“Complying.” A few minutes later, a chemical readout appeared on the view-screen.
“That's a chemical dump,” she exclaimed as the skyhook dropped the tether lines and the grape-cluster-structure, which held Larwin, fell toward the toxic brew.
ooo
Preston slowed the porpoise-boat to a crawl as he approached The Pinnacle's floating wharf, which was a beehive of frantic activity. The few times when she'd been here before, everything had been spotless and people had moved with the dignity befitting nobility. Now, things appeared as untended as the Control Center Office had, and what was worse, everyone seemed to be sprinting from one place to the next, tunics flying like gossamer comet tails. The scene looked as unusual as the lone rocky protrusion in the water-world on which it was taking place.
Raine frowned and asked Preston, “Why is everyone in a panic?”
“I don't know.” Preston touched a recessed area and the window slid away. Screams and sirens filled the air as everyone fled toward the already jammed doorways, which were hewn into The Pinnacle's solid rock face.
What was going on?
Complexion pale, Preston nosed the porpoise-boat into a mooring clamp, which wrapped around the boat, then raised it to wharf-level. Raine stepped onto the floating reed wharf and continued to gape at the frantic activity. "We won't find out what's going on by standing here." Preston grabbed her upper arm and pulled her along with him.
When her feet left the wharf, she stumbled on the solid surface of rock. Despite her misery, The Pinnacle's grandeur permeated her with a sense of awe. Her right foot touched the quartz walkway. When it remained stable, she fell against her brother. Preston effortlessly took her arm and steadied her. Another step later and a different siren roared to ear-splitting life. Raine's heart missed a beat. People screamed in terror.
Two attendants plunged past them and ran for the palace, as if the hounds of hades were in hot pursuit.
"Spirit, save us! Preston, what's going on?"
"I don't know." His fingers tightened around her upper arm. "The same thing happened earlier today. Hold onto me and try to get to that door." He gestured to a barely visible panel set into the wall.
She gripped his arm and tried to adapt her pace to the unbending rock, even then she tripped and fell against him. "Sorry. I'd forgotten how hard walking on something solid was."
He put a supportive arm around her waist. "If I don't get away from this island every few days, I forget how to walk on surge-swells."
Though Raine would have liked to talk about the unprecedented revelation that he periodically left the center of power, she wisely focused on her footing. Still, it seemed to take forever to reach the safety of the doorway and she felt as ungainly as a seacow. Preston tightened his grip around her waist and hauled her toward an oval recess in the rough rock wall. He punched a protrusion, which pivoted to expose a hidden keypad. He paused long enough to hit a series of symbols, then the cleft closed and a slab soundlessly moved aside to reveal a dark chamber.
The hair on the back of her neck shuddered as he yanked her forward.
ooo
Tem-aki stared, unblinking at the transmitter signal, as it pulsed in the structure's holo-image. Her eyes felt dry, but she was afraid to blink for fear the signal would be cut off. Panic clutched her chest. Against all odds, she had found her brother alive in the asteroid field, and been able to follow him this far. Now, she needed to rescue him from the Kalamaran's chemical dump.
She keyed in a code and the holo-view changed to include the madrox, many of which were still milling around between her and her brother. There was no way she could fire Dasya Voltain's engines, or get past the beasts undetected. And even if by some miracle, she did manage to somehow enter the planet's atmosphere, and actually rescue her brother, it would be impossible to escape from the planet.
Helplessly, she watched the grape-cluster-structure swing closer and closer to the lethal black sludge. The house’s exterior seemed to be warping where black crud splashed on it. This was not good. If only there was a way she could help.
“If only the designers made ships you can keep in stealth mode even when you enter atmospheres!”
“Command does not compute.”
“Can you determine if Colonel Atano is safe?”
“Negative. My sensors are only capable of monitoring the transmitter in his uniform. There is no guarantee he is wearing it.”
Tem-aki digested that information, trying to decide if it was good news or bad. “Get a close-visual on the transponder's location.”
“Complying.”
ooo
The deck was tilted precariously close to the fetid black ooze and the vines, which had entwined the area looked dead. Either the fumes from black stuff were as deadly as they smelled or he'd spent days, instead of hours, healing Dalf.
Despite the fact that in the past, he had lost track of time's passing, when on a myst journey, Thunder didn't think the healing had taken days.
Dalf stared at the scene, his wide mouth open and revealing pointed teeth. "What happen?"
"I hoped you could tell me."
"Sneak on faddur ship. See world no wadder."
"How do we get there?"
Dalf looked at him as if he was deranged. "Gone."
The deck tilted toward the dead leaves. Thunder gritted his teeth against his raging stomach and looked at the vile black liquid surrounding the dock. "I have to get to land."
The boy looked at him as if he was absurd. When the deck tilted, again, he plopped down on the reed flooring and looked as if he were waiting for death.
Thunder stared out across the putrid panorama and began to look at the details. Though it pulsated, the crust near him appeared to have a rigidness similar to ice. Thunder picked up an odd yellow rectangle and hurled it. It cut through the crust, as if it was an eggshell. So much for walking away.
A breeze wafted in, lifting the hair off his neck and bringing the scent of fresh water.
"Kid, we've got to get out of here."
His head drooped. "Everyone come here die."
ooo
When the door closed, the room was pitch-black. The tiny hairs on Raine's arms shivered to attention, then Preston snapped his fingers and blazing light flooded the strange square room. She jerked and then blinked, as her eyes adjusted to the brightness.
A young orderly scrambled off the elegant maroon floor cushion and tried to stand at attention despite his eyes being shut tight and rimmed with the telltales of sleep. He smoothed down his frothy tunic with one hand and awkwardly saluted empty space with the other. Preston cleared his throat. The boy’s face reddened and he pivoted toward the sound. The kid would never make it as a dragon shepherd. When he got past his temporary blindness, he saluted Preston a second time and gave her a half bow, half courtesy. Supreme in his dignity, her brother returned the boy's salutation, then cocked a thumb at her.
The boy's expression was tremulous. "Officer Bakufu, Sir! I'm to escort you to The Zar."
So Preston's concern was a sham. Raine took a deep breath and inclined her head. "Lead the way, but slowly, please. My gait has not adjusted to solid floors, yet."
“Understood. You may place your hand on my shoulder, if that will help.” The boy gave Preston a nervous look, then twirled. Cobwebby lavender material billowed out to reveal a silver bodysuit. "Let us go, Sir."
Under other circumstances, she would have been amused by the boy's sense of pomp and circumstance. Instead, she straightened her spine and marshaled all her dignity as she tried to march with dignity. It was difficult enough, in the isolation of the room, then the lad opened an ornate door onto a hallway teeming with people wearing tights and dressed in flimsy fabric, who rushed in every direction. Raine tried to breath, but it felt like the crowded hall had sucked the air out of her lungs. Still, she strove for dignity, since it was the only thing she had.
Head high, Raine tried to ignore the wrinkles in the thick fabric of her serviceable kha
kis. She followed her pigeon-stepping guide toward her fate and wished that she’d at least had time to wash her face.
Her heavy space boots clumped against the paving stones and her heavyweight tan shirt and pants, which were what her crew favored, seemed horribly out of place amid the diaphanous, pastel trailing fabrics, sparkling tights and dainty dancing shoes that everyone else wore within these stone walls.
A particularly wispy tunic caught her attention. If someone had intended her to feel as out of place as possible, they’d succeeded. Of course, if she’d had time to wash and change into something that gauzy, she would have felt the fool, so perhaps this was best.
As she looked away from one outfit that was mostly bare skin, she realized she was being taken to the Council Chamber instead of The Reclamation Center. Why did they have to torture her with a phony hearing when they obviously planned to salvage her minerals? "So much for blending into the crowd," she muttered.
"Beg pardon, Sir?"
Raine hitched her chin up a notch. "I said is there always such a big crowd?"
"Yes, Sir."
For a moment, Raine was tempted to kick the boy's fluff-shrouded behind, but his inability to determine her gender was the least of her worries.
The lad led her to a massive door. The last time she'd entered the twenty-five-foot-tall monstrosity, she'd been informed that Gornt's minerals had already been reclaimed and been invited to view the recovery of Dalf's elements. The ornate gold plated carvings, which covered the door's surface, seemed to leer at her. Despite the door's enormous size and obvious weight, the boy effortlessly pushed it open. As it swung inward, she involuntarily sucked in her breath at the sheer magnificence.
The lad made a sweeping motion with his arm, as if entering was an honor instead of day of reckoning.
Head high, she forced her feet to move forward. A dual line of Vole d'Laire ancestors looked down on her from the semi-translucent columns, which immortalized them. Raine walked toward her fate, steps still unsteady, it felt like every etched eye condemned her clumsiness.
Strange how a dozen generations of Vole d'Laires felt more intimidating than misbehaving dragons. Spirit, what was wrong with her? The columns were only carved stone; a memorial to the past generations. They didn't have eyes that could see or tongues that could condemn. But the officials seated at the massive conference table, where she was being led all had their attention on her.
Bells jingled. "Sorry I'm late, Uncle," a sweet, high-pitched voice said. Raine paused. Someone skipped to a halt next to the distant throne, silvery chiffon layers floating around the slender form, making Raine feel even worse about her rumpled uniform. The five officials seated at the conference table half-rose and bowed to the newcomer.
Raine tried to walk as quietly as her boots allowed as she continued moving through the memorial stones. The final column was a detailed memorial to Winslow Vole d'Laire. Since he still lived, his face had not been added to the fully detailed body. Raine shivered. What would it be like to enter this space day after day and know that an artisan was patiently waiting for your reclamation so the memorial could be finished?
Five more strides brought her to the foot of a table large enough to seat a hundred. Raine clicked her heels together and stood at attention. Zar Vole d'Laire sat enthroned on a golden platform at the far end, wearing a purple garment with wide sleeves. His attention was focused on the twirling girl, who was wearing a sheer silvery tunic over pastel tights. In fact, every eye, except her own seemed to be captivated by the girl in the shimmering clothes.
Silence ensued, even when the girl stopped spinning and went to stand next to The Zar. Raine looked at the four men sitting on low, ornate cushions, two per side of the massive stone table; their attention mesmerized by the girl's hands, as she caressed The Zar's sleeve.
Raine lifted her gaze a notch and stared at the dragon that topped the ornate golden throne and she forced her body to stand as straight as possible. Silently, she prayed to the spirit for strength to face whatever her future held.
The diminutive girl turned and stared at her as if she was something unexpectedly nasty. She knew those judgmental eyes. Marsha. A chill rippled down her back. The Latawban princess had taken refuge at The Pinnacle, shortly before the destruction of her home world. Shay had been so enthralled with Marsha that she had tried to emulate everything the princess did.
Raine’s teeth clenched with a hatred she had never understood, but had felt from the first moment she had met the beautiful girl.
Perhaps Preston was right when he theorized that she detested Marsha because Shay adored her.
Raine squared her shoulders. Marsha smiled at her. The last time she’d seen that smile, Marsha had been watching slaves being tortured. Was she anticipating that sort of entertainment, now?
"She is here, Uncle." Marsha’s smile widened. For a millisecond, her eyes flashed crimson, then her gaze focused on The Zar for a lingering moment. The intensity of her posture relaxed. When she turned, her eyes were their normal ebony.
Marsha’s silver-tipped fingers tightened on Winslow's forearm, in what should have been an affectionate gesture, but somehow seemed controlling. Their gazes locked and Marsha smiled. Raine's skin crawled. Heart pounding, she looked away from the child-woman.
Stature stiff, eyes vacant, Zar Winslow reminded Raine of a child’s puppet. Spirit, let this be my imagination.
Marsha leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. Winslow and the four grandfatherly men bent toward her, blank emptiness in their eyes. I must not think or show emotion. I must not blink or itch anything. I must not let them know my fear, for they will feed on it, like dragons on psychic energy.
Silence grew as her mouth dried and the hushed anticipation became baffling. Marsha shifted her feet with annoyance; Winslow Vole d'Laire's sleeve fluttered like the wing of an injured bird.
Suddenly light glared from the golden platform. Raine closed her eyes, then peeked through her lashes. Whatever it had been was gone. She focused her attention on the dragon that topped The Zar's throne and stared at its ruby eye. Motionless, she waited and hoped that whatever was going to happen would happen soon.
The smile on Marsha's face faltered and the silvery sheen of her dress dimmed. Marsha lifted her hands over her head, in a long, sensual stretch, then took several mincing steps away from Winslow. He remained still as his ancestors’ statues. Raine watched the reflected scene. Marsha smirked toward the throne, then dance-stepped behind the elderly gentleman on Winslow's right and caressed his rigid spine. The control emanating from her brushed across Raine like a cold mist. She shivered.
A tremor of anticipation betrayed Marsha’s thoughts.
Spirit, protect me.
With a majestic move, Marsha raised her arms. A tremor went through the five men and ten blank eyes turned toward her. Raine’s mouth went dry and she prayed that whatever revenge the woman wanted would soon be over.
Silent despair welled within her until she wanted to scream. She concentrated on the dragon carved into the throne. Marsha twirled like a mad dervish. Raine focused on the throne even harder. Marsha spun faster, as if she was trying to become the center of all attention, but no matter how much pull she felt, she refused to submit to the smug look of domination in Marsha’s eyes.
Raine began to sweat.
A siren blared.
Raine had never felt so hot.
Marsha fell into an unconscious heap on to the floor.
The four Elders lurched as if shocked from a deep sleep.
The Zar Winslow shuddered and looked up as if he could see what the alarm was about.
Despite the searing heat, Raine managed to stay at attention.
One elder leaped up, but tripped over Marsha; his skull cracked against the stone floor with a sickening thud.
Raine rushed to him, and felt for a pulse. There wasn't one.
With a thunderous crash, things began falling.
The floor shuddered and a fissure opened
up beneath Marsha. With a boom, jagged tears radiated from her comatose form.
Then, the floor rippled beneath her; Raine fell sideways, landing on all fours. Horrid groaning tore the burning air. Sickenly-sweet dust clogged her nostrils.
The commemorative columns were swaying and the ceiling had been shattered and was falling.
"Spirit!" Raine grabbed for her face-mask, as she scrambled to her feet, but it wasn’t there.
The Zar Winslow stared at his commemorative column as cracks splintered the ceiling above it.
"Run!" Raine screamed.
With the sound of thunder, a fracture split the featureless, carved face.
Winslow stared, transfixed.
Raine jumped over the fissure, where Marsha and the Elder had disappeared and dashed to the throne. She grabbed Zar Winslow's rigid arm.
A deep groan drowned out the siren. The pillar began its final fall. She yanked him off his seat. "Move!" She shoved him. Surprise surged across his features. “Now!” He sprinted toward the small door where Marsha had entered. Raine dashed after him.
There was a mind-numbing groan behind her. Then a boom. A gray cloud of suffocating dust rolled over her. Something hit her in the back, knocking her forward. She fell against The Zar, propelling him through the doorway. A moment later, she hit the floor. Her body exploded with pain. The dragon’s ruby eye skittered past her, the only thing with color in the gray world.
Another boom, then merciful blackness closed over her.
Chapter 15
As the black crust-covered ooze edged higher, Thunder climbed on top of the railing. Acidic fumes made him dizzy, but he crawled upward, then crawled onto the top of the adjacent round room.
"You play game?" Dalf asked.
"I need to see."
Dalf visibly shrank at his tone.
"We here do die."
Thunder glared down at the fish-boy, who was willing to wait for death, then looked for an alternative. The air was fresher up here. Beyond the orb's top, the greenish tube and four more spheres lay in the black crud. Beyond them the black ooze abruptly stopped and pale blue water began. "Fine. Sit there and die. I intend to save myself." If it was possible. It had to be possible. Thunder slid down the curved roof and landed on the tube, then sprinted along it. Several feet of putrid crust separated its end from the clear water. Thunder leaped.
Thunder Moon: Book 2 of the Chatterre Trilogy (Chatterre Triology) Page 17
