Catch the Lightning

by Catherine Asaro

  JAAAAAAAAAG! My mental cry cut through the layers of cotton in my mind, propelled by the force of Althor’s agony and my own terror. PROTECT!

  Emergency wake-up toggled, the Jag thought.

  17

  Lightning’s Vengeance

  My mind blasted wide open. It all came back, the emotions, the sensations—

  And I was FALLING. I plunged into the hole where Iquar’s capacity for compassion should have been, whipped around and around like a cork in a whirlpool that poured into the fetid sewer of his mind.

  The neurons of Althor’s mind fired their message again and again: pain. His KEB amplified and broadcast it, and Iquar’s abnormal KAB picked it up, his thalamus routing the signals to the orgiastic centers of his brain. He and Althor were locked in a gruesome link: Kyle and Aristo, empath and anti-empath, provider and sadist.

  Except now Iquar was staring at me, his face contorted with ecstasy. “You! You’re one of them!”

  I could barely hear his shout. Noise filled the iab: Althor’s screams, alarms, other sounds my mind produced out of the chaos. Lights flashed everywhere like a carnival gone mad, red and amber all over instrumentation panels and the walls, until I wasn’t sure what came from my mind and what was real.

  “Darius!” Iquar shouted. “Stop cycle!”

  Althor’s screams broke off in a gasp. But the din in the lab kept on, shrill and raucous. Iquar shouted into the band around his wrist and a voice answered, then cut off so abruptly that Iquar just stood there, staring at his wrist. I didn’t need to understand the words to know what had happened: somewhere, somehow, disaster had broken out on his Cylinder.

  “You did this,” Iquar shouted at me, his voice barely carrying over the noise of the alarms. He yanked me off the table and dragged me to the console. With a sweep of his hand, he ripped a tube off a lab sink and tied my wrists to a loop on the console. “You’ll pay for it.” He stretched out his arm, pointing at the framework that held Althor, his face turned lurid by the lights flashing in the lab. “I’ll put you in that for hours.”

  Then he left, running through the octagonal doorway. It solidified after him, leaving us trapped in the lab bay.

  “Tina.” Althor’s hoarse shout barely registered above the noise. “Get me out.”

  I yanked at my bonds. “I’m tied to the console.”

  His thought came into my mind, echoing with aftershocks of pain. Are you linked to the Jag?

  Yes!

  It’s out of control! It’s firing an arsenal designed for relativistic combat inside a space station. You have to make it stop, or this entire station will blow.

  I could feel the Jag’s anger, a cold rage unlike any human emotion. Jag! I thought. Stop! You’ll kill us. You’ll kill the Pilot!

  Its lattice appeared in my mind. The Jag accessed my optic nerve and the lattice jumped out so that I saw it superimposed on the laboratory, glowing gold.

  You and Althor must come to me, it thought.

  He’s still locked into Iquar’s machine, I thought.

  Probing Cylinder web system.

  I was sure it had no chance of breaking into the Cylinder web. Even then I knew the system must have been designed to fend off attacks. But I and everyone else underestimated the Jag. Its rage pushed it further than anyone knew it could reach, and it tore open the Cylinder web like hands ripping gauzy filaments.

  The mesh rolled off Althor’s body. As the framework released him, his feet dropped to the floor and he grabbed a strut to keep from falling. For one moment he stood staring at me. Then he limped to a wall and opened a locker. He pulled out his clothes, the gold pants and boots of his uniform. As he dressed, lights continued to flash and sirens to scream, fierce and urgent.

  Then he came over to me. The whole time he was untying my wrists, he kept whispering, “Tina” over and over. When I was free, he sank to his knees by the console.

  I dropped down next to him. We’ve got to get to the Jag.

  I can’t walk under my own power, he thought. I’m going to let my web take over.

  No! It will hurt you. The Jag told me—

  Tina, this is the only way. My hydraulics will move my body. As long as I’m conscious, they can keep going. He touched my face. Just don’t be afraid. I may seem inhuman to you.

  I trust you.

  He kissed me. Then he changed, his face becoming impassive. Combat mode toggled. His thought was cold, metallic.

  Althor stood up, moving with a surreal smoothness, like a well-oiled machine. The Jag’s lattice was tied to my vision, so it “moved” with me as I stood next to him. But I had no idea how to operate the grid environment.

  Transfer control to me, Althor thought.

  Transfer will aggravate your neural damage, the Jag thought.

  Override safety, Althor thought.

  Control transferred.

  As control of the lattice switched to Althor, my view of it dimmed into a translucent ghost image. He grabbed my arm and we ran to the door. But it refused to open. Data poured through the lattice. The Jag turned the flood of information into surreal images that I saw as ghosts overlaid on the lab, swarms of fluorescent insects buzzing, humming, and clicking, streaks of bottle green and beetle red. Their legs became razor-sharp disks that spun under their bodies. The swarm exploded outward and dove into the lab’s web. New data poured through the lattice as the swarm razed the web system into shreds.

  The doorway reappeared. As we ran through it, the lattice vanished, replaced with a ghost schematic of the Cylinder. It looked like a pipe with a fluted tube down its middle and spokes, all of it ragged, as if scoured by acid. The image filled the corridor and moved with us. Two blips showed our progress, and a blazing red dot gave the Jag’s location, fifty kilometers away in a bay on the inner hull of the torus.

  A beam stabbed out from the dot, across the interior of the Cylinder, and sliced down the opposite side, adding a new acid-groove to the pipe. Annihilator hit on defense platform VDT 2, the Jag thought.

  The schematic came with us as we ran down the corridor. Every time we passed under an arch, it turned red and an alarm blared. More than once we ran through clouds of gas visible only on the schematic. Both Althor and I passed out for several seconds each time, and his biomech web faltered. Much longer, and it would have begun to shut down, but with his enhanced speed he reached clear air in time. He held me around the waist, carrying me when we passed out.

  We ran straight into the barrier. It gave like a wall of elastic and snapped back, throwing us into a heap on the crisscrossed floor. Neither of us had seen the faint shimmer filling the arch. Molecular airlocks, it seems, can also be made impermeable to people.

  As we scrambled to our feet, a robot came out of a passage beyond the membrane, a metal and ceramic skeleton with equipment mounted on its gaunt frame. We spun around, ready to run back the way we came—and saw three waroids striding toward us, their mirrored surfaces reflecting the hellish light from the arches.

  Cylinder security web breached, the Jag thought. Membrane modifications initiated.

  The waroids rammed into a barrier and it snapped them back. As they fell together with a crash, Althor shoved me against the corridor wall, out of the line of sight between him and the waroids. Then he spun around to the barrier that had stopped us. The robot had deactivated it and was rolling forward. Althor kicked up his leg, and when his boot punched the robot’s chest, its instrument box imploded in shards of ceramic and glass. In the corridor, the waroids were up again, two of them pressing their hands against the membrane that separated them from us while the third worked at a wall panel.

  An octagonal portal appeared in the wall next to me—and revealed a red-haired man, one of Iquar’s military men, a slave-made-naval-officer who held his favored position only as long as he pleased his superiors and they pleased Iquar. He held a massive laser carbine, the same kind of mirrored gun the mercenaries had carried.

  The officer shouted at Althor—and aimed his gun at me. In
that same instant Althor kicked up his leg, stretching out his body with a deadly grace to bridge the distance between them. His boot hit the carbine and it spun out of the man’s hands, flying up into the wall. As I threw my arms over my head, the gun came down and hit my shoulders. In reflex, I grabbed at it, my hands closing around its barrel.

  The skeleton-bot extended its arm, a needle snapping out of its thumb. As Althor swung around to face the robot, the Trader officer lunged at me. I had no time to think; I just pointed the gun and hit the largest projection on the stock, a black stud.

  Light blazed, blinding light, making it impossible to see. Someone yanked the carbine out of my hands and wrapped an arm around my waist, forcing me to run.

  As my vision cleared, I realized it was Althor. Twisting in his hold, I stared back down the corridor. A pile of fused armor smoldered in the center and a ragged hole rent the wall, one repeated through several rooms beyond it. No trace remained of the man I had fired at.

  “Oh, God.” I kept saying it over and over as we ran. I had just killed another human being.

  Althor held the carbine by his shoulder and kept his other arm around my waist, pulling me so fast I could barely keep up. We activated every security arch we ran under, turning the corridor blood red. Periodically he fired down the octagonal passage, searing membranes into oblivion.

  Two waroids strode out of a side passage up ahead, both armed with carbines. They fired to either side of us, obviously trying to stop Althor without damaging him. Althor had no such qualms; moving with enhanced speed, he shot straight at them, cutting through their armor. Then we were running through their remains. When I saw what was left of the humans inside that armor, I nearly threw up.

  Switching to Annihilator B, the Jag thought. On the ghost schematic traveling with us, a ray stabbed out from the red dot and sliced through the fluted tube. Statistics swarmed like bees, data with stings. The ray depicted a neutralized antiproton beam; when it struck, it annihilated protons and created high-energy radiation and pion showers, followed by cascades of killer reactions.

  The Jag avoided populated areas, instead targeting defense systems. Its choice to stay in the docking bay made sense: to hit it, Iquar’s people would have to fire on the Cylinder itself. Nor were they likely to want it destroyed; together, the Jag and Althor represented state-of-the-art Imperialate military technology.

  Use a transport car to reach me, the Jag thought.

  Althor ran by reflex, under the direction of his web. On the ghost schematic moving with us, the transport conduits lit up in blue. Our progress showed as blips closing in on one of those conduits.

  A sudden flare of violet light smeared across the schematic. When it faded, a gaping wound showed in the Cylinder, extending from the inner to outer hull and stretching out raggedly in all directions.

  We were on this side of the blast site, the Jag on the other.

  Anyone trying to reach a location on the other side would need to detour for hundreds of kilometers. As data came in, it became clear the explosion had destroyed transportation conduits throughout the entire area. Iquar had struck back, cutting us off from our escape. The fact that it meant killing large numbers of his people and destroying a section of his station apparently meant less to him than recapturing his valued property.

  We reached the cross-passage that led to the transport conduit we sought. At the end of it, a bullet car waited quietly at a platform. Althor stopped, chest heaving, only a few hundred yards away from the glassplex wall that separated the platform from the passage. Jag, can this car reach your location?

  No, the Jag thought. The blast destroyed its magrails farther down the. line.

  Althor swore. You must go someplace where we can reach you.

  Thrusters firing.

  On the schematic, the red blip moved into the hollow interior of the Cylinder. As soon as the Jag was clear of the hull, a missile shot out from another section—and hit the ship dead on. Yet the Jag continued to move as if nothing had happened.

  Quasis released, the Jag thought.

  Can you keep protecting yourself? Althor asked.

  Errors are accumulating. I am safer in a docking bay. An area a few thousand yards from our location lit up in green on the schematic. Go to bay 436-D.

  With no warning, a force knocked me away from Althor, throwing me against the wall as it spun Althor around. Neither of us had been hit; the target was the laser carbine. It flew out of Althor’s hands, shattering, debris flying everywhere. Althor kept turning, under his own power now, until he faced the direction of the shot, a small passage that entered this one close to the glassplex wall.

  Kryx Iquar stood there.

  Had we been thinking more clearly, we would have taken warning: Why would the Eubian Trade Minister risk coming after us when he had other systems, living and mechanical, to do the job? At the time I assumed he and Althor were still fighting that war for control, Iquar determined to assert his dominance over a prisoner who refused, even in slavery, to submit. And a component may indeed have been that. But not all.

  Althor’s face twisted with rage. As Iquar raised a sedative tube-gun, Althor ran toward him with sight-blurring speed. He was too far away to reach the minister in time, but his web calculated well; in the instant Iquar fired, Althor dove to the side, avoiding the shot as he rolled across the metal-stripped deck and came back to his feet.

  A shot cracked behind us and a blast of air slammed Althor against the wall only a few yards away from Iquar. The minister shouted, his meaning obvious despite the unfamiliar language: he didn’t want his valuable property damaged.

  I whirled around, facing the direction we had just come from—and saw an officer only ten yards away. Far down the corridor behind him, a quartet of mirrored waroids were jogging toward us. The officer still had his gun raised, but he hesitated to shoot, his attention fixed on a point behind me. Turning, I saw Iquar and Althor in motion, Iquar smacking his hand on a wall panel as Althor lunged for him.

  A shimmering curtain fell from the ceiling, a membrane tuned to hold a human being. It draped over Althor, molding to his body and pinning his limbs. His momentum still carried him forward, so that he knocked the minister down. Then Althor’s hand ripped through the membrane, his arm shooting up like the periscope on a submarine. As Iquar scrambled to his feet, Althor tore the membrane off his body. He grabbed Iquar’s arm and swung him around to face the officer and oncoming waroids. Locking his arm around Iquar’s neck, he shouted in Eubian, words with the sound of threats.

  Iquar should have been worried, having his neck cranked back that way by a man he knew hated him. His calmness worried me far more than the officer or oncoming waroids.

  “Tina, run!” Althor hissed. “Get in transport.”

  I ran for the car. The glassplex wall that separated the passage from the platform reflected the scene behind me: the officer was aiming his gun at Althor, but he co.uldn’t fire with Iquar in the way. Althor gave the minister a shove, then took off after me as Iquar stumbled forward and fell to his knees. I ran to the car and spun around. Iquar was between Althor and the other Traders for only a few seconds, but it was long enough for Althor, with enhanced speed, to reach me. He banged a panel on the car and the door whisked open. As we scrambled inside, Althor yelled and the car surged forward even as its door closed.

  It sped down its rail—taking us away from our rendezvous with the Jag.

  “Why did you let Iquar go?” I gasped, trying to catch my breath. “He was the perfect hostage.”

  “Too perfect.” Althor gulped in air. “He read me too well. It was a trap.” He held out his arm, the one that had been around Iquar’s neck. “His skin was doped with a sedative keyed to my DNA. On him, it does nothing. On me, it becomes active.”

  “It didn’t work,” I said. “You haven’t passed out.”

  “Not yet. I realized the trap before I got a full dose. But it won’t be long before it takes effect.”

  An alarm sounded. Alth
or strode to the console and studied the displays. “We’re approaching the zone where the explosion broke the magrails. We have to get out.”

  I have moved to compensate for your new situation, the Jag thought. Go to docking bay 412-Q The ghost schematic around us changed to show a close-up of the area damaged by the explosion. In one section of the broken region, a square glowed green.

  We can’t go through there, Althor thought. You have to come closer.

  I can’t risk it, the Jag thought. I won’t survive another hit. This is a good site: security in this sector is gutted and it’s close to your location. Althor, you only have five minutes before your mode failures become so wide-spread you can’t function. In six minutes the sedative will have spread enough to knock you out.

  A beep came from the controls. The car stopped and opened its door.

  We stepped out into chaos. Crowds massed on the platform, pushing into cars as fast as they arrived. Voices over a speaker system gave what sounded like instructions alternating with words of reassurance. Uniformed officers directed the evacuation, shouting to be heard over the rumble of voices.

  An officer pushed his way over to us. He spoke harshly to Althor, and for one blood-freezing instant I thought we had been caught. Then I realized it was only the rough sound of the language that made him sound threatening. He hadn’t recognized us. The officer motioned for us to return to the car and frowned when Althor shook his head. But he didn’t push it; in the turmoil, his attention was needed in too many other places.

  Leaving the terminal was a struggle; we had to push our way against a dense flow of human traffic. More people crammed the octagonal corridor outside. The crowd was poised on the edge of panic, but it didn’t go over; instead, the evacuees followed an obviously well-practiced evacuation drill. Officers stood on raised platforms, directing traffic and reinforcing the reassurances from the speakers. We pushed our way against the flow toward one of the octagonal arches. The schematic came with us, showing the route to the Jag’s bay. It wasn’t far, but to make it there we had to get through a packed mass of humanity.