Two other laowon held up an elderly man in bloodstained white robes. They raised handweapons, but it was a fraction of a second too late, because Iehard slammed into the one on the left and the mote struck the one on the right and they were hurled backward in a heap. Jon clubbed one, was struck in return and thrown against the wall, but the mote swung and fired itself at the laowon's head and rendered him senseless. Jon's gun sparked twice more. There could be no mercy when dealing with Superior Buro.
Jon looked around. Officer Dahn was the only one who had kept up with him. Then the captain emerged from an elevator.
"Quickly, grab the old man. Get him into the ship."
Dahn looked at Jon. Looked at the dead laowon. She seemed stunned by this turn of events.
"Look," Jon shouted, his voice breaking. "We are all dead if we don't get out of here. The ship is fueled, let's go."
"There was not supposed to be any killing," she whispered. "Nothing like this." She gestured helplessly at the dead laowon.
"They were Superior Buro. What else was there to do?" Jon surprised himself, his conditioning lay in shards. He had killed laowon again, would do so again if he had to. He felt no shame, no disgust. It had been a necessary act of war.
"Look, let's get moving, why don't we?" He seethed with impatience.
Jon ran back, found Porox's office and Meg. They had left her there, alone. Quickly he pushed her along the corridors and into the elevators. He half ran the distance to the docking tube. An airlock was still open. He plunged in.
The ship interior was unexpectedly plain and utilitarian, with hundreds of blue seats laid out in concentric rows in a central circular space. Above that, through a "Crew Only" access tube, was the bridge, also laid out in a circular pattern beneath a radial array of screens and instruments.
They had arranged the man in white robes in a seat. Jon looked down on his quarry. There he was at last, Eblis Bey. Then he lifted Meg out of the wheelchair and put her in a seat in the row behind the Bey. He strapped her in and then folded up the chair and slung it underneath the seats.
The mote appeared suddenly, floating along one and a half meters from the floor until it hovered next to the Elchite. Jon came over and gave the man a quick inspection. A shock-rod rash was plain on the side of his neck, and his nose had bled heavily for a while. He had been struck a blow or two, but there appeared to be no fractured bones. The man seemed much older than in Commander Petrie's photo.
A voice on the PA announced immediate takeoff. Jon strapped in next to the Bey. Only a handful of other crew members were in the main cabin, most were on the bridge.
A ceiling screen came on giving them the view inside the bridge. The screen subdivided; one view showed the exterior of the Sooner docking bay, where lines of tankers patiently waited.
Hawkstone's voice came over the PA, sounding stronger, more confident. "This is Captain Hawkstone speaking. Welcome to the Luft Line flagship Orn. I suggest that everyone strap in completely, use the full webbing provided in the sides of your seats. The computer informs me this may be rather a rough ride."
Indeed there was already a strong vibration in the floor. A deep groan came from somewhere.
"Engine room," Hawkstone said, "get me full field in two minutes. We are entering emergency drill now!" Red lights began to flash all around the passenger cabin.
Two minutes! Jon recalled the hours he'd spent between jumps on the laowon jumper from Glegan.
There was a new tone in Hawkstone's voice. A liner captain with two decades of service behind him, he felt stronger at the helm of his ship, surrounded by the mass he'd grown so familiar with.
Jon decided the Orn was a short-hop liner, jumping business people around inside a single system. No wonder the people were acting strangely. They were just ordinary space crew caught up in a mission that was getting more dangerous by the moment. Jon had a lot of questions for the Bey, but they'd have to wait until the old man had recovered consciousness, at least.
Then the Orn broke away from the docking arm and rose rapidly through the flight paths, pressing them all into their seats.
"Officer Dahn, please get me position of Illustrious at this time," Hawkstone said quietly.
The acceleration went on and on, a great weight on their bodies, squeezing them down.
"Illustrious currently in docking mode at gigahabitat Nostramedes," Dahn reported. "Distance four million kloms."
"Thank you, Officer Dahn. Engine room, how's my field?"
"Coming right up, sir. Inside two minutes."
Everyone's voice was now measured, steady, as if in the habits of spaceflight they found security, unlike the alien risks of habitat or planet.
"Sooner Central Control is screaming blue murder!" another woman commented quietly on the bridge.
"Here comes an override!"
A face burst onto the main screens.
"Unidentified ship! What the hell are you doing? You're way too close to us to be using gravitomagnetics!"
"Sorry, Sooner. We don't have time to explain," Hawkstone said. "Get him off the screen, Bergen."
"Yes, sir."
"What the hell do you mean, you 'don't have time'?"
"Exactly that," Hawkstone said quietly. The override vanished.
"Where's my field, engine room?"
"Coming up fast, but do you think it's safe, sir? This close to Sooner's mass?"
"We have no choice, I'm afraid. We're all cashiered by now anyway."
"Cashiered?" Someone snorted impatiently. "We're all dead because of that crazy gunman you picked up. The laowon will take us for public Expiation. Red-hot pincers, everything, all in front of the television screens."
"Shut up, M'Nee. We don't need to hear any more of that," Officer Bergen said.
Jon held back his own angry retort.
Seconds ticked by.
"Illustrious is moving now, sir. We have definite double image there, she's unshipping fast."
"They know where we are now. I'll bet they're in a hurry. How long before they can bracket us?"
"They'll have to turn the ship, we have thirty seconds perhaps," Officer Dahn said bitterly.
"Where's my field?" Hawkstone was now audibly anxious.
"We're all dead because of you, damn it!" someone screamed. Jon wondered who it was she was blaming.
"It's that damned Elchite. He came to Ornholme for payment of the debt. He could not be refused. We had to do as he asked," Hawkstone replied hotly.
Jon imagined the great battlejumper slowly turning to bring its weaponry to bear.
Then the Orn jumped. There was a strange, wrenching moment as the gravitomagnetic bubble formed and the ship surged through the wormholes of space-time.
Then it was over and the screen showed nothing but stars, faraway brilliant points.
"Ship will rotate to provide point five gees in passenger section," the computer announced.
Everyone was breathing hard, the PA reverberated to it.
"On my trip to Nocanicus from Glegan, where I was born, it took the ship hours to achieve each jump," Jon exclaimed in wonder, and heard his voice echo excitedly over the PA.
Hawkstone's voice was measured, slightly sardonic. "Spaceliners normally do everything they can to protect themselves and their passengers, Mr. Iehard. Our chances of reaching this point from that jump were no better than three to one, according to the computer. But if Illustrious had completed that turn we would've had no chance at all. Four million kloms is short range for a laowon battlewagon."
"You think they could have destroyed us, just like that?"
"Disabled us more likely. At that range they could shave your mustache off with the primary laser."
"But where are we now?"
"On the far side of Nocanicus, opposite where we were. We performed a simple, random-gravity flip-flop. Our jump spin was absorbed by the star. We traveled around its gravity center along the lines of the magnetic field. It increased our chances of survival by twenty percent."
<
br /> "So Illustrious can't detect us yet."
"Precisely, nor can the ship at the Ginger Moon. We're on the far side of Nocanicus from William too."
Jon noticed that Eblis Bey was coming round. He unstrapped himself and went to get some water. When he returned he went to sit beside the old man. The mote emitted a warning buzz and swung in front of him.
"No! Contact is not permitted!" it screamed in its bizarre, mechanoid garble.
"I won't touch him, he's coming round, look."
Eblis Bey sat up with a groan and put a hand to his head. "Am I dreaming or simply dead? I never thought there'd be a ship to take you to heaven."
Jon laughed. "Neither dead nor dreaming. You're back aboard the Orn, and we've given them the slip."
The Bey now focused on Jon. He groped for the water and drank it in a gulp. "You!" he exclaimed. "I should have known at once."
"What do you mean?" said Jon.
"You're the one on all the broadcasts, a system-wide search is on. Seventeen laowon, they say."
Seventeen! If he was taken alive the laowon would have him expiate for a long, long time.
"And aren't you the Eblis Bey I was told is a fugitive for killing two dozen laowon, with Grand Weengams and Twirsteds among them!"
The Bey gripped his shoulder. His eyes glittered. "Well done, young man. Let me welcome you to our expedition. We are in need of a fellow like you. We have some dangerous work ahead of us."
The mote suddenly brayed, "Welcome!" Jon smiled. A welcome had been a rarity so far in his life, he was happy to accept one anywhere, even from a talking billiard ball.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Commander Petrie stared down at the figure wrapped in bandages with a mixture of personal fear and considerable perplexity.
Padzn Birthamb struggled to speak. He had absorbed two shots from Jon Iehard's Taw Taw. The first had blown out through his abdomen. His survival was a small medical miracle. The second had blasted off the left side of his lower jaw, as he'd dropped behind the front desk of the Brutality Room, when the madman burst in, his gun spraying bullets.
The medics had patched him together and fitted an emergency speaking tube directly to this laryngial region. It made flat, metallic sounds.
Birthamb's mood was bleak. He lived because he was tubed into several medical peripherals built into the bed. He might never leave it again. But he also realized, with a cold clarity that made him feel infuriatingly helpless, that he would still go to the Chair of Expiation in front of the Imperial Court. He had failed so totally and abysmally that the Imperiom could only respond by rending him to pieces for the TV cameras.
The Morgooze of Blue Seygfan was not dead. The Lady Blasilab was. Which was the worst thing to happen was entirely unclear to Padzn Birthamb, but the net result was plain. Further humiliations abounded. The man Iehard had virtually wiped out the central Superior Buro post. Of the twenty-three operatives only four had escaped injury, because they were off shift and asleep. Only three others had survived. The antipersonnel weaponry of the Mass Murder Squad had advanced the science of ammunition to a dreadful point of efficiency. In most cases operatives hit just once with those exploding bullets had died instantly. Padzn Birthamb was unique, a survivor of two shots.
Birthamb's throat caused him considerable pain as he explained all this to Petrie.
"So, I will go to the Chair of Expiation, Petrie. You know what that means?"
Petrie nodded.
"They will tear me apart, shred by shred."
"So I have heard." Petrie seemed to take the news calmly enough.
"A new section of the Buro will be arriving within hours to take over here at Hyperion Grandee. You will be expected to give them your complete cooperation."
"Of course."
Birthamb seethed with hate for humans. The subrace had destroyed him after a career that had been so promising. It was with pleasure that he pronounced Petrie's death sentence.
"I want you to know that I have seconded your name to the Fleet Sector Command for immediate termination, preferably in public with the full application of lao military law. Your incompetence in selecting that maniac has allowed the Elchite fugitive to escape."
"Incompetence?" Petrie barked hotly. "I was asked to get the best sensing, psi-able operative on the Mass Murder Squad. I did that. He even got a contact with the people you seek. An incredible feat considering how you worked to undercut him from the first!
"In addition, has it occurred to you that had I been told that the Superior Buro intended to seize his colleague, the woman, and put her through the Brutality Room, I might have counseled you to forego the use of someone like Jon Iehard, who already has his own reasons for disliking the laowon!"
Birthamb almost choked in rage. "Out! Get out of here, out of my sight. Soon you will receive your orders, very soon. Did you know the whole sector fleet is in motion? Admiral Booeej himself is coming here. Blue Seygfan is in utter turmoil. The cult is howling for revenge on this entire system. Now get out!"
Birthamb's body convulsed on the pad.
Petrie stumbled out, afraid now for all Nocanicus. Admiral Booeej himself was coming!
—|—
The outer system of Nocanicus contained five gas giant planets—Abdul, William, Ingrid, Shala, Hideo. Of them, the last four were relatively small and cool. In addition, they had an abundance of perfect watermoons, like William's half-dozen jewels, rich in hydrocarbons, water ice, ammonia, nitrogen, everything that was required for a high cultural civilization, except metal.
The existence of those moons, as much as the major asteroid belt, had been the prime reason for the colonization of Nocanicus. It had no habitable planets, only two airless rocks the size of Mercury orbited inside the enormous asteroid belt.
Between the moons and the asteroid belt were the natural strings of trade, metals for gases, skills developed in different settings, essences, entertainments. Their populations swelled, with a billion or more in the belt and about half as many on the moons.
Hyperion Grandee rode near the center of the main belt. Currently it was in conjunction with William and in opposition to Abdul.
The Orn now floated on the fringe of the opposite side of the main belt. Abdul rode a few degrees behind, brightest star even at one hundred fifty million kilometers distance. The nearest known habitat was the Camleopard Al Kuds and that was twenty million kilometers away. Drones were released at once to scour the neighborhood. An astronomical probe was fired out of the equatorial solar plane to search for laowon battlejumpers.
The roids close by were all small rocks of interest only to prospectors. The Orn detected no spacecraft in the vicinity.
Aboard the Orn, Jon Iehard faced his questioners across the aisle of the main passenger compartment. On the big screen above their heads was a computer-enhanced image of the system.
Meg had been placed in a bunk in sickbay, under sedation.
"How can you expect us to believe this?" Finn M'Nee snarled. "You are a laowon spy. You have been sent to betray our ultimate destination. Nothing you say can change this."
Jon shrugged. It was clear to all that he was never going to be accepted by M'Nee, an intense young man with harsh, elitist views.
Owlcurl Dahn however was another story. She was the coordinator of the group, someone from Luft Line's administration, not regular spacecrew. It was clear that she was the Bey's chief supporter. Others were less enthusiastic. Jon detected several currents at work. M'Nee, Flynn, Chacks—all young men with intense expressions who were contemptuous of the captain and the woman Dahn. The rest of the crew—Bergen, Hargen, Wauk, and Kolod—seemed to ignore those three and were ignored in turn.
Toward the Bey, the three young men were formalistically obedient, like soldiers of lesser rank with an officer. But there seemed little real friendliness in their relations.
Jon had to admit his own confusion, but he suspected they were Elchites. Around their minds he found a roar of anger and sharp stabs of fear. He
hesitated to press deeper.
The other crew members treated the Bey with either exaggerated deference or a paradoxical anger.
Officer Dahn now gave Jon another appraising look, "On Ornholme we were warned that laowon spies would be everywhere on this side of the Hyades. I think they were right, but I cannot believe the laowon would truly sacrifice so many of their own for one spy."
"Foolish woman!" M'Nee said witheringly. "The laowon are completely unconcerned about such things. If it suited the High Command's purposes they would overlook many more casualties."
"You Elchites are of that mind, but I doubt that even the laowon could be so heartless with their own personnel," she retorted.
Jon looked at M'Nee more carefully. So he'd been correct. There seemed a world of difference between M'Nee and the Bey. Perhaps they were in different sects.
He noticed Captain Hawkstone, eyes vacant, lost in gloomy introspection. A husk of a man, caught up by accident in terrible events beyond his control. He was desperately treading water, trying not to let his fear become cowardice. He was only there because he had had the misfortune to be the only active space captain aboard Ornholme when Eblis Bey came to the habitat to demand payment of the old, old debt.
"Nonsense, nonsense," the Bey broke in. "It is entirely possible that the laowon would sacrifice numbers of lower-echelon personnel in advance of their interests. However, young M'Nee is in error in thinking that the Superior Buro, in active pursuit of us, would allow itself to be destroyed. But for Iehard's massacre of their operatives, they would have seized us long before you'd finished bargaining with Porox. So, in my mind it is settled—Jon is with us. The unfortunate Ms. Vance is perhaps more of a paradox, except that I believe she has just been swept up in the tide of history that accompanies our passage. Can you not feel it? We bring the blade of salvation toward the neck of the tyrant race."
M'Nee snorted disgustedly. "Put them to the Hypnogen. Then we'll know for certain."
"There isn't time for that—we must get to the connection soon. Do you think the laowon won't reinforce the fleet here?"
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