Lord Serpent stared back at her out of memory. A brilliant, golden glare of unfettered, unparalleled power. Brighter even than the plasma-blast incinerating its host. Eat then, of the fruit of knowledge, and you shall know the truth.
Anderssen’s fingers moved on the console and the override blinked out.
The entire great machine groaned once more as the Thread whined to life. Far below, one structure rose, the other fell. Out of the corner of her eye, almost obscured by the helmet, she caught a glimpse of the last Templar turning towards her, assault rifle swinging up. It was Captain Locke. Gretchen swallowed against a dry, dry throat; a prayer to the Virgin of the Roses on her lips.
“Traitor-” Locke jerked as a very small hole appeared in his faceplate. Water vapor, blood, and atmosphere jetted out, condensing into dirty-red frost. The Templar pitched to one side, quite dead. Gretchen saw Hummingbird, one arm shattered, crouched at the edge of the platform, a tiny black gun in his hand.
“You do carry a pistol,” Anderssen said, crawling towards him. She was feeling so very, very cold. Her med-band shone solid red. “I always knew you did.”
“Not mine,” Hummingbird wheezed, his pupils huge from the meds coursing through his system. Shaking, he tossed the pistol aside. The weapon clattered away, fetching up at the foot of one of the consoles. “There is a grav-sled below, Anderssen, we can-”
He stopped, suddenly apprehending the bleak expression on her face, the cold, lifeless light in her eyes as she staggered up on both feet. Her field tool was in one hand as she limped towards him, the trenching spike extended.
“You just saved my life, Crow, but we are not even.”
Alarmed, the nauallis edged away from her advance, barely able to crawl.
“You drew that damned bronze block across my path as a lure, letting the teacher inside infest my mind-you brought the Prince and Sahane here against their will, just so you could cut out their hearts on this hell-bound altar-yes, a nice symmetry, bringing three keys to the doors of the tripartite temple.” Her voice rose, ringing harshly on the suit-comm. “And you’ve your back up-these soldier-priests with their superb armor and unflinching resolve-but-by my eyes-they are all dead now, Crow, and only you and I are left.”
“Anderssen!” Hummingbird’s voice was ragged, but he managed something of his old strength. “Stop this foolishness! You need me to get out of here; we need each other to survive the next ten hours, we-”
“There is no we!” Gretchen lunged, slamming the field tool down at his face with a convulsive, rage-fueled stroke. The nauallis rolled away with a gasp at the last second, his face blanching white, and the pick screeched on the Vay’en metal of the floor. Hummingbird scrambled up, broken arm clutched against his thin chest. For the first time, she saw a glint of real fear in his limpid green eyes. The scarred, impassive face was suddenly showing signs of humanity. He scuttled back, finding himself caught in the wedge-shaped corner of two of the consoles.
“Doctor Anderssen, you know the kinds of things I must do. You know my purpose. I have never misled you about my aims. This place-”
“Is exactly the kind of trap you’ve always gone on about!” Gretchen snarled, circling to put herself between him and the stairs. “A fortune no one can spend, a tool no one dare wield. Do you grasp the enormity of what lies below us, incubating in the forge of creation? Do you know how long you would last under their influence?”
Hummingbird-sidling along the console-stopped, a questioning expression stealing over his scarred old features. “Do you know? Have you seen them, comprehended them?”
What? Oh Lady of the Seven Stars, he has no idea what is going on here! Anderssen hefted the field tool, finding a surety of purpose in the heavy, oiled metal. “Goddamned Crow, you didn’t even know what you might unlock when you set the Prince against this place? What were you hoping to gain? The weapons technology behind the barrier of knives? Some fragments of the wisdom of the Vay’en themselves?”
“At the most,” he said, voice settling into something like its old calm, “the annihilation of the Prince, the Khaid, even the poor Ambassador and my own life in the bargain. A clean set of books-nothing falling into the Emperor’s hands to upset the balance at home-and time. Time we desperately need.”
“Against what black day?” Gretchen eased closer, the tool raised, her eyes fixed on his midsection. “Opening this tomb door would vomit up the annihilation of our entire species-isn’t that your eternal fear?-well, here you were right!”
She lunged again, snapping the tool around in a fast, sharp arc. Hummingbird bolted, twisting his shattered arm into the path of the spike. The point gouged into his z-suit, bouncing from a metal plate and snagging in the gel at the elbow. Gretchen wretched the tool away, but the nauallis slammed his working forearm into her faceplate, cracking a metal wristband against the glassite with a ringing blow. Stunned, Anderssen skipped back, desperate to retain her weapon.
“I never meant to wake the powers sleeping here!” Hummingbird gasped. “I was used in turn, Doctor, by a Senescalcus of Templars. He-it-is stronger than I understood. It pushed my mind, sent me down this course-sent them along, the Knights, to ensure the message we heard from Piet’s lips was delivered!”
Gretchen froze, a flash of memory resurfacing. One survived. One still survives.
Then she moved again, vastly relieved. The last shred of conscience which had lain upon her, holding back her fury, evaporated. Something in her expression must have transformed as well, for Hummingbird hissed in anger and darted away from her, trying to cut across the gap between the consoles and the pit. Anderssen leapt after him, feeling a joyful strength filling her body. She caught him two paces from the edge of the shaft, dodged past his outflung arm, and smashed the tool across his faceplate and shoulder. Sparks leapt back, the old man crashed to the floor, and atmosphere hissed, obscuring his faceplate.
“Ahhh!” His cry of pain echoed on her comm. Anderssen pounced, pinning him to the floor with one knee. The point of the tool ground against his armpit, tearing at the gel.
“Anderssen, please! Remember your family, remember they need you to come home-to provide for them! Isabelle, Tristan-they can still benefit-the calmecac schools can be moved to accept them. Ahhh!”
The spike punched through into his side, blood boiling away into vapor as it welled around the metal.
“There’s nothing you can offer me, Crow, which will buy your life.” Gretchen’s voice was cold, her heart filling with a tremendous pressure as his face contorted behind the faceplate. “You can promise only ash and broken shells. Your gifts are only death and suffering-”
“Duncan,” he gasped, trying to catch her eyes, his old face tight with terrible pain. “There are universities on Anahuac who will still take him; he can be all you desired, you can-”
“My son is dead,” she said, wrenching the field tool free and standing up. “My son is dead.”
Atmosphere hissed from the gaping wound. Hummingbird’s faceplate frosted over and she could hear a tight, harsh gasp of pain over her comm. The nauallis’ body jerked spasmodically, limbs stiffening. He tried to roll over, to get his feet beneath him. Gretchen took a step back, and then jammed her boot into the old man’s side, sending him sliding across the mirror-bright floor. His good hand scrabbled wildly on the surface-then he tipped over the edge, just like Sahane and the pilot.
The comm circuit cut off, leaving only Anderssen’s harsh, bellowslike rasp echoing in her ears.
It’s done. It’s all done.
Outside
The shuttle’s cargo door swung up with a whine and spacers in white-and-brown z-suits helped Hadeishi and the remains of his crew out into a huge, brightly lit boat-bay. Mitsuharu looked over the faces of his men with a measuring eye. They were all bloody, bruised, and pale with exhaustion. Some of these men have crewed three ships in this one venture. In spite of the heavy losses, he felt great relief and pride at the spirit of his surviving crew. Not one of them seemed impres
sed by the shining new ship surrounding them, or the ranks of armored men arrayed across the floor of the bay. Enormous banners hung from the walls, showing a crimson cross on a white field. And now another ship, another berth. Lost travelers on the road to the holy city, redeemed from bandits and rogues by the cross-men. Then he caught sight of a familiar face and smiled broadly through the grease and carbon he knew crusted his face and helmet. “ Konnichi-wa, Sencho-sana.”
Captain De Molay was waiting impatiently, arms crossed, one foot tapping on the deck. She was kitted out in the same white-and-brown space-armor as the ship’s crew. Her rank insignia was quite polished; a squared crimson cross flamed on her breast. She saluted stiffly. Wounds from the Khaiden ambush not yet mended.
“ Chu-sa Hadeishi, welcome aboard the Pilgrim.”
Mitsuharu nodded, and then returned the salute with a hand trembling with fatigue. “Our fortune improves. And my men?”
“We’ve taken almost sixty aboard already, and there are more on shuttles inbound.” The elderly woman offered him a sombre expression. “ Our medical facilities are first-rate.”
“ Infirmus fui et visitastis me,” Mitsuharu returned soberly.
De Molay stared at him in surprise, the corner of her mouth quirking into a smile. “‘I was sick and you visited me.’ That is-”
“The twentieth rule,” he said, nodding to the cross on her breastplate. “This is a strike-carrier of the Order of the Temple; I would say a refitted Norsktek Galahad -class hull with-by what I saw from the shuttle viewport-an entirely upgraded drive array. Out of the yards on New Malta?”
“It is indeed,” De Molay said, pleased. “And it is appropriate that you have attended to all her details.”
Mitsuharu’s thin black eyebrows lifted in query.
“In good time, Chu-sa,” De Molay said with no emotion whatever. “If you will step over here, please.” She guided him away from the others. Templar medical staff were everywhere in the bay, triaging the rescued Imperials. A line of grav-sleds was waiting to take the survivors away. “Come with me, there is someone who has waited a long time to see you again.”
In the tube-car, Mitsuharu closed his eyes-for just a moment-and fell sound asleep against the upholstered chair.
***
Tap-tap-tap went the blind man’s bamboo cane on the side of the road, ticking against the mossy rocks laid at the border. Musashi was dozing, nearly asleep in the shelter of the little shrine. Rain was drumming on the slanted, tiled roof, but his head was dry on a bundle of cloth holding the rice-paper book he’d been so laboriously writing in. He opened one eye halfway as the shuffling mendicant ducked under the eaves. “Ah, pardon,” wheezed a tired voice. “Just getting out of the rain.”
“Welcome, brother,” Musashi replied, moving his legs out of the way. Both shins were bound in bandages. “I’d offer you tea-if I had any-or a rice ball-if I had one. But I’ve neither, so you’re welcome to the dry roof at least.”
The blind man laughed, his stout face creasing into a merry smile. “The tamghachi have left this whole province hungry-or so they tell me in the inns, when there is nothing to eat.” He settled down on a little bench, head bowed over his cane.
Outside, the drumming sound of the rain was supplemented-then replaced-by the rattle of hooves on the metaled road. At first one horse, then a dozen. “Hm.” The blind man dug vigorously at one ear with a blunt finger. “Someone is coming in a great hurry. I wonder-could it be the militia? I’ve heard there is a murderer loose-he slew a tax collector some days ago.”
“Interesting.” Musashi yawned, hands behind his head. “But the militia does not ride war horses.”
***
Hadeishi awoke to find a sandy-haired man with knight-commander’s tabs standing beside his gurney. The familiar sounds and smells of medbay surrounded them, and De Molay was loitering behind the Templar. Her gray eyes wrinkled up in amusement at the look on Hadeishi’s face when he recognized Ketcham.
“You were in a bad way the last time I saw you, Chu-sa Hadeishi,” the European observed.
Mitsuharu smiled wryly. “Aside from far too much radiation exposure, I believe my wounds are only of the heart, Pr?ceptor Ketcham. You found another ship, I see, and one better suited to you than wildcatting with an illegal ore refinery.”
“I did.” Ketcham scratched the back of his head, failing to suppress a huge grin. “You seem to have gotten back into the hot-chair, too, by hook and by crook.”
“By stealing my ship,” De Molay grumbled. Her good humor made the elderly woman seem a dozen years younger. “Twice!”
“I returned it,” Hadeishi said quietly. He looked around the room, hoping for a comm panel.
“Much the worse for wear!” De Molay objected, jutting out her chin pugnaciously.
“He has that way.” Ketcham laughed. “You will want to know, Chu-sa , that Commander Kosho is well, though busy aboard her ship, which is somewhat… battered. We intend to ship your men across to the Naniwa as soon as she has atmosphere restored on all decks, and proper facilities prepared.”
Mitsuharu felt his heart ease at the news of the battle-cruiser’s survival and lay easier on the gurney. “Then I can sleep at last.”
He closed his eyes, feeling the tug of tremendous weariness, and wondered idly if it were possible for him to sleep for a full week. Then he sat up again, frowning at the two Templars. They had not moved, and were waiting for him expectantly.
“My men, you say, to the Naniwa. Where am I bound, if not with them?”
De Molay produced a data crystal, bound with gold and white bands. “If you recall, Chu-sa Hadeishi, you signed aboard the merchanter Wilful as an engineer’s mate. After W ilful ’s unhappy experience with marauding Khaid, you assumed emergency captaincy until such time as you engineered the capture of the Khaiden light cruiser Kader. You served as de facto captain aboard her until the vessel was evacuated. From our point of view, you are still captain of the Kader, but her fate is yet to be decided. And you are still our employee, bound by contract. One possibility is to scuttle the cruiser and add her remains to the debris along the Barrier. Another is to affect sufficient repairs to allow transit to the nearest Temple shipyard where she may either be reborn, or recycled. In any case, she is your charge. These orders-” She tapped a fingernail against the crystal. “Affirm your employment and responsibilities.”
De Molay reached for his hand and closed his thin, newly scrubbed fingers over the crystal. It seemed tremendously heavy, possessing a weight in his mind far in excess of the tiny dimensions.
Hadeishi’s glance shifted to Ketcham. “What time is it and when does the next watch begin?”
De Molay turned a snort of laughter into a sneeze.
Ketcham shook his head, putting on a forbidding expression. “You, Chu-sa, are on medbay time. Down here, I’m XO of the Pilgrim in name only. When the Infirmarian lets you go, you can take your duty station. Until then-well, you’ll have time to sleep at last.”
Aboard the Naniwa in company of the Pilgrim and her support flotilla
Chu-sa Kosho nodded in greeting to the two Imperial marines standing watch outside medbay pod twenty-seven, and then stepped inside without a pause, followed by Kikan-shi Helsdon. The pressurized door whispered shut behind them and Susan paused a moment, letting the portal seal, before turning around, hands clasped behind her back. The Naniwa ’s commander looked civilized again-she’d had a shower, been out of her z-armor for nearly a day, and gotten a few hours of sleep. Helsdon, now sitting nervously in a corner chair, looked little different than usual. The engineering teams had been working around the clock to repair secondary hull damage and return normal living conditions to the hab rings and command compartments.
“Anderssen- tzin, good afternoon.”
Gretchen looked up from her field comp, face mottled with bruises, her tangled blond hair tied back in a ponytail. Her bare arms and neck were shining with quickheal, and her ruined civilian z-armor had been replaced by a mat
te black Fleet skinsuit while she remained in medbay. She was sitting on a bed of crates, spare insulation, and blankets-the regular pod bed had been moved somewhere else. A portable lamp hung from the ceiling, shedding a bluish-white glow. On her field comp’s screen, a relayed feed from the main navigational array was unspooling, showing the singularity and its attendant stars. The icon of the Sunflower was nowhere to be seen.
“It’s gone.” The Swedish woman set the comp down, shoulders slumping in weariness. “Dragged down by irresistible gravity. The last sanctuary of the Vay’en is no more.”
Kosho glanced to Helsdon, who shook his head in ignorance. The Nisei woman pursed her lips, frowned once, and then tilted her head questioningly at the xenoarchaeologist.
“I do not know who these Vahyyyen might be, but I am very interested in determining what happened to Prince Xochitl and Ambassador Sahane. Can you tell me?”
“Oh,” Anderssen blinked, and then rubbed her face, trying to remember. “I had forgotten all about the two boys… they are dead, Captain. One of the Templars shot Xochitl in the face with an assault rifle, and Sahane-well, he was burned alive by a plasma burst and then cut in half. Old Crow, he-” She nodded to herself, feeling light-headed. “He was shot, then stabbed, and then fell down a very, very deep pit. But-but I could not say for certain he perished, not being able to see the bottom of that pit. It was quite deep.”
Susan’s expression congealed into a cold, immobile mask. “My marines found you drifting on a jury-rigged grav-sled outside the artifact, Doctor Anderssen, in the company of a half-dead, blinded Jaguar Knight who had been Cuauhhuehueh of the Prince’s guard detachment. The ship Xochitl commandeered-the Moulins -has disappeared. Do you know what happened to the freighter?”
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