Anchoring himself with a magnetized palm, Skar opened the hatch. No air escaped because all of it had already fled into space through the twin laser holes.
“Turn on your boots,” Skar said.
Cyrus bent down and tapped the magnetic boot controls. He felt the soles vibrate to a new setting.
“Follow me and watch your step,” Skar said. “If you float free, there will be nothing I can do to help you.”
“I got it,” Cyrus said.
“What?”
“I understand.”
The soldier nodded. Then he walked onto the metallic skin of the needle-ship.
Cyrus followed him onto the outer hull, planting his feet on the stealth surface. The sight daunted him. There was banded Pulsar on one side and vast red Jassac on the other. It was crazy beautiful. Everywhere else, the stars blazed in diamond splendor.
“Do you think Valiant’s crew can see us?” Cyrus asked.
“No,” Skar said. “We climbed out the side hidden from them.”
Once more, Cyrus was impressed by a soldier’s tactical sense. “What side is the outer chamber on?” he asked.
“We have been granted a boon,” Skar said. “It is on the hidden side.”
“We won’t be hidden once we drift off the needle-ship.”
“We must hope atmospheric disturbance will aid us then,” Skar said.
“Do we even have a chance, at the velocity we’re traveling?”
“We breathe,” Skar said. “Therefore, we have a chance.
“More soldier philosophy, eh?”
“I do not understand you,” Skar said.
“Never mind. Let’s do it,” Cyrus said.
“That is sound advice.”
The two men clanked along the needle-ship’s hull. As they did, Valiant fired again, more steadily this time. The laser moved upward like a saw, and in moments it had sheared the ship into two halves. The laser didn’t stop even then, but it began slicing their half in two.
“Run!” Skar said. He pumped his legs, dashing along the remaining side of the dying needle-ship.
Cyrus did likewise, and for a moment, both boots left the skin of the half ship. He might have floated away, but the suit’s designer must have foreseen such an incident. The magnetic attraction of his boots increased enough to pull him down. He clanged into place with both boots. Yet it happened so quickly that he still tried to run. He wrenched his muscles by the exertion, and he toppled so his torso bent toward the ship.
Skar ran ahead of him.
You’d better think fast, Cyrus, or you’re staying here forever.
Despite the throbbing of his joints, he reached and dialed down the magnetic strength of his boots. He also tapped in an override code, making sure his boots wouldn’t do that again.
As Skar worked the hatch lock, the laser continued to slice and dice the sections of needle-ship. Cyrus ran along the hull. He reached Skar just as the other pulled out a pole and a standing pad big enough for one man. The pad was deep. It was the antigrav plate and likely had enough battery juice to help a man land. There were two of them, though, and hardly enough room for each to put a foot on.
“Are you ready?” Skar asked.
Cyrus twisted around and looked at Jassac below them. This was higher than a crazy space-jump stunt. This was the two of them in orbital space, going down much too fast—
“Let’s do it before we chicken out,” Cyrus said.
“Settle yourself onto the pad,” Skar said.
Cyrus had a premonition, and he grabbed Skar’s left arm. “Swear me a soldier oath you’re not staying behind. Swear you’ll join me on this.”
“There is no time,” Skar said.
“Swear it.”
“You are the Tracker. Your life is more important—”
“Swear it,” Cyrus said, “or I’m staying here with you.”
“That is illogical.”
“Yeah,” Cyrus said.
In the light of Jassac, Skar studied him. Finally, the soldier said, “I swear.”
Cyrus climbed onto the antigrav sled. Skar grabbed the pole with both hands, and he ran along the hull. He shoved the antigrav sled and Cyrus, building up velocity. Finally, he reached the end of the hull.
Cyrus grew tense. Would Skar keep his oath?
Yes! The soldier leaped, hung onto the pole, and climbed up beside Cyrus. The two of them each had a foot on the pad and clung to the pole. There was a control panel, a very small one, at the top.
They drifted away from the slowly spreading wreckage of the needle-ship.
Cyrus’s jaw opened then. He visualized Valiant’s relative position in space. He realized that Skar had shoved them into the best spot possible, using the debris to hide them from the Attack Talon’s scanners. That wouldn’t last long, but it helped them just a fraction.
“You’re a tactical genius, my friend,” Cyrus said.
“I am a soldier.”
“I guess that’s saying the same thing, huh?”
Skar looked up at the wreckage. “They have stopped firing.”
They drifted down toward Jassac. The needle-ship, in its component pieces, drifted after them.
“Do you have any preferences where we should land?” Skar asked.
Cyrus had studied the memory crystal for hours, for days, really. It had shown Clan Tash-Toi and Klane as a baby. It had also shown the surrounding territory. He thought about everything he’d cataloged: the soil, the height of the clan members, their stone weapons, and the complexity of their headgear.
He remembered a few of the things the Reacher had said: The aliens had terraformed the moon. Pulsar as a planet was quite far from the system’s sun. That meant the planetoid was much colder than Earth would be. The deep valleys would be the most hospitable places so far, with the thickest atmosphere and the warmest weather. The little he’d seen of the Kresh led him to believe they would like warmer climes versus colder.
The real question was: Where would Klane be? And how could they find him?
I need a hunch, Cyrus realized. I’m the Tracker, right? Doesn’t it make sense I’m supposed to have some . . . ability to find this Klane?
Cyrus thought about Klane as a baby. He had been white-skinned versus the reddish hue of Clan Tash-Toi. Klane had shown psi-abilities even then, pulling a blanket onto him to cover his nakedness.
Squeezing his eyes shut, knowing he was a weak telepath, Cyrus reached with his mind: Klane.
At that point, Cyrus felt minds searching for him. Several of the searchers called his name. He directed his thoughts toward them—then, with sickening speed, he drew back and practiced the null.
The enemy minds shot telepathic bolts toward him.
“What’s wrong?” Skar asked. “You look worried.”
Cyrus couldn’t afford to answer. He concentrated on the null. He included Skar in it, and he made himself glass, a smooth surface. He had accidently shown himself to Chengal Ras’s psi-masters. What an idiot.
“Look,” Skar whispered.
Something in the soldier’s voice caused Cyrus to open his eyes. A laser speared past them and toward the planet.
I caused that. Chengal Ras knows we’re still alive.
“It is time,” Skar said.
“Time to do what?” Cyrus asked.
“Hang onto the pole and do not let go,” Skar said. “Do not lose your footing, either.”
“Do you think we can do this?”
“I do,” the soldier said.
Cyrus wrapped his arms around the pole, pressing his chest against it. This was madness. I can’t mind call Klane. I have to use logic to find him. What makes the most sense?
He had no idea. He didn’t know how reaching Klane would make one iota of difference. Besides, if the Resisters had clairvoyants, couldn’t t
he psi-masters have some as well?
“Drop us near a valley,” Cyrus said.
“In a valley?” Skar asked.
“No! The Kresh must live in the valleys. That’s my guess, anyway. We don’t want to land on top of them, but beside them.”
Stone-faced, Skar adjusted the controls.
Cyrus had no idea if he’d guessed right or wrong. If he was hoping for intuition, he had none. If he had special skills to help him find Klane, he didn’t know what they were.
“Ten seconds until we begin,” Skar said.
“Will using the sled’s power make us visible to those on Valiant?”
“The possibility exists,” Skar said. The seconds lengthened until the soldier said, “Three, two, one, zero.” He tapped the controls, and the wild ride down to the surface began.
4
Chengal Ras the 109th watched the large screen in Attack Talon Valiant. He had a three-Kresh crew in the control chamber with him. Outlying modules held a host of human techs and psi-able personnel, and a squad of Vomags for special purposes.
He was several inches taller than nine Earth feet, and rested his raptor-like bulk against an upright station. It was a Kresh acceleration couch. A dry, musky odor pervaded the chamber. Like the others here, Chengal Ras was huge but graceful, poised on two large legs, each ending with curved talons. He wore metallic streamers from his waist and neck, and wore smaller streamers around his two arms. The arms ended in smaller talons like large fingers, three of them. Chengal Ras wore a belt around his dinosaur-like waist. From it dangled various weapons and control devices.
“There is an urgent call for you, Excellency,” one of the crew said.
“Put her on the main screen,” Chengal Ras said.
The wreckage of the needle-ship disappeared. In its place appeared the image of Zama Dee the 73rd, a philosopher king—one of the Hundred. She was in charge of the moon of Jassac. She was large, with an old core burn across her snout, a whitish color that did not look good against her yellow and black hide.
“The Creator has granted you a safe voyage?” Zama Dee asked.
“I bless His kindness, yes,” Chengal Ras said.
“You are wise.”
“You are radiant.”
Zama Dee clicked the talons of her right arm, indicating the ritual greeting at end. Behind her, an unclassified human carried a package, stepping into and out of visual. “My observers inform me you have fired a class-three laser at a survival boat entering Jassac orbit.”
“It is so,” Chengal Ras said.
“I would like an explanation for this aggressive behavior.”
“Of course,” Chengal Ras said. “I was about to inform you.” He did not glance at his crew. They were vetted, but he hadn’t taken any of them into his confidence. “I have conducted an emergency seek-and-destroy mission. I postulated an escapee from High Station 3, giving the stealth-craft several days’ lead time. My crew acted flawlessly, finding and destroying the small vessel. I am in the process now of awarding codex points.” He added the last for his crew’s benefit, letting them realize that he would award the points for their silence as to the true nature of the chase.
“I see,” Zama Dee said. “On the face of it, I find it odd that a near Hundred such as you would engage in such a routine endeavor. Perhaps you are collecting data for a new treatise?”
“I am in the process of collating ideas for a new paper, yes, but not concerning security work. I have found it practical to engage in routine endeavors as a reminder, a memory aid to myself.”
“I do not follow your reasoning.”
“I am not in the Hundred,” Chengal Ras said.
“No,” Zama Dee said. “I do not accept humility from you. Your zeal for . . . ah, knowledge, shall we say, is well known.”
Chengal Ras grew wary. He could not believe that Zama Dee would so openly sneer at him. Yes, he strove to enter the Hundred. He did not mask that. His zeal, as she said, caused many to scorn him and belittle his efforts. He did that for a reason. Their scorn kept them from examining his actions too closely. Since he couldn’t keep his zeal hidden—most would reason—he could not keep anything hidden. They were wrong. How wrong he would show them soon enough, if the Creator kept out of his way.
“Your stealth-craft came near my authorized ice-hauler corridor,” Zama Dee was saying. “It could have caused an incident.”
“I thank the Creator it did not,” Chengal Ras said.
Zama Dee closed her mouth and eyed him critically. “Return to High Station 3, or wherever it is that you practice your syllogisms. We do serious work on Jassac for the furtherance of the Race. I do not approve of unsolicited laser fire here.”
“I have overstepped myself—”
“Desist! I do not have time to listen to . . . to your excuses.”
Chengal Ras bristled. Would she openly mock him before his crew? This was unseemly, a challenge to his authority, to his status.
“I must return to my laboratory. Thus, I am leaving,” she said.
“May radiance shine on you,” Chengal Ras managed to say.
A moment later the connection ended, and the large screen retuned to showing the wreckage of the needle-ship.
Not for the first time, Chengal Ras made a mental note of one of the Hundred who would taste his wrath in the days of his elevation. He would remind Zama Dee of her mockery as he dismembered her limbs and removed her organs. He would ask her to mock him then.
“The two High Station 3 cattle are free-falling toward Jassac, Excellency,” Dez Rek said. She was the Attack Talon’s pilot and ranked 828,002nd.
Chengal Ras made no reply. He could see that for himself quite well.
“Should I contact Jassac Central?” Dez Rek asked.
Chengal Ras knew a moment of igniting rage as the tip of his tail twitched. Could the pilot have actually formulated those words? She had just heard his conversation with Zama Dee. Yes, the pilot was ranked high enough that he would expect her to be more intelligent. She must have realized he had diverted from full disclosure of the truth for a critical reason.
Yet now she suggested he tell Jassac Central, which meant tell Zama Dee, about the two prized cattle? Either the pilot tested him—a bad idea for one in her position—or she played a deeper game. He must tease out her reasoning and act accordingly.
“Your suggestion is premature,” Chengal Ras told her.
“The cattle have entered the Jassac atmosphere,” Dez Rek said. “The Concordat Treatise of Fifty-Two Sigma declares we are honor-bound to inform the governing authority of such an event. Our window for subterfuge has legally ended.”
Chengal Ras turned away from the screen, the better to regard Valiant’s pilot. He had not anticipated Dez Rek’s attempt to climb rank this soon in her apprenticeship. She tried to push him, tried to force her will against his. He had already openly hinted of bribing them with codex points to remain silent. Logically, since there were three of them, it could only be a small number of points for each. Now it appeared she attempted a greater gain. Granted, it seemed like an opportune moment for her to inflict the concordat on him. She must surmise his desire to keep this secret for as long as he could. Yet might she have a stealth contract with Zama Dee?
He should have studied her profile in greater depth.
“Excellency,” she said, showing her lack of remorse, “I should note for the record that the two strays have engaged the antigravity sled. I compute a 63 percent chance of success on their part. Jassac Central would wish to know about High Station 3 strays on their game preserve.”
The other two Kresh in the chamber kept silent. By their stances, Chengal Ras knew they listened keenly to the exchange. There was a reason he hadn’t taken any of them into his confidence yet. Oh, yes, there was a most logical and precise reason why he flew alone among the Kresh.
He
had attained the dizzying rank of 109th far in advance of others his age. He had climbed with quickness, trampling any who stood in his way. It was true he had a sharply logical mind even for a Kresh. His papers and treatises were legendary among the younger set. And his stubbornness of purpose—it was greater than all but the highest ten.
Even with all that in his favor, he had climbed higher and faster than a Kresh like him should have been able to achieve.
The explanation was simple. He had been born on the outer asteroids to the Seven Sisters, and therefore been a declared rogue. During his formative years, the Hundred had also declared the Seven as outcast, hunting and slaughtering them one by one. Due to his age, Chengal Ras had been spared after his capture, and they had given him a second-class education in the 2020 Gymnasium, a place of decidedly inferior quality.
Seething at the indignity of the constant slights and the setbacks of his life, he had sworn a secret oath. He would climb and beat the best of them. Three years later, Chengal Ras had discovered a shortcut to rank. With logical and unerring precision, he had taken it.
In a word—two words—he cheated.
He obeyed the honor codes and customs of the Kresh most of the time. He departed the codes and customs at strategic moments of pregnant opportunity. This possibly was such a time. Now a climber in his personal retinue chose to reveal herself. It was too soon. She should have waited for maximum gain and to protect her life. Now he would have to make a deal with her or he would have to take a drastic step.
The odds for advancement here were astronomical. In fact, he believed this the opportunity of a lifetime. Once one reached the final thousand, higher rank became most difficult to achieve. Reaching 109th was a fantastic feat. To get even one rank higher would be many times harder than what he had achieved so far.
Therefore, he would give Dez Rek one chance to reform. He didn’t believe there was anything he could say to change her opinion. He would have to let her own mind do the arguing for her.
Thus he waited, watching the two cattle attempt a landing at high velocity and with a single antigravity sled to aid them. Under normal circumstances, he would not give them high odds. These two, however, were different. Dez Rek must have considered that while computing their odds. They were unique specimens. The one actually came from out-system, much, much farther than the outer asteroids. Cattle inquisitors had discovered the name of the humanoid’s home system: Sol, two hundred and thirty light years distant. These cattle were different from the machine-oriented humanoids that had attacked Fenris several years ago.
Alien Shores (A Fenris Novel, Book 2) Page 4