by C. Gockel
Allysha nodded. "That’s further down than we are now. This ledge is halfway down the cliff face. I used to be able to scramble up from there."
"Even if you could do it, Roland can’t," Saahren said, coming to stand next to her.
Allysha looked up at his face. "I don’t think I’d like to try it in this weather. I was hoping Tyne could bring us up from the ledge."
"He’ll need to know where we are."
"I’ll send him a signal. Thing is, as soon as I do that, the searchers will see it, too."
"Okay. We’ll get out on the ledge, then send the signal. Roland, you’ll go first, then Allysha, then me."
The wind howled. She sidled out of the cave onto a guano-covered ledge barely one stride wide. Wind-driven rain slashed her skin with ice cold needles. Two hundred meters below waves boomed onto boulders, flinging salt spray to mingle with the rain. Phosphorescent foam sucked back out to sea. She squinted up over her shoulder at the cliff top. At least any searchers would be reluctant to climb down the cliff face in this gale. She set her back to the storm, sheltering the techpack with her body and sent her signal. Water dripped off her hair, trickled down her jaw line, insinuated itself under her coat. She couldn’t remember when she felt so cold.
A whine cut through the noise of the storm. She peered into the sky, looking for the lander’s squat form but the rain obscured her view.
A sinuous shape swung down from the darkness, gleaming with its own light; a sturdy line with a harness attached. Saahren helped Roland into the harness, securing the fastenings at the front. He held out his hand. "Give me your comlink."
Roland handed it over. The line went taut and he swung off into the air.
Sooner than she had expected, the comlink crackled. "Saahren?"
"Yes?"
"We’re sending the harness down. You’ll both have to come up together. They’ve called in a patrol ship from Ullnish. It’s on its way."
Saahren grabbed the harness as soon as it appeared, swung the webbing around his shoulders and beckoned to her.
She took a step, slipped on wet rock and teetered, flailing, on the cliff’s edge. She scrambled for purchase, her heart in her mouth, her eyes fixed on Saahren’s horrified face as he lunged toward her. The limestone crumbled beneath her feet.
34
Saahren latched both arms around her waist as she began to fall. The momentum drove them both over the edge, above the dizzying drop to the churning water far below. She screamed, her eyes round with fear. His shoulders slammed into the harness and her weight slammed against his arms. "Hold on."
He clung to her as they swung away from the ledge. The force of the wind caught them and carried them back toward the rock face. He’d never felt so helpless, swinging around in a gale to be smashed like a bug on a mountainside. He tried to angle his body so he could kick away from the cliff with his feet if he needed to. A huge wave crashed into the rock face far below, sending plumes surging toward him.
They veered away, out over the open ocean. Thank the Spirit. Tyne must have moved the lander. He linked his arms together under Allysha and hung on, muscles aching. Who’d have thought such a light weight could be so heavy?
He peered up, past the line. Hurry, please hurry. His shoulders burned.
A square of light appeared above them, with Roland in the doorway, waiting, operating the winch.
Even before Saahren’s legs were inside, the ship began to move.
"Police ship’s coming." Roland closed the hatch. He was white-faced, clearly in pain. "Melching’s on her way with the ship so we can rendezvous sooner. It’ll be close, but we’ll make it."
His arm around Allysha, Saahren stumbled into a seat, eyes on the view screen. The police ship from Ullnish was fast in atmosphere but the gale would reduce its speed. Queen of Tyrone was closing rapidly and the lander just needed to keep going up. But the race would be close. The police copter’s slim shape grew larger in the view screen. He couldn’t afford to be taken into police custody.
"Tyne, if that police ship is going to intercept, Melching will have to shoot it down."
Allysha slumped in her chair, her chin on her chest. Hopefully she hadn’t heard him.
"Understood. I’ve told her. I’ve racked up the power as high as I can. I’m hoping we’ll make it but it might be a bumpy ride."
"This is the police. Alter your course to the heading given and shape to land."
Tyne ignored the instruction. Just a little further and they’d be through the cloud cover, above the atmosphere and out of the copter’s reach. A bright beam of energy seared past the lander’s port side. The ship rocked.
"Change course now. You won’t be warned again."
Damn and blast. He really didn’t want to do this. "Tyne—"
A missile screamed down through the cloud cover, locked onto the police copter. The ship slewed, dropped and commenced evasive measures, jibing and weaving. Saahren kept his eyes on the sensor vision until clouds intervened. "Tell her to call it off."
The sensors switched to heat, the copter a large bright blob, the pursuing missile closing fast. He hoped the instruction came in time but if it didn’t, well, he’d have to live with it.
Thank goodness. The police copter shot ahead. The missile dropped into the sea and exploded, sending up a massive water spout. Queen of Tyrone’s bulk appeared above them, its bay door open and ready. The lander slowed, throwing him into the harness. He winced. His shoulders would be sore for a time. As soon as they’d docked in the airlock, the ship headed for space.
Tyne came through to help Roland, leaving Saahren to bring Allysha on board. In the hangar he peeled off her sodden coat, picked her up and carried her to a seat in the passenger cabin, where she lay on her back, eyes closed.
Tyne returned with kaff, handed a steaming cup to Saahren. He took it gratefully. "Where’s Roland?" he said, taking the seat beside her.
"In the medical room with Preston," Tyne replied. "Are we expecting trouble with that warship?"
"I don’t think so. I can’t imagine the authorities on Carnessa alerting it, can you?" But even so, the space station might have its own reasons for stopping them and send a fast cruiser, especially after their encounter with the police copter.
"No, I guess not," Tyne said.
On the screen the space station was a point on the far edge of the planet’s limb. The Ptorix warship in its higher orbit approached from the opposite side. The seconds ticked past. The Ptorix frigate loomed closer, sunlight sparking off its weird tentacles.
"Ptorix warship is scanning," announced the ship’s IS.
No call, no intercept. Queen of Tyrone plunged past, up out of Carnessa’s orbit, approaching its moons. Saahren sighed with relief. Headquarters now, to end this mess. Leonov had had the data for quite a while. Maybe he’d found something else.
"Home and clear." Tyne’s voice oozed relief. "Where to now?"
"Malmos. But meantime, she needs treatment." Saahren’s gaze slid down from her white face to the angry bruises circling her neck. He should have her seen to. But he had to contact Fleet. She would live. Right now, his job was more important. "It’s not life-threatening but she isn’t comfortable. I need to contact Fleet. Can you get her to the med center?"
"Sure. Preston should be finished with Roland now. He’s had some medical training."
"Excellent. Can you also fetch that canister from the hangar bay? It’s in Allysha’s coat. We don’t want it lying around."
Saahren headed for the comms room.
Allysha put a hand to her throat. She could almost feel the anesthetic doing its work, soothing the bruises, sucking away the pain. All she needed was a shower, dry clothes and a sleep and she’d be back to normal. Well… when her jarred muscles recovered.
"Thanks, Preston," she said.
He put away the medical kit. "There is little I can do for the appearance of the bruises. You will have a colorful necklace for a time."
"I can live with that. I feel m
uch better already."
Roland sat on the edge of the bed, his arm treated with synthskin. The color had returned to his face and his eyes had lost that sharp edge of pain. He and Allysha followed Preston out of the tiny medical center.
"You’re looking better, Roland." Tyne walked toward them along the corridor. "Do you two know where this canister is that I’m supposed to fetch? Admiral Saahren said something about your coat?"
"Leave it to me, Tyne," Roland said.
Tyne shrugged a shoulder. "Okay." He turned and went back upstairs.
Roland took Allysha’s arm and drew her with him down to the hangar. "Now then, what about this canister?"
"It’s in my coat."
"Yes, but what’s in the canister?"
She ducked around the parked lander and retrieved the sodden coat from the corner where it lay in a puddle of its own making. She dug through the cold, heavy fabric and fished the canister out of the pocket.
"You know that. It’s a virus, a biological weapon."
"But what exactly does it do?" He emphasized the last word.
She straightened, looking down at an innocent receptacle, a slim silver cylinder labeled disinfectant. Her flesh crawled at the thought of the horror it contained. "This virus killed every Ptorix on Tisyphor."
Roland’s mouth dropped open. "That planet you were on?"
"Uh-huh."
He considered that, lips curled, brows furrowed. "When you say every?"
"I mean every. I found the last Ptorix mine manager’s diary. He said every Tor that contracted this disease died. And it’s very, very contagious. It seems none of them were immune."
"And that’s in that canister?"
His voice had a strange inflection.
"And we’re going to destroy it." Roland’s face had taken on a predatory look; his eyes cold and hard as a hunting beast.
Her heart lurched. "Admiral Saahren wants it destroyed. If this gets out, it’ll lead to war."
"Yep, you’re right." He plastered a humorless smile across his face and held out a hand. "We sure wouldn’t want to use it on Carnessa."
A tendril of disquiet fluttered in her stomach. The canister clutched to her breast, she backed away. Maybe she should have kept her mouth shut.
"Come on. I can’t dispose of it if you’ve got it, can I?" He advanced toward her, hand outstretched, still smiling that cold smile.
"You want to use it."
His eyes glittered. The façade slipped. "Damn right. The bastards can’t fight if they’re dead. I lost my fiancée’s family—her whole damn family—on Belvista. Filthy, dirty toe rags. They slaughtered them, every one."
He was shouting, his face a raging mask. "It’s all they deserve. Give them back a taste of their own medicine. See how they like it."
She stepped back, heart galloping. The man was mad; he had to be mistaken. The Ptorix didn’t slaughter; they were peaceful. Her back struck the lashed-down lander, which filled most of the bay. Nowhere to go. A pulse pounded in her throat, her injured throat. She swallowed, fighting her terror.
He edged closer, his lips pulled back. "Give the thing to me or I’ll take it off you."
"You wouldn’t dare. When Admiral Saahren finds out—"
"It’ll be too late." He lunged toward her, grabbing at the canister.
35
Ptorix tentacles snaked out and wound around Roland’s waist, tore him away from her.
Grallaz. Almost sobbing with relief, she sagged against the wall, cradling the cylinder like a baby. Horror pressed down on her. He would have used this stuff. Pictures from the laboratory records rose unbidden in her mind, the experimental Ptorix howling in pain as his body dissolved. Horrible, disgusting.
Roland’s face reddened, his mouth twisted into a snarl of fury. "Let me go, you piece of toe rag filth."
The Ptorix coiled the tentacles of two other arms around both Roland’s arms and ignored the kicks. The journalist thrashed, wriggled, shouting obscenities while Tyne tried to calm him.
Saahren shoved Tyne aside as he thrust through the door. He glanced at her and turned a glacial stare on Roland. "What’s going on here?"
Roland bristled but he stopped fighting. "You’re going to destroy this. You’re mad. You could end them. Finish them off. Wipe the slate clean."
"You would use it?" Saahren said, his voice quiet.
"And you won’t?"
"No. Because I’m not stupid. Anxhou would blame a human; our friend Sean O’Reilly, for instance, and that would be enough to give him an excuse to attack. On Carnessa or any other planet."
"Bring it on," Roland said. "Land troops. They’d get the illness, too. They’d die, maybe even take a dose back home with them."
"Yes. Maybe Anxhou, too. But the Khophirate would hear the news. You can be sure that the story of Tisyphor is recorded somewhere in the Khophirate archives. The Ptorix aren’t stupid. They’d soon realize what they were up against and find a cure or a vaccine. Meanwhile, they’d send their troops out in suits with air supplies, or bombard instead of land. And you can also be certain that their anti-human fundamentalists would stir up their populations, accuse us of trying to destroy them. If that belief took hold, they’d sweep over the top of us like a swarm of locusts. We wouldn’t stand a chance."
Allysha swallowed. Not just dead Tors. Dead humans. Death and destruction everywhere. "Chohzu," she murmured to herself.
"Yes. Chohzu the destroyer," Saahren said. "He’d be chortling with glee at the prospect. Forenisi, Jossur—they’d be schoolyard arguments in comparison."
She shivered. Jossur repeated over and over again. "But how would Anxhou know to blame humans?"
"Oh, that’s easy enough. They would have had someone primed, waiting for the news; some gangster on Malmos would have been paid to crow in triumph and many would have cheered. There are plenty of humans out there with real grudges against the Tors."
Roland had subsided like a deflating balloon. "Let me go. I didn’t think it through."
Grallaz looked at Saahren, who nodded, before he released the journalist.
"Why?" Tyne faced him, legs apart, hands on hips, chin thrust forward. "Why would you want to murder Ptorix?"
Roland sighed. "I was going to marry. My fiancée’s parents lived on Belvista. They refused to go when the place was ceded back to the Khophirate, said it was safe and they’d be fine. She went back to visit and the Ptorix authorities wouldn’t let her leave. I’d filed some disparaging stories about Anxhou in the past so the great governor’s militia made an example of her family. They were murdered. Just like that. If I do anything about it, like file a story they don’t like, they’ll kill her, too. She’s under house arrest." He blinked away the tears that glistened in his eyes.
"Not everyone supports Anxhou," Grallaz said. His eyes still whirled with too much violet.
Roland shot a sidelong glance at the Ptorix. "Yeah. So you said. Doesn’t help me, though."
"Not all Ptorix are like that," Allysha said. "You’d kill them all because of a few?"
The journalist scowled at her, his nostrils flared. "It’s where you come from, I guess. I hate them. I hate them." He strode away, his footsteps banging up the stairs.
Allysha let out a long gust of air. So much for working for him. She couldn’t; wouldn’t. Not a bigot like him. Oh, well. She could always go home.
"Give me the canister, Allysha," Saahren said. "It will be destroyed on my flagship where we can apply sufficient heat to burn it and what it contains."
Weariness engulfed her. Her water-logged garments hung cold and heavy on her body. Could she trust him? Her gaze strayed to Tyne and then to Grallaz.
"What should I do, Grallaz?" she said in Ptorix.
His eyes faded from blue to green down to orange. "What choice do we have, little one? Do you trust him?"
Saahren hadn’t moved. He stood silent, his hands at his sides, as wet and bedraggled as she was. A drop of water trickled down the side of his face and dripped onto h
is collar. Trust him to do what he said?
"You can trust him," Tyne said. "I’ll make sure it’s done."
She handed Tyne the canister and stumbled up to her quarters.
Showered and dried, Allysha lay down on her bed. Relax, get some sleep, Preston had told her. Easy enough to say. She’d gone past weariness and out the other side, into that bone-tiredness that precludes sleep. She flicked through some of the entertainment channels but nothing absorbed her enough to shut down the voices in her head. At last, she selected a collection of Tabora chamber music and allowed herself to drift with the complex harmonies.
So much of her world was turned upside down. Sean was out of her life; that was a positive, but probably the only one. She’d seen death up close and nearly died herself. She wasn’t sure about what had happened at Forenisi anymore, or Jossur. Had Xanthor told the truth at that meeting in Shernish? And what about the business at Brjyl. Was Saahren right? Had Lord Anxhou murdered his own people to start a war? That was so appalling it couldn’t be true. Could it? And Roland, whose fiancée’s family was murdered at Belvista. She’d always believed the Ptorix were cultured, peace loving people who spread throughout the Galaxy because it was empty. Now… now she wasn’t so sure.
The music soared and Allysha soared with it. Her father’s face appeared before her mind’s eye. She’d become estranged from him because of Sean. Ironic, really. Sean was wrong for her, always had been. She could see that, now. Her father said Sean would use her, lie to her, eventually leave her. But she’d been headstrong. Too late now to regret that last monumental argument. Her father had been right, she was wrong. And she would never be able to tell him.
Ah, well. She couldn’t change the past. Move on. She was young, with nothing to hold her back. She had a house, plenty of credit, plenty of work. Shernish without Sean would be a good place to start, safe from van Tongeren, safe from Saahren. She steered away from reflections of the past and imagined the university on the hill above the port, the river glistening as it journeyed to the sea, the sky an endless blue vault.