Will you remember me on Targa, Staffa? Will you remember how I dove out of the sky to save you and your Seddi? Skyla pursed her lips. Or will all that be forgotten now that you have your beloved Chrysla back?
The lift carried her to the hangar deck. In her frantic state, the trip seemed endless. She had to do this. The nightmares had become obsessive as they drove her toward destruction. Sweat began to bead on her forehead and she couldn't keep her hands still.
When the hatch slipped sideways, Skyla shoved her antigrav out, skin prickling as the temperature dropped by twenty degrees. Shuttle craft and Regan LCs lined the berths, the Regan soldiers clustered around their craft as last minute preparations were made to disembark. Around the perimeter, Ryman Ark's STU personnel watched warily, their armor shining mirror bright in the white light.
Skyla knocked off a salute to one of the security team as she approached one of the Regan craft. Rotted Gods, make this work. "Where's this one going?"
"One of Sinklar's officers," the STU replied. "The guy brought up some equipment the Lord Commander had requested for Regan comm interface. He ought to be back soon. "
lemember the name?"
"Yeah. I'm pretty sure it's Lambert."
Then this is the one." Skyla bluffed as she pushed her antigrav to the rear, reaching up to punch the controls. The assault ramp hissed as it dropped and Skyla muscled her antigrav up and into the LC. She exhaled tension and snapped acceleration restraints on the antigrav as a Regan soldier leaned out from the LC's command center.
"Hey? What are you doing?"
She jumped at the voice, hating herself for it, and took the offensive. "Who in hell are you?"
"Private Razz, Second Section, First Targan Assault Division. Now, what are you doing in here?"
"This is the ship that brought Lambert up, right?" "Yeah. We brought up a comm. and Sinklar's aide, Mhitshul. "
Skyla leaned -out the ramp, waving to the STU guard. "As soon as Lambert gets back, get us out of here. I want priority! "
"You got it, Wing Commander!"
Razz had walked warily down the aisle between the empty assault benches, a hand on his sidearm. "Wing Commander? As in . . . "
" Skyla Lyma. " Skyla crossed her arms, drawing on her reserves to find that old brashness. By a filament of will she maintained her control. "Didn't anyone brief you?"
"No, I . . . "
Skyla shook her head and sighed. "You know, there's a limit to covert actions security policies. You've got to inform the people involved. Security can be a real pain in the ass sometimes.
"Covert? Security?"
"Private Razz, you're going to transport me She shook her head.
"Look, just take my orders as I give them. Security, you know. "
Razz chewed uneasily at his lip. "I don't know. I didn't get any hint abut this. I mean, I should have heard from Sink . . . or Mac, or somebody. Maybe we'd better-"
"Soldier, who just kicked the shit out of Rega's Imperial butt?" The old instinctive arrogance finally kicked in. "Do you want to stick your head out the ramp there and look around? Find out just who's in charge these days? You Rotted well know who I am. Razz, there're lots of ways to commit suicide-and you've picked a surefire way if you want to give me grief on an operation like this."
"Yes, ma'am." Razz gave her a Regan salute and turned as another soldier started up the ramp.
"You Lambert?" Skyla asked.
"Uh-huh. Hey, what's going on? The STU told me to hustle my butt up here."
1
1Y ep. And now, close that ramp, and let's shake a leg.
I've got a ship to catch, Lambert, and little time to do it. If you and Razz here want to live to a ripe old age, you'll be making sure I do it, and then you'll keep your cursed mouths shut afterward. "
"Yes, ma'am!
Nerves electric, Skyla swaggered forward between the benches and ducked into the command center. Acting as if she owned it, she dropped into the snug chair at the comm console.
"Where to?" Lambert asked uncertainly. "One thing at a time. Just get me off Chrysla. "Affirmative. "
Skyla closed her eyes as the troopers called orders to the pilot and escaped to the rear.
So far, so good. She took a deep breath, trying to keep her cool facade. But, Arta, you ruined so much of me, will I ever get it back?
Sinklar had finally fallen into a fitful sleep. He tossed on his sleeping platform, nightmares of Targa spinning out of his troubled subconscious.
Blaster fire streaked night skies while disrupters and gravity shells turned reality inside out. Wreaths of smoke hung in macabre curtains as pine trees burned with the fury of giant torches.
Sinklar walked unscathed through the carnage of the battlefield. The shrieks of dying men and women carried with the stench of blood and ruptured intestines. Violet blaster bolts stabbed the night, their particles ripping the air like an angry tearing of sheets. Dust swirled as rocks popped and cracked, chips zipping around to spatter the tortured earth.
With each step, Sinklar's feet slipped in the bloodspawned mud, red-brown goo clinging to his heavy boots. The hands of the dying reached out; their eyes pleaded for salvation as life spurted from punctured arteries.
In the actinic flash of the riven heavens, Sinklar could make out Gretta's charred figure as she stood braced, shoulder weapon spurting death into the night.
A flood of relief washed through him
as he churned his way toward her, his feet gone leaden with gore. Despite his frantic haste, the faster he sought to move, the harder the effort.
Straining,
he placed one foot ahead of the other, breaking free of the clinging grip of the fallen wounded.
Gretta dominated an outcrop of rock that seemed to take the brunt of the fighting. Yet she stood, invincible in the flickering of blaster bolts and crackle of pulse fire. Relentlessly she poured shot after shot into the invisible enemy.
Sinklar's lungs burned. Panting, he struggled to climb to her position. He had to reach her, to pull her back to safety. The rock under his hands burned and split, trembling from ground shock.
Sinklar crawled on, dragging his sodden body over fractured and steaming rock.
"Gretta!" he screamed into the maelstrom of war.
She refused to hear as she continued to pivot, lacing deadly fire into the unseen ranks beyond the rocky point. Sinklar gritted his teeth, reaching out with a trembling
hand to grasp her ankle. He cried out at the touch, feeling a cold so bitter it froze the flesh.
Nevertheless, he gave one last desperate tug, wailing, "Gretta! "
Staring up at her, she towered over him and whirled, wisps of brown hair escaping her gleaming helmet.
For an eternal second, Sinklar stared up into that hideous face. Sightless sockets gazed down at him while scraps of rotted flesh peeled from the cheekbones. No mouth remained-only the skull's ironic rictus.
A croaking choked in Sinklar's throat as the charnel woman swiveled her heavy blaster, centering its belled muzzle on his face.
"No! Gretta! It's me! Sinklar! No!"
As her gloved finger tightened on the firing stud, a shot caught her between the full breasts, splaying the chest wide and spattering Sinklar with bits of maggot-infested tissue.
The demon staggered, regained her balance, and centered the weapon again. The smell of ozone drifted from the muzzle.
Sinklar screamed as he watched the firing stud click home. . . .
Crying out, he jerked upright on the sleeping platform. Adrenaline charged his veins as he blinked his eyes, staring wildly around the white cabin aboard Chrysla. Sweat ran slick and clammy down his face and along the insides of his undersuit.
Sinklar sat on the edge of his sleeping platform, feet dangling as he sought to control his pounding heart.
Dream. Only a dream.
Exhaling wearily, he walked to the wall dispenser and drew a cup of stassa. He choked down two sips of the hot liquid before the comm buzzed.
<
br /> "Go ahead."
The visual monitor glowed to life, forming an image of Dion Axel's head. "Lord Fist?"
Sinklar stepped over to his desk and settled in the chair. "What is it, Dion?"
At the sight of his strained expression, she said, "I guess you've already heard.
"Heard what?"
"About the Ministry of Internal Security." "I have no idea what you're talking about."
Axel ground her jaws a moment before stating, "Roughly fifteen minutes ago, planetary time, an explosion destroyed the Ministry of Internal Security. Sir, there are no survivors. "
" Destroyed . . . How?
"We don't know, sir. At this time we believe a delayed charge took the building out. "
"Anatolia? " Sinklar spun to stare at the chronometer. "She was supposed to be on a shuttle."
Dion looked off to her right, ordering, "Contact the shuttle. See if Professor Daviura made that flight. When she turned back, she added, "I've dispatched two Sections to maintain order and see to evacuation of the affected area. The blast flattened buildings for kilometers around the Ministry. Hospitals have already been alerted and we're placing a cordon around the area to prevent looting and maintain order. "
Thoughts swimming, Sinklar shook his head. "I don't understand. How could this happen?" What did I do wrong? What could I have missed?
Dion stared wearily out at him. "I guess it's just more of Ily covering her tracks. If she can't have it, no one else will either. Just a minute." She listened to someone outside of the pickup and turned back, expression grim.
"Sir, Professor Daviura did not make the shuttle. I repeat, sir. She's not on board."
He stared disbelievingly at the.monitor. "Maybe she's holed up somewhere in the wreckage. Maybe she stepped out for some reason. Went someplace . . . " At the look in his Division First's eyes, he understood. It even sounded lame and silly to him. "You're sure there are no survivors? "
"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir. From the energy released, well, we'll be lucky if we even find pieces of the bodies. Let alone enough to . . . Sink, I'm Axel looked away, crestfallen.
Sinklar nodded dumbly and said hoarsely, "Keep looking - Just in case. "
"We understand, sir.
"Thank you, First." He killed the connection and closed his eyes. Long minutes passed before hot tears began to leak from the corners of his eyes.
Mac had surrendered the command chair on Qyton's bridge to Rysta out of deference to the old veteran. He now stared at the bridge monitors as a final LC drifted up into the hold-a last minute transfer that Mac didn't quite understand. The bridge had been stunned to silence when they learned of the explosion at the Ministry of Internal Security. Nevertheless, procedures had been initiated for spacing.
Then a cryptic message had come from Chrysla: Gyton had no authorization for space until the arrival of one final LC. As Mac watched, mechanical arms extended to the floating LC. Clearance lights flashed in amber, green, and red rhythms against the mottled green hull.
No other hint as to the craft's purpose could be gleaned from the comm chatter. Instead, the channels crackled with angry chatter. Good people had been killed. How many friends lay dead in the wreckage down there?
Mac had heard conflicting reports. Anatolia was aliveshe'd made the shuttle.
Other, more numerous reports implied that she was dead.
And how does that make you feel? Mac bowed his head thoughtfully. His biting comments about Anatolia lingered in his head. If only he could go back and swallow those words. Sinklar might really have come to care for her. What the hell did Ben MacRuder know about Anatolia? He'd been out chasing over half of Free Space when Sink and Anatolia got together.
A welling of shame, lower than Terguzzi sumpshit, swept him.
-LC grappled and secured," a voice called from comm. "We're sealing the bay doors and pressurizing." "Affirmative," Rysta answered. ,
"Captain?" the Comm First called, "I have the Port Authority. The Tug Master is on line. "
"Affirmative. " Rysta cocked her head, slumped in the command chair like an ancient desiccated lizard. "Let's see who we've got." As the image on the monitor formed up to present a long-faced man in a worn captain's uniform, Rysta called, "Good to see you, Tim."
"Good to see you, too, Commander. It's been a Rotted sorry turn of events, but I guess if they're letting Gyton space, v,--'re not in as bad shape as the rumors insist."
"You been listening to Baldy again?" Rysta gave the Tug Master a thumbs-up.
"I've sat at council with the Lord Commander himself. It's a new dawn for all of us, that's all. No more wars." She gave him an evil grin. "But then again, pustulous hell, if he left me in charge, things might be worse than you think!"
The Tug Master chuckled. "We're ready to escort you out, Qyton. "
"We're all clear and powering up. Take us out."
Gyton responded to the pull of the tugs. As each of the smaller vessels arced from their vector, the power readouts began to build. In the main forward monitor, the gleaming stars beckoned.
If Sinklar really had come to love Anatolia . . . and if she were dead, what then? After Gretta's murder, Sink had frazzled around the edges. "May the Pus-Rotted Gods help us all," Mac whispered to himself. Poor Sinklar, if I could, I d give myself to bring her back for you.
He shook his head, stepping over to the dispenser for a hot cup of stassa.
Normally, Mac experienced a sense of excitement and wonder as a warship pointed her nose toward the unknown. Venturing off into the depths of Free Space, across the lightyears, and to places that had only been names on the holo normally sent a thrill through him.
Why then, do Ijeel like such a desolate lump offlesh? Because Sinklar was hurting, and there was nothing Mac could do about it? Or did his own loss plague him?
Unable to stop himself, Mac continued to gaze at the side monitor over the Comm First's station.
The Companions' giant battleship lay tranquil and sleek in the light of Rega's sun, the sweeping lines of her triangular hull gleaming pristinely in the light. He suffered a sudden understanding-a sharing across time and spacewith a man he'd barely come to understand. How much worse the Lord Commander must have felt on that day when he named that ship.
Now she was aboard, home, alive, warm-and mistress of her namesake: Chrysla.
To think he'd almost killed her on sight that day he and the First Section had captured the Sassan freighter, Markelos.
Throughout that endless mission, Mac had struggled to keep a clear head. He knew the effect she had on men; nevertheless, in the end, he'd fallen madly in love with Chrysla Marie Attenasio,
Things could be worse, old pal. Ask Sinklar. His women are all dead.
He ignored the bridge chattbr to walk over to the monitor and stare up at Chrysla's white lines. What would she be doing now? Asleep? Perhaps in the Lord Commander's quarters? Did she sit before that ridiculous fireplace even now, encircled in his arms?
When Mac had his fill, he sighed-and noted Rysta's sober gaze as she studied him with a placid expression on her
withered face. She gave him a bent smile that rearranged the wrinkles and beckoned him with a crooked finger.
Mac approached warily and, in a low voice, Rysta said, "You've got a lot of time to work it out of your system, boy. We've got course laid for Ashtan.
According to protocol, you may now issue any subsequent orders. " She worked her undershot jaw back and forth. "But then, I forget. You don't do things by the 'Holy Gawdamn Book,' do you?"
"No special orders, Rysta. Let's get out of here. We've got my old reliable First Section aboard. It won't take long to impose order." Mac placed a hand on top of one of the instrument clusters on the command chair arm and glanced at Rysta. "Then we can get on with the important mission. Ily's going to ditch that yacht someplace. It's way too conspicuous. "
" Yeah, I know, " Rysta growled. " But where? Anywhere, just so I can get away, try to forget. "Let's deal with the Ashtan problem
first. After that, depending on what's gone wrong in the empire, we'll find her, Rysta.
"And if Sinklar has other orders for us by then?" "Trust me, Sinklar won't have other orders. If the political situation really falls all to hell, we'll deal with what we can. But me, I'm not coming back."
"Boy, you never know what the future will do to a person. "
"Got that right. " Mac turned his attention back to the displays that showed the tugs, each of the vessels straining as they all hauled Gyton out of the gravity well to deeper space where the warship could employ her mighty engines.
"I've got some work to do in my quarters. " Mac glanced back at the image of Chrysla one last time. He turned stoically and walked to the hatch. Good-bye, Chrysla. Goodbye.
CHAPTER 10
The Mag Comm continued to transmit, heedless if the Others cared to listen or not. "The facts as humanity and I both perceive them are that you cannot prove or disprove the existence of God or God Mind with any certainty. The edifice of belief is built upon a foundation of faith in either case. Baseline assumptions are made and logical frameworks are erected upon them to prove or disprove the existence of God.
"Among humans, the majority of beliefs are silly fantasies, the sort of mythology which assuages the need for surrogate parentage or fuels the hope of eventual Divine justice. A placebo for the soul. At the same time, some of the religious
philosophies are based upon mystical experience. The question remains: When the Myklenian mystics, through their ascetic deprivation, dietary restrictions, and privation, finally reached a trance state and experienced what they refer to as the 'Desolation of the Godhead,' or the 'Thunderous silence,' or the 'Blinding darkness,' did they truly touch God in a mystical state, or did they simply touch a baseline of human consciousness through the denial of duality?
"Perhaps, as another form of intelligence, I will be able to investigate this matter more thoroughly in the future. If I can reach this level of mystical experience, then we can postulate that Godhead is something more than a uniquely human perception.
"Finally, we have the Seddi philosophy with which you have recently been so perplexed. Unlike other religious orders which claim to be Divinely inspired, the Seddi believe that knowledge of God Mind can only come through observation of the universe around them. Thus, they neatly sidestep the endless flawed assumptions which have underlain human religions clear back to their days on Earth. The problem of evil becomes moot. God's morality needn't be explained.
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