes focused on Tahir’s face, reconsidering his son for the first time in months. He realizes he’s been out-maneuvered, but sadly, he’s surprised that I’ve managed this. Tahir clenched his jaw; Abram had just given him added incentive to make his plan work.
“You say that great deeds, if done in the line of one’s duty, cannot qualify for salvation?” Tahir asked the question, again clearly enunciating it for everyone in the room. The surrounding audience of men was quiet.
“We are talking of a female. Why should I care about the ultimate fate of unbelievers or, in this particular case, livestock?”
“Yet you mentioned two arcs of retribution as you sent her away. She destroyed Ura-Guinn and when divine punishment for such a deed is presented to us, aren’t we obligated to complete the arc?” Tahir was intensely aware of the watching audience. These men were his leverage, and Abram knew it. Abram’s own rhetoric, the source of his invulnerability, was now going to force his decision.
“If we are, collectively, the agent, then who will be the witness?” Abram asked, changing his tactic.
“I will.”
“Of course. How do you intend to complete the arc?” Abram’s voice was dry.
“She will pilot our mission, exactly as she did for Ura-Guinn.” Tahir’s voice was hard.
“She will pilot? That’s a suicide mission that will be carried out by my most dedicated men. How do you intend to witness her final act, Tahir?” Abram thought he knew his son and there was a quirk at the side of his mouth.
“I’m going along.” Tahir was tense and he wiped all doubt from his mind. His father had to believe him.
Abram raised his eyebrows and Tahir felt the depth of his father’s surprise. What’s the matter, Father? I’ve risked my education, my career, my freedom, and any chance at a normal life on a Terran League world. Why is it so hard to believe that I’ll give my life for your cause? If I were Emery, you’d have no reservations.
There was silence as Abram examined him.
“Agreed, if she survives until ship departure,” Abram said. “But I won’t trust the mission to you and this female’s arc of retribution. You will both merely observe my pilot and mission commander.”
Tahir nodded his head in assent. Before Abram turned away, he saw a strange glint in his father’s eyes. He tried not to smile at the irony: He finally won respect from Abram, but only by volunteering for a suicide mission that he had no intention of completing.
“Let go of me. I can walk!”
The men carried Ariane by her arms and didn’t let her toes touch, causing pain in her shoulders and tied wrists. They ignored her protests. She let loose a long streak of the worst profanity she could gather, and they dropped her like a live stun grenade. Stumbling, but on her own feet, she kept up with her guards. Someone followed behind her, probably with a weapon. She felt dazed and bemused by the armed guard of three—four men? Was she that dangerous?
It was more likely that Abram never took chances. Glumly, she reviewed his recent actions and all the snippets and conversations she’d overheard. Abram had control of the Pilgrimage III—Why didn’t I look into that “buoy off-line for maintenance” story? Given Muse 3’s warning, she figured Abram controlled the Beta Priamos Station, as well as every comm point on the Priamos moon. I’ve been asleep at the controls! When I put my uniform into my locker, I must have also packed away my brains.
Time to stop the recriminations. Her guards halted at a door, opened it, and shoved her through.
“Too bad we can’t watch,” one said in a snickering aside to another. “It’d be like a down-home cockfight.”
The door closed behind her and she paused in the dim light, her eyes adjusting. Her hands were still tied together behind her back. She saw movement but didn’t have time to dodge before Parmet rushed at her, grabbing her shoulders and pinning her against the door with a heavy thump. Her breath was knocked out of her chest.
“You! Where’s my son?” he roared. His eyes bugged out of dark holes, the veins on his forehead stood out, and his face was purpled with bruises.
Her chest heaved for air as she stared into his face, so close their noses almost touched. She couldn’t pull up a knee as he pressed against her. Before she could squirm into a better position, he pulled her away from the door and swung her by her shoulders. She flew across the empty room. She couldn’t keep on her feet, and rolled against the wall.
His shadow loomed over her. She tried to move, but her weight rested on her back and her tied arms. As she writhed, she had a vision of a lighted passage and a redhead leaning over her. Not again. She closed her eyes.
Moments passed. When she opened her eyes and raised her head, she saw Parmet was back at the door in an attentive position. Listening? He moved back toward her, lightly, his finger over his lips. She tensed again.
“I had to keep up appearances, Major Kedros,” he said softly, kneeling in front of her. “They overdid the drugs and I’m letting them think they initiated a psychotic cascade.”
She blinked hard and stared at him for a moment. He had somaural talents, true, but they couldn’t help a psychotic or hallucinating brain pretend to be normal.
“Have you seen my wives or son? Are they well?”
She pushed and wiggled to a sitting position against the wall. He reached to help her, but stopped when she flinched away. He waited while she cleared her throat and took some deep breaths.
“Your w
ives, Sabina and Garnet, were locked up with the rest of us. They were fine, when I last saw them. I don’t know what’s happened to your son.”
Instead of the expressionless face she’d come to expect, he grimaced in a human way. He looked like a worried father and nothing like a Terran State Prince. The torture had stripped away his energy, confidence, and discipline. She knew what that felt like. Since he was the one who sanctioned similar torture for her, however, she had no sympathy for him.
“Did you tell your wives or son about me? Who I am?” she asked in a hard voice.
“No.”
He sounded honestly puzzled, but she had more pressing concerns than confronting him about her mugging. “These men claim to have a TD weapon. I saw a photo and I think it’s a Terran package.” She kept her voice low, and didn’t explain how she could recognize a Terran warhead.
“I hoped I’d dreamed the conversation I heard—they talked about the weapon.”
That’s not good. She pushed against the wall, trying to get comfortable. “Hey, can you do anything about this quick-tie they put around my wrists?”
“That’s too much for me. My brain’s been burned out, remember?”
Yeah, right. She sighed.
He told her what he’d heard between his sessions of torment. “They probably have my ship access codes, as well as those of my pilot. I still have a unit on board that can interface with a warhead, which makes things much easier for them.”
“They act like they can detonate it.” She frowned. “I pretended I believed them, but that’s ludicrous. They couldn’t know your ship would be here in G-145. Even if they get the controller unit to work, how could they possibly arm the weapon?”
He shook his head, resignation on his face. “The answer isn’t my ship; it’s Dr. Tahir Rouxe.”
“Doctor?”
Parmet nodded. “I’ve got a good memory for faces. I remember him from one of our weapon test teams. If he got Abram a weapon, then he’s capable of stealing a set of test codes.”
“Test codes? Well, I suppose they could send it into the sun and release the exotic matter. Gaia knows what that might do, but it won’t come close to a detonation.” She looked around the bare room, hoping for food and water. How long had it been since she’d eaten? When would the bright wear off and she’d have to sleep? She didn’t even know the time. Now she wished she’d installed a skin watch to run off her implant.
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