“Fine.” He shouldn’t growl at Haftan. Shouldn’t punish them for his failing. Both of them had tried to help him in the end. They’d given him the one night with her. They’d left him alone to brood, and now, now they only asked him to live again. He wanted to refuse. “I’ll be ready.”
“Thank you.”
He didn’t hear Haftan leave, but when he finally turned around, the room was empty. The door had closed again. He smelled terrible, hadn’t bothered to put on clean robes since they'd left Vade. His hair hung in slick strings. What could have happened in two days? The beast that was his piece of Rowri, his soul too now, howled like a monster and clawed to be doing something.
It moved his feet, drove him to change and wash and go through the motions of life. He let it take control, followed the snarling commands and managed to be ready when the knock came. Mofitan stood in the hall this time, and Shayd followed him out, trailed him to the rear ladder and down to the hatch.
They’d landed in Wraith, at a spaceport that made Vade look like paradise. On Eclipsis, the skies were open. The buildings were lower and the view was a solid haze of industrial gases and filth. Behind the city, a jagged mountain range tried to rise, but it was lower than the walls of the Palace crater. The sharp tips of the peaks would have looked like rubble beneath the Shroud.
Haftan waited at the hatch, staring down the ramp at a group of mercenaries. The platforms at Wraith looked newly paved. The squat buildings freshly painted, clean, but the traffic here was thin and watched by a full squadron of armed mercs. They went down together.
“The Governor was detained.” One of the mercs snapped a salute. “They’ve asked if you’d meet them in the capitol building.”
“Where is that?” Mofitan crossed his arms over his chest and stared out toward the rough peaks.
“We can take you.”
“I think we’ll just wait.”
“Mof?” Haftan turned and looked back to Shayd, as if he were in any shape to assist them.
“Dolfan said there was trouble here. How do we know these guys are with him?” Mofitan stated it aloud, threw it in the mercenary’s face, but the man nodded as if he understood. They spoke the same language, and Mof’s suspicion earned him no offense.
“We can wait too. I’ll send the message to Ambassador Dolfan.”
“Thank you,” Haftan said.
Mof only grunted and stared at the horizon. Wraith had an ugly, greasy feel to it, despite the efforts of its new government. Shayd was lucid enough to recognize that. They hadn’t won this battle here yet, and for Dolfan and Vashia’s sake, he hoped they would.
For the moment, however, he’d be content to hide here, to wither and darken to match the slick, industrial wasteland and never have to feel anything again.
Dolfan arrived for them within the hour. He was laughing when he left the hover car, smiling until he saw the three Shrouded standing beside their ship’s ramp. Then, his face fell into a serious mask—a mirror, Shayd knew, of the way they all appeared.
“I’d ask you how the mission went,” he said. “But I think I can guess.”
“Don’t ask,” Haftan answered for them all.
The hover car was long and silver, and the entire side slid open to reveal a comfortable, even luxurious, interior. They climbed in while Dolfan carried the conversation toward his own troubles.
“Vashia wanted to scrap the cars, but I talked her into keeping them. Too much expense to replace the whole fleet, and we’ve got our hands full just maintaining order at the moment.”
“The mercenaries seem to be holding down the port.”
“But we lose more of them every day. Our business district is booming now that Vash has offered commerce incentives, but the refineries are producing at a slower rate under the safety regulations. Which is a good thing in the end, but still a revenue decrease.”
“What about your holdout?” Mofitan sat opposite his former rival, and the topic shifted to the regional governor who was still clinging to the former regime. “Is there still trouble in the northern mining district?”
“Trouble is an understatement. It’s a war zone, and we don’t have the manpower to back the resistance. We have our hands full in the districts we do control.”
Shayd stared out the window. Haftan sat opposite him, paying more attention to the conversation than he was and nodding his condolences for the plight of Eclipsis. The streets they wound down had more empty buildings than he suspected they’d once had. Vashia had chased off the shadier industries, defied her father’s business practices and brought a measure of reform to the mining planet.
The skies might still be gray, but the people he saw looked prosperous enough, happy enough. They looked a great deal more content than he felt.
“If we could keep the mercenaries,” Dolfan said, “we could help them, but the damned Shevrans have hired away half our forces, and we’d already fired most of Kovath’s police force.”
“Shevrans?” Shayd sat up.
Mofitan cast a look at Haftan.
“The wretched lizards are amassing an army, and we haven’t had enough time to build a permanent replacement.”
“An army?” Shayd tried to get Dolfan’s attention, but the Ambassador was caught up in his own trouble and talking directly to Mofitan, who shared another look with Haftan, back and forth. No one looked in Shayd’s direction. They were, in fact, pointedly not looking at him. “What army? Where?”
Dolfan, finally, turned to him. “All I know is that the Shevrans have hired enough mercenaries to put half the sector on alert. They’ve taken so many forces from the local systems that everyone is watching their skies now.”
“The trader and his case,” Shayd said. “The Tolfarians. Rowri!” He tried to stand, forgot where he was, and banged his head hard enough to sit him down again.
“It was just one trader,” Haftan said. “I’m sure there are Shevrans in more than one sector.”
“And all of them are a pain in the ass,” Mofitan said. “I don’t like it.”
“What?” Dolfan caught their mood but not the implications. “What is it?”
“Maybe nothing,” Haftan said. “We should probably alert the Summit, though.”
“That Shevran was up to no good,” Mofitan said. “That damned case, and I’d bet money he’s the one that…”
“Stop the car.” Shayd spoke softly enough, but they all stopped talking. “We have to go after them.”
“After them?” Dolfan looked to Mofitan for an explanation, but then Mof was the action man. It was Mofitan who led the charges, Haftan who argued diplomacy, and Shayd’s job was to remain silent, to watch and do nothing.
“There was a Shevran trader with us,” Mofitan said. “He left with the Tolfarians and…”
“The Summit will want proof,” Haftan said. “They won’t allow us to do anything without it.”
“Stop!” Shayd’s shout filled the car. It got the driver’s attention, perhaps too much, and the vehicle skidded into a sliding, sideways halt. “Open the door.”
“Shayd.” Haftan tried the soothing voice.
“I’m leaving.” The car cracked open, and he climbed out into the street. “I’m going after her. The Summit can kiss my ass.”
He turned toward the port and frowned. They’d come farther than a few blocks, farther than he’d expected. He started back anyway, paced off with his robes rippling and Mofitan’s voice echoing behind him.
“Shayd!”
He ignored them and marched down the street. The way ahead cleared of pedestrians. The gray skies puffed and the Shrouded Seer billowed beneath them, walking to the spaceport to take on the Shevrans’ mercenary army single-handed.
It was that thought that slowed him enough to hear Mofitan’s shouting.
They’d turned the hover car around and kept pace beside him. The door facing him was open and Dolfan grinned from it like a lunatic while Mofitan hung out into the open, calling his name. He changed tactics when Shayd look
ed.
“Are you going to walk to Choma, then?”
“I’m going after her.”
“We’re all going after her,” Mof shouted. “But we’ll get there a hell of a lot faster if you get your ass back in the car!”
He stilled and looked at the port beyond the shop roofs. Driving would be faster. All of them going would be better. Just so long as they helped him. He took a step toward the car. There was a grin on Mof’s face, but also determination. They would help him. He shouldn’t have doubted it, but if Haftan made them ask the Galactic Summit for help, all bets were off.
He’d walk all the way to Choma if he had to.
*-*-*
Jadyek stole the hover bike in the middle of the night. The Shrouded security officer tolerated his questions about the Gauss for a full five minutes before he excused himself to use the facilities. Jadyek had the items Dielel needed in a pack on the bottom stair, and before the guard could return he had a mask, a bike, and a whole Shroud full of trouble.
He raced to the far end of the canyon, ignoring the summons from the security platform there, the order to halt that came first as a scrolling digital message and, only after he’d angled up to the crater rim, over the voice channel.
“Unauthorized vehicle, return to platform.”
Jadyek shot up like a rocket and dove into the Shroud, half expecting them to actually fire on him. Shrouded or not, Council seat or no, he’d stolen the bike, and Jain Rieordan would know exactly where he meant to take it. The First Consort would know, but how many others?
The bike wobbled and he triggered the probes, watched the orbs detach and zip ahead, leading the way. He’d have to move fast, faster than the Consort if he meant to win his way inside. Rieordan would send a message, of course. The relays might get there before he did, if the Shroud cooperated. He couldn’t rely on pity to win his way to Dielel.
The time had come to run.
He flew through the Shroud with only one thought. No turning back now. He only had one path, and it lay directly ahead. If the Shroud cooperated with him, if it sided with its stone Core, then he’d have time to get inside before the warning arrived.
If it fought him, well, he’d find a way somehow. He had a case of wine from off-planet to bet on his getting inside. After that, it would all be up to the Heart.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Commander Tchao stood on the bridge and glared at his view screen without seeing it. The Shevran trader had provided his device. His bomb was two days into its journey to Choma, and yet he had a problem with his trigger. Dovali’s promises, of all his allies, were proving far less helpful than he’d hoped.
The lizard man lounged across the communications officer’s chair, his scaly feet resting on the console and his gills fluttering in what Tchao assumed was sleep. He’d have shot one of his men for less, but the reptilians had proven their worth over and over. They had an army of mercenaries waiting to obey his orders, a fleet of ships prepared to move in on Choma just as soon as Tchao worked out exactly when to sever the beast’s head.
Omira might have seen his plans, but she wouldn’t do a thing to stop them. She’d inadvertently confessed as much during negotiations. They would take the generator to the Temple for blessing before installing it. They would act, like any beast, on instinct, predictably. Perhaps that was why their foresight worked so well. Perhaps it would not let them see anything outside of their ritual, and he’d only imagined his transparency out of guilt.
Still, he needed to time his attack perfectly, to strike at the right moment for his plan to succeed. Why begin at the port, even bother with the civilians, when he could eradicate the Temple itself? Without their clergy, the Uraru would do what they did best, cower and run, let their animal fears drive them before him. They’d surrender before his campaign had even begun.
But Dovali…he needed to know the moment his bomb was where he wanted it. He needed the stupid girl under their control if he meant to see it.
“The Shevran fleet is hailing us, sir.”
“Patch it.” He gripped the railing with both hands and felt the metal give under his enhanced fingers. The Shevran commander appeared on screen, and his cheeks were a pleasant shade of green.
“Commander Tchao, the last of the mercenaries have arrived.”
“Excellent news.” He ignored the unspoken question. “You have fulfilled your contract admirably, Commander.”
“I assume you will relay that to my people's council.”
“Of course.”
“And do you have any estimation of how long we’ll be waiting here?”
“The entire Tolfarian fleet waits with you, Commander, and yet you’ll be the first to know when the time comes.”
“I only hope that time is soon.” The Shevran’s cheeks paled. “Mercenary forces do not sit well idly, nor for free.”
“I understand that fully. You have my word that we will move the second our success is assured.”
“Many would say that success is never assured, Commander Tchao. Perhaps you are not so unlike your Choman cousins after all. Perhaps, you wish to see the future.”
“What I wish, Commander, is a swift end to all of my cousins.”
“Very well.” The screen darkened. The stars and ships returned. An armada of Tchao’s purpose aimed at the Choman home world. He didn’t have any desire to be like his cousins. But he’d happily use them the same way he’d use the mercenaries, the Shevrans, and anything else he could bring to hand.
He spun on his heel and stalked to the lift. If his anger came from his tainted blood, then let him use it to eradicate the source, to purge the Chomans of their beastly history forever. The lift opened, and he stared down at Mr. Prill.
“If I could have a word, Commander?” Prill didn’t bother to hide his suspicions, his distaste for Tchao, or his disrespect for their mission. He frowned at Tchao full in the face and should have been shot for the look alone.
“You’re being transferred, Mr. Prill.”
“Excuse me?”
“I think you heard me, Mr. Prill, and I think you’ll be much happier on a different ship. The orders are already in the system.”
“Fine,” Prill said. “I’ll go, Tchao, but whatever it is that you have planned, I hope that you are acting for our people’s sake and not your own.”
Tchao moved before Prill could register it. He snatched the man’s uniform with one hand and his throat with the other, stepping forward and lifting. He dragged Prill into the lift and pinned him, legs dangling against the wall. “Deck seven.”
“You gave her to Dovali.” Prill choked out the word, but his skin already whitened. “You’re…mad.”
“I am your commander!” Tchao pressed his fingers into the cords of Prill’s neck. “I am your leader, and I will lead you home, Mr. Prill. I will deliver the Tolfarians back to Choma, and I will see you thank me for it in the end.”
“Thank you?” Prill snarled away the last of his air.
“And when you’ve seen what I have done, then, perhaps I won’t decide to have you executed, Mr. Prill. But don’t count on it.”
Tchao felt his fury like a storm. His temper frothed and snapped like a hound and he remembered that he was not an animal. He released Mr. Prill, watched the man crumple to the lift floor, and breathed. The door slid open, and he’d barely contained himself, still felt the pressing urge to tear at Prill’s throat. He stepped into the hallway.
“Get off my ship, Prill.”
The lift closed on the moaning of his first officer. The hallway was empty, and Tchao Rimawdi stalked to the door he wanted. He punched the panel and stormed into the laboratory with his rage still simmering.
Dovali’s head came up. He gaped at Tchao and stopped his hands. “I need her to see, Dovali.”
“I am trying everything I can. The drugs have made her pliable, but the screens are dead. She should be seeing now. She should have been for days.”
“You said you could control the Uraru, Doval
i. You said the beast would see what and when we wanted.”
“That’s just it.” Dovali twisted his fingers together and scowled at the girl. Her body was slack and senseless from the doctor’s drug. Her jaw hung open and her eyes were glazed and weeping.
“What is?”
“The beast,” Dovali said. “It’s not here. It’s like she doesn’t have one.”
Tchao felt his anger again, lifting him. This time, he didn’t argue with it. This time he smiled. The Choman bitch had sent him a dud. Fine. He had an answer ready. He had it, just beneath his skin, but he'd never confessed as much to anyone. He swallowed, and let Dovali in on the rest of his secret.
“Well then, doctor. I suppose we’ll just have to give her mine.”
*-*-*
Rowri felt for her Uraru as the drugs eased off. She heard only silence in reply, found only a dark and empty space where the cat had been. Exactly as she’d seen. She’d never been alone in her head, and if her nerves had not been dulled by Dovali’s chemicals she might have hated it. As it was she only noted the lack, the soft scratching of the rodents who shared her room, and the fact that she could feel her toes again.
Had they finished with her already? The sound of Dovali’s steps said that was an empty hope. The intrusion of Tchao’s voice turned the steady trembles under her skin into a fit of shaking.
“Is it ready?” The Tolfarian’s words blasted into her quiet brain. She pressed her eyes tight rather than see his face looming overhead again. “Is the transfusion finished?”
“I’m only starting,” Dovali snapped. “The rats’ serum wouldn’t work on a humanoid. I had to replicate it at a higher dosage.”
“Well, you took enough of my blood.”
His blood?
“I’m starting the drip now.” Dovali ignored Tchao’s peevishness. He often ignored the man, and Rowri wished she had that power. Her thoughts flittered away like flies from her attempts to sort them, but even in the haze of the drugs, the needles and wires and Dovali’s constant probing, she knew enough to fear Tchao Rimawdi. Every ache and pinch and dull pain in her body was his doing at its core.
Seen (Heartstone Book 2) Page 19