Counter-Measures

by W. Michael Gear

  Look at her! She's literally bleeding for him! Her heart's with Staffa, not with us. Not humanity. Blessed quanta, why didn't I see this coming?

  Sinklar nodded, unwavering. "I am, Magister Dawn. Staffa and I are agreed that the stakes are too high to risk a return of the Star Butcher. "

  Nyklos listened, horror filling his heart. Too high? The pus-licking fools, they'd already lost. Staffa had them all right where he wanted them!

  "Hit me! " Skyla bellowed as she danced back and forth, feinting and jabbing.

  The cramped lounge didn't give them the room necessary for sophisticated physical training, but it had to do for the time being. She and Lark had carried the furnishings out to leave the filigreed walls and plush carpets bare.

  "I'm trying!" Lark protested as she lurched and hopped around the room, seeking to close and land a punch. ' Skyla cursed, stopping short. "All right!

  I'll stand still. Hit me. "

  Lark's green eyes reflected uncertainty, but she struck anyway, sending a roundhouse punch at Skyla's head. The Wing Commander avoided it with a slight lean, feet still planted. Momentum sent Lark careening into the wall.

  "Got to do better than that."

  Lark growled to herself, regained her balance, and charged, windmilling a series of punches at Skyla's gut. Skyla playfully slapped the flailing fists to the side and

  spun Lark off balance. Then, a stiff-armed jab into the girl's shoulder sent her tumbling across the thick carpet. Skyla's feet still hadn't moved.

  "Pus Rotted Gods," Lark mumbled from where she lay on the floor. This time she sprang to her feet, charging, a scream tearing from her throat and violence in her eyes.

  Skyla feinted, caught an arm, and cantilevered the girl over one hip. Lark thumped to the floor like a sodden sack. For long moments, the girl wheezed, barely moving. Finally she coughed and moaned.

  "You all right, kid?"

  More coughing, then Lark flopped over, face red, eyes unfocused. "That really hurt. Can't . . . can't catch my breath. "

  Skyla broke her stance, walking over to offer Lark a hand. "Did I make my point?"

  Lark coughed again and nodded. "Okay, so I'm not as mean as I thought I was. "

  "Mean is what you make it. But talent, kid, is everything. Pure dispassionate, competent talent. And, Lark, you've got to keep in mind that I'm slow as Sylenian ice these days. Come on, get up. Let me show you the basics. "

  "Every bone in my body is splintered," the girl protested as she took Skyla's hand.

  "Falling is an art. You'll learn it. For now, you look like you could use a break. How about a cup of stassa? " "Sounds heavenly. " Lark staggered, hair falling in an

  unruly brown mass around her face. She blinked. "I don't know if I'll learn or not. You made it look so easy."

  Skyla led the girl down the corridor to the galley and punched the dispenser for two cups of stassa while Lark gasped and settled herself into the cushions. She prodded tenderly at her side. The facial expressions were priceless.

  "You'll learn. " Skyla turned her attention back to the liquid flowing into the cups. "I've been at it for longer than you've been alive. I started out just as clumsy as you."

  Lark dropped her head into her hands. "It's really going to hurt tomorrow. "

  "Yep. So, it's been three days out of Terguz. Any regrets yet? "

  Lark accepted a cup of steaming stassa, sipping. "Regrets? I haven't had time to think! When I'm not on the computer figuring course vectors, I'm turning wrenches on faucets or hammering aluminum into holes you tore in the floor. "

  "Some of that is mindless work. Pretty dull really. That's when you start thinking about home. "

  ' 'Yeah, I suppose." Lark leaned her head sideways. "No. No regrets, Skyla.

  I've been thinking about it. All in all, I had a pretty good life. Even when I got into trouble, there was someone to take care of me. It won't be like that anymore. I'm on my own now. " She stared into the stassa. "It's . . . well .

  "Go on."

  6'It's frightening, Skyla. What if I can't measure up? What if I'm not as tough as I think I am?"

  Skyla chuckled, leaning back and drinking deeply from her cup. "That's part of the secret, kid. Fear makes a wonderful motivator. And I'll be honest. You're not as tough as you think you are. None of us are. That doesn't mean you stop believing in yourself."

  Skyla couldn't help but run a finger through one of the grooves in the tabletop where she'd pried golden wire out of the sialon. But you stopped, Skyla. You gave up on yourself all together. Arta-pus eat her infected soul-drained it right out of you . . . and Ily hammered what little remained down into the deck plates.

  ' 'What did they do to you?" Lark asked in barely more than a whisper.

  "What are you talking about?" "Ily Takka and Arta Fera. " Skyla gave her an icy glare -

  Lark didn't budge. "I'm not a total fool, Skyla. So don't treat me like one.

  I've sat at state banquets. I've listened to military commanders, been bored to tears by them, as a matter of fact. I know enough about military protocol to know that a person as important as you are doesn't just pick up and chase off after a pair of fugitives. Special agents are trained and paid to do just what you're doing."

  "You're pretty smart, aren't you?" Back off, Lark.

  The young woman licked her lips. "Not only that, but I watch you. You're obsessed. This isn't just a mission for you. It's a vendetta." Lark lifted her hands. "That's fine. I'm not criticizing. You've given me a chance to make my way, to get out-and I'm loyal, Skyla. " She paused, frowning. "I just wanted to know what they did to make a woman like you hate them so - "

  Skyla's growing rage subsided. Now it was her turn to stare into the stassa cup. A burning amber stare lingered in, the back of her mind. Do I tell her?

  She wavered. Keep mum, Skyla. It's your own private hell. Sharing it will dilute the anger, lessen the drive.

  The other half of her argued, You've got to start living with it one of these days. If Lark sticks it out, she'll hear something from someone. You know that's as inevitable as rain on Riparious.

  Skyla steepled her fingers, choosing her words. ' 'Ily and I are old adversaries. We've been after each other for years. A couple of months back, Arta managed to take me prisoner as part of one of Ily's schemes. The most I will tell you is that it wasn't a pleasant experience. By taking me, Ily kicked off a series of events which brought the Companions to Rega. By the time Staffa broke me out, it had became a matter of honor between them and me.

  And I'll follow them to the ends of Free Space if I have to."

  Lark clamped a lower lip with white teeth. "When we get to Ashtan, it'll mean shooting on sight, won't it?" "You're learning, kid."

  Lark glanced up defiantly. "Then you'd better teach me how to shoot, Skyla. I don't want you worrying about me when I'm guarding your back."

  "You sure you don't want to back out?"

  Lark's smooth brow lined thoughtfully. "In the beginning I would have told you anything just to get off Terguz. But it all changed when I stood there in the lock and looked my father in the eye and told him I was going to join the Companions. " She shook her head. "He laughed, Skyla. "

  "So what? Lots of folks laugh at dreams they don't have the vision or courage to attempt."

  " 'You'll be home in a standard month.' That's what he told me. He had that haughty look, like he knew I'd fail. And there was something else in his expression. I think it was disgust."

  "Why would he look at you with disgust?"

  "Because I finally defied him. Do you understand, Skyla? This is the first time I've ever managed to outflank him. He's the most powerful man I've ever known. He told me once that I'd never be anything except what he allowed me to be."

  "But he let you run free on Terguz.

  "Ha! Some freedom! Do you really think Customs would have allowed me to set foot on a ship without his approval? No, Skyla. I slipped aboard a freighter once. The patrol cruiser had us stopped within two hours of
casting off. I got a verbal spanking from my father . . . and the boy who smuggled me aboard got twenty-five years in the mines. He didn't last four weeks." She glanced away, jaw tight -

  "Sounds like maybe your father should have been canned along with Rill. Then again, he's got Seekore coming." Skyla smiled grimly. "And were I him, I'd have a whole new government functioning before that little lady sets foot on his orbital terminal. "

  "She must be pretty tough."

  " Seekore can dampen nuclear fission with her spit." Lark pulled at her ratty hair, lost in her thoughts. "The fact is, I'm free now. My father thinks I've betrayed him and that I'm going to fall flat on my face. Well, I'm not, Skyla.

  "

  "Good. Drink up. We've got another half hour of combat training. Now that I've proven that you can't hurt me, no matter how you try, you're going to start learning the art of it. After that, you're going to work on the shower heads.

  When you finish with that, I need course plots from Ashtan to Targa. As soon as you provide those, the air filters need cleaning. After that I want you working on reactor physics. "

  "And sleep? Is that scheduled in there somewhere?" "Maybe. Now get up and I'll teach you how to stand and how to fall. "

  "And it's going to hurt even worse than I thought it would, right? "

  "You're learning kid."

  Sinklar chewed slowly on a thick Targan steak as he watched his father. No matter what Staffa might profess, something had changed.

  The Lord Commander sat propped up on a field cot, apparently as much at home as he would have been in the big gravity controlled sleeping platform in his shipboard quarters. The inside of the geodesic dome had been finished in white with triangular skylights. Despite being cramped, the dome created the illusion of airy space.

  Staffa balanced a plate on his lap, the billowing cloak spread over the pillows like a huge falcon's wings. His shining black hair lay over his shoulder

  like a web, the jeweled hair clip glinting purple in the light. Staffa's gray eyes had focused on some infinity of the mind as he ate.

  "Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

  "Fine. " Staffa sliced another square of meat from the steak. "Just as fine as the last time you asked. " He gestured with the fork. "I could almost come to believe that Nyklos has converted you into a Seddi agent. Is that it? You're working for him now? Looking for any faint signal of the Mag Comm's corrupting taint?"

  "Me? Working with the Seddi? Not in your wildest dreams. " Sinklar struggled to define the difference, something forced in Staffa's attitude.

  "Stranger things have happened." "Right. Well, they won't this time." "You're sure that Skyla hasn't checked in?"

  Sinklar gestured with his knife. "Would you like me to put it on a looped recorder? No. That is, unless she's agitated subspace in the last five minutes. All I can tell you is that Ily and Arta spaced. Skyla's in pursuit.

  That's it. "

  Staffa's expression changed, that of a man trying to convince himself of something he didn't believe. "There's no one better at space combat tactics.

  If she can catch them, she'll roast them. "

  He wants to be out there with her. Could you do that, Sink? Could you devote yourself to duty with as pure a commitment when the woman you loved was at risk? "She'll be fine, Staffa. I can feel it. Intuition, you know? Runs in my family, I'm told."

  Staffa gave him a faint smile, a small gesture of appreciation. "If it were possible for me to make a completely objective and unemotional assessment of her chances, I'd have to bet on Skyla over Ily. Skyla isn't as cunning and clever, but she's one hell of a lot tougher." He paused for a moment, eyes vacant and vulnerable. "Well, no matter. It's up to her. The dance of the quanta."

  "The quanta?" Sinklar reached for his cup of klav and washed down a big piece of meat. "The reflection of God in the observable universe? Do you really belive that?"

  "Oddly, I do. You know, humans have been obsessed with the idea of God for as long as we've had records. Almost five thousand years in Free Space. Cults have sprung up, religions have appeared and vanished, and each has claimed to have ultimate knowledge about the nature of God. Only when you look closely at each of the theologies, do you find the basic flaws upon which the assumptions are based. A logical inconsistency invariably lies down in the heart of the religion. That, or the truths are hidden somewhere. Why, Sinklar?"

  "Why are the truths hidden?" And what are you hiding, Staffa? You're not the same brash man you were before you went under that infernal helmet.

  "Exactly. If you make the assumption that God exists, why does he put truth under wraps for only a chosen few to know? That's always bothered me. The Seddi, on the other hand, believe that the universe is a reflection of God.

  What we call the laws of physics are in turn God's laws. You don't need to believe in a dusty old book of dubious authorship as the Etarians would insist. Unlike the Sassans were led to believe, a fat, corrupt, human being doesn't become infallible. Nor do you need to change your diet, beat yourself bloody with whips, or seclude yourself in a cave eating rice like the Myklenian mystics once did.

  "Instead, Sinklar, if you want to see the same truth that I do, you need only look about you. The universe is immense, aglow, and dynamic. Chaos and order are layered one upon the other from the smallest to the largest of structures.

  The whole is powered by uncertainty. The universe grows, changes, and through it all, we observe and participate in the process. The more we know about the universe, the more we discover that we're ignorant. Tell me that isn't as much a miracle as Blessed Gods?"

  "People have always believed that religion has to be based on faith alone. On Divine revelation."

  Staffa's movements reminded Sinklar of a bird's, jerky, almost rushed.

  "That's what condemns all of them. It's one of the fatal flaws of any religion. What happens when you simply accept that God is all around you? If you want to see a miracle,

  look up at the stars at night. Those photons passing through your comea to excite the rods in your eyes haven't experienced time. To the photon, the moment of creation in that distant star is the exact same one in which it is stimulating a cell in your eye on Targa-despite the fact that the rest of the universe believes ten million light-years have passed in the interim. How miraculous do you want?"

  "Right now, I'd settle for a little peace, harmony, and stability for a little corner of the universe called Free Space." And I d like this growing uncertainty about you to go away. What happened down there, Staffa?

  "It's coming." Staffa attacked his steak again. "What's next? "

  "Bargaining with the machine." Staffa frowned. "We just opened negotiations last time. I've a feeling the real fun will start today."

  "You're going to go through with this?" Wait a day or two. Give us some to time to sort it all out. Determine what happened. Sinklar sighed, gulping down the last of his steak and placing the plate on the floor.

  "What choice do we have?" Staffa lifted an inquiring eyebrow. "Take the machine at its word? Give it free reign? No. I've got to know for sure that I've made the right bargain. It wants something from us. By learning what, I can get something from it. "

  "But you can't trust it!"

  "Absolutely correct." Staffa chuckled at the look on Sinklar's face. "You're a student of history. Some of the most productive cooperations in the records were produced by partners who didn't trust each other. They could, however, see a mutual benefit lying just beyond reach. From that, a working partnership is designed and progress is made. Look at us. You didn't trust me as far as you could see me. Since I've known you, I haven't slapped a collar around your neck, or exterminated a single planet's population. In fact, if I'm to believe what I hear, you're even concerned about my health and well being."

  Sinklar gave him a slow grin. "We've come a long way since we last dealt with each other at Makarta. "

  "Yes, we have." Staffa took the last bite of his breakfast, setting the plate to one si
de and sliding out of the cot. "And

  now I'm ready to take the next step and deal with the machine again. Ready to walk me down into the hole?" ,

  Sinklar hesitated, aware of Staffa's anxiety. "Are you sure you're up to this?

  I mean you've slept for almost an entire day. "

  "Time is the one thing we don't have a great deal of." Sinklar sighed and nodded. "That, unlike your religion, is one truth we can't deny."

  Staffa gave him an amused smile. "Besides, look at the bright side. You still have my knife on your hip. As far as I know, you don't need to use it to slit my throat yet."

  "I'll count my blessings . . . all the way into the Mag Comm's chambers."

  "Let's be about it, then. The sooner this is over, the sooner we can all rest."

  Sinklar nodded, getting to his feet, all too aware of Staffa's clipped movements.

  Staffa placed one foot before the other as he wended his way through the wreckage of Makarta. He tried to still the frantic tension building in his muscles. Sinklar walked beside him, their steps echoing. Farther behind, Adze, Ark, and Nyklos followed.

  Despite the removal of the bodies, the darkened caverns remained the domain of the restless dead. They peered out at him, watching from the shadows beyond the sinuous pathway of strewn cable and fluorescent lights. Here and there, strands of brightly colored tape had been strung to mark off unstable portions of the splintered caverns where the danger of roof fall and debris was high.

  And now I must face the machine again. Surrender mys e If.

  With a cool deliberation, Staffa cleared his mind, stilling the desperate worry that goaded him to ship out and find Skyla, and hold her close. That heartache was beyond his power to affect now.

  He couldn't let himself display the fear that had taken root in his soul.

  Dealing with the Mag Comm frightened him. To know, academically, that the machine simply read the firings of neural patterns was one thing. To feel that presence inside his brain was something entirely different. No thread of privacy remained. That intimate fragile sense of self lay vulnerable to observation by an intelligence Staffa could only guess at.