Prophecy se-1

by T C Southwell

  Rawn looked up. "Shouldn't we demand that she be returned first? She might be hurt in the fighting, or they might use her as a hostage. We could use the threat of Vengeance to force him to hand her over."

  Tallyn shook his head. "He mustn't even know who we're after. It's better if he just thinks it's a raid. If we tell him to hand her over, he's more likely to dispose of her and deny he ever had her."

  "But the beacon…"

  "He doesn't know about the beacon. If he did, she wouldn't be here."

  Rawn stared at the Atlantean commander, realisation dawning in a cold tide. "She'd be dead."

  "Exactly. The beacon can only be removed with delicate surgery, and only deactivated with Atlantean codes. The only other way to stop its signal is to destroy it, and believe me, you can't do that without killing her, too. If he finds out what brought us here, she's dead."

  Rayne looked up in surprise as the door opened and the Shrike strode in, his coat spreading like wings behind him. He reached her in a couple of long strides, gripped her arm and pulled her to her feet. The golden shimmer of the transfer Net engulfed them, then dispersed, and she staggered as he released her, gazing around at a dim room. A curved screen gave a startling view of space, sprinkled with stars. In one corner, a space station rotated, glittering in the harsh light of a white dwarf star. Several ships orbited it, distant points of moving light. She seemed to be on the bridge of a small ship, judging by the lack of space and multitude of twinkling consoles that surrounded her. A contoured pilot's chair faced the curved screens, flanked by consoles and vidscreens. She opened her mouth to ask him what was going on, but then he addressed the console beside him in an urgent tone.

  "Scan the individual with me."

  A bland, sexless voice spoke from somewhere above her, making her jump. "The individual carries an Atlantean tag."

  The Shrike swung to face her, making her retreat a step. "You're tagged!"

  "Tagged?"

  "You've got a damned homing beacon in you somewhere! You didn't know?"

  "No!" She raised a hand to her head, the spot above her left ear that had been the source of so many headaches.

  "They implanted you, and didn't tell you?"

  "No. I don't know. Did they?"

  "How nice of them. Your heroes, the Atlanteans. They tagged you like a damned animal, so they could track you down wherever you went."

  She lowered her hand, stunned. "How did you know?"

  "I didn't, until a bloody Atlantean ship showed up in this sector, heading straight for Urquat's station." He swung away, his hands clenching. "I should have had you scanned. Especially when I knew what you were."

  "What are you going to do?" A strange mixture of hope and anguish made her heart race.

  "Do? How the bloody hell should I know? Urquat would have put you in a damned atomiser."

  Her knees shook, and she leant against a console. "You're going to kill me?"

  "I should," he said. "I should jettison you and get the hell out of here." His voice softened. "But I won't. Shadowen, how long before the Atlanteans arrive?"

  "Eleven minutes."

  "Okay, link with the Net, set course for… Octovar One. Send a message to the Shadow Wing, tell them to return to base. The Atlanteans will follow us. We've got the bait."

  Rayne clutched the console behind her as space swung past the portals, the stars wheeling around before settling into new patterns. The station vanished, and a belt of stars filled the screens. As she gazed at them, trying to recognise their patterns, a web of snaky golden brilliance crawled over the screens. She turned to the tall man who stood in the shadows, staring at a screen that hung before a bulkhead. After a moment he nodded.

  "Good, they're following, and we're pulling away. Their stress factors are much higher, due to the size of their ship, so we're faster."

  "What are you going to do with me?"

  He turned to face her. "Nothing unpleasant. Octovar One is an Atlantean outpost, a law abiding world with little military presence. I'll get close enough to transfer you to the surface, then I'll leave and you'll be free. Your friends should pick you up within an hour or so. All you have to do is wait."

  "Is it safe for you? What if they lay a trap for you?"

  "I'll elude them. I've done it many times before." He turned to study the screen again. "I'm touched by your concern. I didn't think you'd mind having my death on your conscience now you know the extent of my depravity."

  "I'm not sure what to believe anymore."

  "Believe what you saw. Your eyes don't lie."

  "Then why are you helping me?"

  "Helping you?" He laughed, a rich husky tone that the mask muffled. "I'm not helping you; I'm getting rid of you. All right, I could have jettisoned you, but that might not be such a good idea. You are, after all, the Golden Child, and I've explained why I'd rather not meddle in the possible future. Whether or not this Atlantean prophecy will ever come true is debateable, but I don't believe in taking chances." He turned and gestured to a narrow corridor that led off the bridge. "Now, I'll show you to a room where you can relax in solitude, since you don't like my company."

  Rayne squeezed past and preceded him down the passage, aware of his presence close behind. A door slid open ahead, revealing a haven of soft light with luxurious grey and white decor. She entered a cosy sitting room with comfortable chairs and a low table, a well-stocked bar and an entertainment section. The Shrike paused in the doorway, then turned to go, but stopped when she called out and turned back to face her.

  "Who were you talking to on the bridge?" she asked.

  "The ship."

  "This ship talks? What, did you use some poor man's brain instead of a neural net?"

  "It has a highly advanced bio-crystalline brain, and is capable of thinking for itself. It's what I call a companion ship, which I can talk to when I'm alone." He leant against the doorframe. "I'm currently building a second one, since this one is a little old now. A companion ship flies itself. I don't have to link into a neural net and run the risk of having my brains fried."

  She stared at him, astounded, then forced herself to look away, resisting the urge to ask him more questions. "I see. Thank you."

  Tarke left, and the door slid shut behind him, sealing her in the quiet room.

  Tallyn glared at the holograms scrolling up from Marcon's console, his eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. Vengeance had dropped out of the Net only to find the slaver station abandoned and no ships in sight. They had been forced to wait for a signal to reach them from Rayne's beacon, a tense few minutes during which many feared the worst. Then the welcome flash of the signal appeared on Marcon's console, and a new course was set. The destination puzzled Tallyn, and he tried to discern the Shrike's actions.

  "Perhaps only a crew and Rayne are on the ship," he mused. "We don't know if that bastard is on it. I don't see him putting himself in such danger. For what?"

  "Maybe he still doesn't know about the beacon," Rawn suggested. "He might be simply fleeing."

  "Towards an Atlantean outpost?"

  "An unguarded outpost. Perhaps he thinks it's the last place you'd look for him."

  "No, I doubt that. He could have gone in any number of directions and ended up deeper inside his territory, with his ships to protect him. Instead he's heading away from it. I might be tempted to think it's a decoy, except she's on that ship." Tallyn made a tired gesture. "And he can't know about the beacon, or he'd have jettisoned her already."

  "How can it be detected?"

  "With a body scan. Any medical scanner that registers metal or microwaves will pick it up, but he won't know it's a beacon unless he detects its pulses, which he can't unless he knows the frequency. Since most of the advanced races use cyber implants, there's nothing unusual about it."

  Rawn gave a soft snort. "He might think it strange that she doesn't know she has it, and therefore can't possibly use it. You don't think that might make him a little bit suspicious?"

  "Why would he
discuss it with her? I don't think he talks to her at all. She's just a commodity to him."

  "I hope you're right, but it'll be hard to keep Rayne quiet."

  Tallyn frowned at him. "Let's hope she doesn't annoy him too much. He's a killer."

  Rayne stared at the door, her thoughts and emotions in turmoil. Part of her longed to join him on the bridge and ask him the many questions that bred in her mind, another part knew the answers would probably be lies, if she got any at all. A voice in the back of her mind shouted that she should stay out of his way and hope he really meant to release her, while the young, naive part of her insisted that he would make a powerful friend, and should be cultivated.

  In her confused state of indecision, she was unaware of how swiftly time passed until the door opened again, revealing the empty corridor. At this invitation she rose and went to the bridge, where the Shrike sat in the pilot's chair, staring out at the stars. A blue planet, mottled with white clouds and green land masses, shone like a jewel in the blackness.

  The Shrike turned his head. "We're here. Octovar One."

  "So," she murmured, her voice quivering a little, "You really mean to release me."

  "I'm not that much of a liar."

  "But you are one."

  He shrugged. "I have to spin the occasional yarn. Now, I don't have much time. Are you ready?"

  Rayne experienced a strange pang of sadness, and wondered at it. In all likelihood, she would never meet him again, which was a good thing, yet she regretted it. She longed to ask him what would have happened if she had not been the Golden Child. What he would have done with her if she had just been another slave? The possible answers made her shudder, but she had no time to ponder the question further. He stood up, facing her.

  "Are you ready?" he repeated.

  "Yes. I – I'm grateful to you."

  "Don't be. I'm not your friend, nor am I some sort of romantic figure out of one of your cheap novels or fairy tales. Reality is harsh, so forget about me and get on with your life."

  As she cursed her unguarded musings, he turned away and addressed the ship. "Activate the transfer Net, and place our guest on the surface, in the principal city."

  Rayne raised a hand in a belated gesture of farewell as the golden shimmer engulfed her, then the energy shell dispersed, and she stood on a bright, clean street beneath a clear blue sky. Atlanteans, dressed in their preferred loose, colourful garments, wandered past, some glancing at her. Gravcars swept by above and beside her, skywalks arched overhead, linking towering buildings. She made her way to a public bench in a patch of red and green flora and sank onto it, her legs shaking. Fortunately, the air was warm and calm, for she still wore the dress he had given her, which offered little protection from the elements.

  An hour later, Tallyn and Rawn transferred in, and she ran into her brother's arms. Even as they embraced, the energy shell engulfed them once more, and she was back aboard Vengeance.

  The Shrike gazed at the stars, his chin resting on his hand. He had removed the mask to rub his face, relieving a persistent itch on his cheek. Stripping off his gloves as well, he tossed them onto a console, where the mask stared accusingly at him. He studied his hands, remembering how she had scrutinised one so closely, and the touch of her fingers. No one had touched his skin for fifty years. Not while he was conscious, at any rate. Doctors had tended him after the many attempts on his life, but he had been unaware at the time. She was so young, and so innocent. Her touch had been like fire. He rubbed his wrist, pushing up his sleeve to gaze at the scars around it as he remembered what had made them so long ago.

  Octovar One was two light years behind him, and he had dropped out of the Net to relax and ponder his hasty decisions. Releasing the human girl had been the right thing to do. He had no problem with that, whether or not she was the Golden Child. The Draycon Empire, however, would find out about her continued existence, and Drevina would seek to kill her again unless someone stopped her. The Atlanteans' laws forbade them from using violence except in self-defence, a fatal flaw in their culture, in his opinion. He ran a hand through his hair and stretched.

  "Shadowen, what's the probability that this Atlantean legend is true, and Rayne is the Golden Child?"

  "The human female who accompanied you earlier?" At Tarke's nod, the ship went on, "I would say slim, if not for some recent data collected from the Atlantean space net. Apparently, on a trip to her former home world, Vengeance encountered a mysterious ship that claimed to be the Golden Child's guide. The ship was huge, and immune to the Atlanteans' weapons. It also used the transfer Net to leave the area instantaneously."

  "It used the Net to make a complete transfer?"

  "Correct."

  Tarke frowned at the winking crystals before him. "Are you sure?"

  "I am sure that is what the Atlantean space net’s information said, yes."

  "You know the legend of the Golden Child, don't you?"

  "Just as you do."

  "Refresh my memory." Tarke laced his fingers and settled back.

  "Translated into simple language, the legend says that at a certain time, the Atlanteans must save a golden girl child from a dying planet. She will, apparently, be able to avert a terrible catastrophe that will otherwise befall the Empire, and save it. This is not only an Atlantean legend, however, the Draycons have it too, but in their version, they must kill the Golden Child in order to rule the Atlantean Empire."

  "But there's no mention of this strange ship in either of them?"

  "No."

  "So, the Draycons will soon find out she's still alive, and Atlan's protection is pretty shoddy," Tarke mused. "If Atlan falls, I'll be next on Drevina's extermination list. Perhaps it would be worthwhile to take out some insurance. What would happen if Drevina and her brother were to die suddenly?"

  "They have no true heirs. By Drayconar tradition, she must bear her brother's twins. Drevina has a child by another male, but he's not considered a true heir. Draycon would be plunged into chaos, even civil war."

  Tarke rubbed his chin, his eyes narrowed. "That might be a good thing." He sighed. "I want the Drayconar battle cruiser Norron destroyed. Send out the order."

  "This will focus Atlan's attention even more on you."

  He shrugged. "So be it."

  "You have no idea what monster might emerge at the head of the Drayconar Empire. You might make it worse. And if the Draycons find out who killed their Empress, there would be reprisals."

  "Then there must be no survivors. I have a feeling that by the time the Draycons sort themselves out and kill off all but one potential leader, whatever catastrophe is coming to Atlan will have run its course. It will prevent the Draycons from interfering any further in the prophecy. I have no love for Atlanteans, but at least they keep the Draycons quiet. Send the order."

  Rayne sat back and rubbed her temples, switching off the data screen with a flick of her thoughts. Weariness tugged at her eyelids, but she forced herself to stretch and rise to wander over and gaze out at the soft rain that soaked the land outside. Since her return to Atlan three months ago, a great many things had happened. The beacon in her brain had been deactivated at her insistence, much to Rawn's delight. Tallyn had argued against it, but her status now allowed her to make certain demands, which the Atlanteans were obliged to fulfil in order to keep her good will. She had been questioned about her time with the Shrike, and had answered all the questions honestly.

  They did not ask for his true name, and she did not offer it, so it remained her secret. Drevina's murderous plot would have earned her a severe reprimand from the Atlantean Council, and perhaps even a token visit by a warship, had she lived long enough. The debris of her ship, Norron, had been discovered in an asteroid belt not far from Drevga B, a Brentar mining colony. The Draycons had threatened the peaceful Brentar with retribution, then Atlan, before turning on each other. A bloody civil war now raged on Amranon and Periabel, the two principal Drayconar planets.

  Soon after her return, she a
nd Rawn had been taught to use their cyber implants, gaining easy access to all the Atlantean machines and data links. Whereas before they had to view the data via a screen, or listen to it, now they used a sensor pad and allowed the information to stream directly into their minds, accompanied by images and sensations, where necessary. They had also been allocated their own dwelling, and Rawn had started dating a low cast Atlantean girl. Once again, Rayne had forgone the social whirl to bury herself in research, primarily on the Shrike's empire, uncovering many unpleasant facts.

  Most disturbing was the crime that had earned him a death sentence from the Atlanteans, the extermination of his race, the Antians, fifty years ago. The report was brief and sketchy, but said that a planetary distress signal had been received from the Antian home world, Elliadaren. By the time an Atlantean ship had reached it, the world was lifeless, rapidly descending into a nuclear winter. The only ship in orbit had been an outlaw craft called Night Hawk. Its pilot, when challenged, had identified himself as the Shrike, claimed responsibility for the destruction of Antian civilisation, and fled.

  Rayne thought the situation demanded further investigation, but none had been attempted. The Atlanteans had accepted the confession and passed a sentence of death on the unknown individual who called himself the Shrike. Why had Tarke destroyed the Antians, and how? To do that to an entire civilisation should have been impossible, even with an armada of warships. It made no sense, and she resolved to find out more through other channels, if possible.

  The rest of her research had confirmed his story, a list of bloody deeds performed in the building of a giant empire of ships and manpower, untold wealth and immense political might. The Shrike was certainly a force to be reckoned with, but the file lacked any sort of personal details other than an estimate of his age, a list of possible species and a description of his usual garb. It did contain a three-dimensional space map of his territory, which spanned a fair stretch of space, mostly populated with useless, barren planets.