“It’s so beautiful.” Kim drawled his words, his accent declining into the slow and drawn-out enunciation of the locals. He ran his hand above the intricate carving of the throne. He seemed to caress it without actually touching it. Horned dragon heads looked over the shoulder of anyone who sat there. Dragon wings formed the arms and sides. Dragon legs and large dragon feet with extended talons supported the piece. The openwork back looked like more dragon horns interlaced.
“They’ve left bits of the silver bark on the wings to represent the shimmering translucence of the membrane.” Kim looked as if he was about to sit.
“Poison permeating the wood makes it red,” Konner reminded the youngest brother. “Polish and time will reduce the toxins, but never eliminate them.”
Kim sighed heavily as if breaking a trance. Then he rejoined his older siblings. “I wonder who carved it,” he mused.
“I don’t think I want to know,” Loki said, careful to keep his speech crisp like any properly educated civil back home. “The artist’s hands would be ruined forever from working with the raw wood.”
“The artist who carved the altar would also have a ruined psyche after working those images,” Kim said with a shudder.
They began the trek downward. The smooth lava tube tunnel offered an easy path. They made good time. The temperature rose dramatically with each half kilometer. By the time the path leveled off into another cavern, all three were drenched with sweat. They exhausted their canteens about halfway down.
“I’m so thirsty even that creek water will taste good,” Loki admitted. He rushed to the streamside and splashed some of the sulfur-laden liquid on his face. He dipped his cupped hands once more for a drink.
“Hold on, Loki,” Konner grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him away from the creek bed. “Let me test it first.”
“What could change the content since the last time we were here? It’s potable even if it does taste like morning breath with a hangover,” Loki argued.
“This is an active volcano. The mineral content of this stream changes frequently.” Konner knelt with one of his gadgets extended over the water. He dipped a sensor in and waited.
They all waited. Probably only a few femtos, but it seemed like an hour. The gadget beeped. Konner nodded.
Loki slurped up a double handful of water and spat it out. He screwed up his face at the foul taste. His brothers laughed.
“At least I wet the inside of my mouth,” Loki excused himself. The sourness at the back of his throat overcame the strong aftertaste of sulfur. He sipped a few drops from his hands. It didn’t taste quite so bad this time. A few more sips and he could tolerate enough to slake his thirst.
He noticed his brothers taking a few cautious sips as well. Eventually, they all drank their fill.
“The beacon,” Konner reminded them.
As one, they rose to their feet and headed deeper into the maze of caverns. Half walls, boulders, stalactites, stalagmites, and columns forced them to take a twisted path that doubled back and wandered far from a straight line. Small dead-end rooms branched off the convoluted cavern. They paused at a metal door blocking a large room. They’d removed the computers and technical gadgets left there by the original colonists and stored them aboard Sirius. None of the locals could stumble upon the equipment and use it destructively without understanding it.
As Hanassa had.
Their steps took them past the site of their last confrontation with Hanassa, the place where Loki had pulled the trigger of a lethal needle rifle and killed the man. Each brother murmured a quick prayer and moved on.
Loki resisted the urge to make the sign of the cross. That was Mum’s religion, not his. Still the old habit died hard.
Suddenly, the darkness and the weight of the mountain above pressed heavily against Loki. His breathing grew difficult.
He relived the moment he had last faced Hanassa. He raised his arms, as if still holding the needle rifle, took aim, and pulled the trigger. Cold sweat broke out on his face and hands. His knees trembled.
He saw again the hundreds of poisoned slivers of steel pierce Hanassa’s back. Felt with him the agony as the deadly missiles passed through his body into the chest of Taneeo, his apprentice priest and hostage.
The world went white. Too bright.
As life escaped Hanassa, Loki knew several moments of deep agony of body and soul. And then nothing.
He shivered, remembering the cold numbness that had frozen his mind and his will to go on living.
He still dreamed that he died with Hanassa.
A hum began in the back of Loki’s head. It sang in his back teeth and quivered along the fine hairs on his spine.
“Konner, is this what you hear when you work with the crystals?” Loki whispered.
“Similar. Nothing is as beautiful as the siren song of a crystal array in harmony,” Konner replied.
“I have never heard a crystal array, Konner. This is irresistible.” Kim smartened his steps and walked forward eagerly, the way he went to greet Hestiia.
A flicker of movement in Loki’s peripheral vision diverted his attention from the allure of the hum. He turned quickly and swept his illuminator over the walls. The light glinted off dripping limestone. Ominous shadows played with his depth perception. Was that the shape of a man hiding behind a column? Or was it merely another stalagmite in the distance?
He shook himself free of the creepy imaginings.
Then he heard it. A low chuckle rummaging around his mind.
“Someone is here,” he hissed to his brothers.”
They halted in their tracks, not moving a muscle.
“Are you certain?” Kim asked. He stared around him, keeping the illuminator low.
“Yes,” Loki breathed. “I can feel him.”
“Him? Who?” Konner also searched the immediate environs.
“Not sure who. Only sure that a mind brushed against mine. It was . . . was totally alien.”
Five months ago either of his brothers would have questioned Loki’s statement. Since coming to this planet they had learned a new respect for psychic powers. Each possessed a different one. Loki was telepathic if he tried hard enough. Kim had visions of the future and the healer’s talent. Konner could move things with his mind.
Each talent seemed to grow stronger the longer they stayed on this world of dragons and magic.
“We’ll deal with the intruder after we dump the beacon.” Konner moved forward.
Kim followed him, letting his illuminator wander from the direct path seeking anything that did not look right.
Loki took up the rear. He turned in frequent circles, checking behind him and off to the sides. Nothing showed in the feeble light. But the presence of “another” still weighed heavily on his mind.
They passed into the next cavern. The light was better here. Openings to the churning lava pool allowed the red glow from planetary fire to penetrate a few of the shadows.
The rusting hulk of an ancient steam generator, left over from the original colonists, loomed over them. The brothers had nicknamed the machine Big Bertha after a very cranky and very lazy aunt. Out of some superstition, Loki touched the boiler.
And jerked his hand away. He sucked on his palm, drawing out some of the burn.
“Why is this thing hot?” he asked around the fleshy part of his hand.
Panic lighted Konner’s eyes. “It should be cool, unless . . . unless someone connected the pipes.” He moved around the machine and shone his illuminator on the line of pipes that channeled creek water over the heat of the lava pool and into the boiler. Indeed, the broken and rusting pieces had been patched together with bands of bright bronze.
“Those welds won’t hold.” Konner shook his head.
“The question is who did it?” Loki persisted. He fought to control his own panic. “The only person on this planet with the technical knowledge to repair this thing, other than us, is dead.” He gulped. “He is dead, isn’t he?”
Silence.<
br />
“Isn’t he!”
“He has to be. We watched Iianthe and Gentian dump his body into the lava pit,” Kim insisted.
Loki replayed the scene from his memory, checking for errors. The two purple-tipped dragons had shrunk to the size of house cats. Eerily black and winged, they had grabbed the limp body of Hanassa in beak and claw, flown it through this side tunnel, and dropped it. Loki had not watched the corpse burn. He didn’t need to in order to know it could not survive in any form.
“This beacon follows Hanassa into the pit before anything else diverts my attention.” Konner ran into the nearest tunnel giving access to the open cauldron of churning lava.
At that moment the alluring hum increased to raucous song.
“The dragongate,” Loki breathed.
The light changed from eerie red to a green-blue. The natural wormhole, born of the tremendous heat and pressure of the volcano, bridged the distance between the volcano and the depths of an ocean. And out of those watery depths loomed the biggest fish Loki had seen or read about on any of the worlds they had visited. The infamous behemoth. A voracious feeder, known to charge large boats and take bites out of the hulls.
“Shite, I need burning rock to destroy this thing, not water!” Konner shouted.
A mottled blue-and-gray hide made the behemoth nearly invisible until it was upon them. Its gaping maw showed row upon row of dagger-sharp teeth. Seven beady eyes probed the watery depths for prey.
Loki barely had time to breathe before the fish spotted Konner, turned, and lunged through the water into the mountain cavern. Konner reared back, stumbled, fell. The beacon rolled away from him.
A shadowy figure, clothed in concealing dark robes leaped out of the darkness, pounced upon the gadget, and raced off with it. He chortled and giggled as he pranced away.
“St. Bridget and the angels, he sounds just like Hanassa,” Loki choked as he scrambled after the retreating shadow.
CHAPTER 4
MARTIN FORTESQUE checked the corridor outside his suite. He’d already misdirected the normal surveillance equipment. This wing of the residence was empty of his many tutors, bodyguards, accountants, spiritual advisers, and athletic young sports companions, who were well paid by Melinda to see to Martin’s well-being, and to keep him out of her hair. For once Melinda Fortesque had relaxed her vigilance over her son’s safety—and his privacy.
Melinda carefully scheduled ten Earth Standard Minutes into her day to be a mother. The rest of her time was dedicated to making Aurora the wealthiest planet in the Galactic Terran Empire and the much larger Galactic Free Market.
“No one around to interfere,” Martin chortled. He’d just spent two hours hacking into his mother’s day-planner to make certain every one of his prison wardens believed that someone else occupied Martin’s time.
He leaned back in his Lazy-former®. The inflatable cushions filled the contours of his posture and supported him while he concentrated on the blank white wall in front of him.
Where to begin?
“Scaramouch,” he commanded his computer unit. “Bank balance upper right-hand corner.”
A figure representing the total liquidity available to him appeared in both GTE credits and Adols, the Aurorian monetary unit. Not enough. For all of her wealth, Melinda kept her son on a strict and limited budget. Largesse came sporadically for reasons only Melinda understood.
“Scaramouch, holoimage of the HD™ 37000 jet pedcycle with optional foul weather bubble in lower left-hand corner. Full size.” A three-dimensional two-wheeled vehicle with foot pedals for cycling, jet ports for minor elevation over obstacles, and collapsible wings for higher gliding materialized in the room. Only a slight distortion of sunlight coming in from a bank of tinted bioglass windows hinted that the coveted cycle was made only of colored light.
“Price of the HD 37000 above it, please.” An astronomical figure appeared above the image in both credits and Adols. “Difference between bank balance and price of HD 37000 in the center.”
The new figures represented an additional year of savings from his allowance.
“Well, Melinda told me to do my own birthday shopping. She’s always saying I don’t get enough exercise, so she can’t object to the cycle in principle. Let’s see what we can do. Scaramouch, show me Melinda Fortesque’s day-planner for my birthday.”
The computer already had the day memorized since Martin had accessed it several times in the last three AMs—Aurorian months. He skimmed the usual round of conferences, lists of judges and legislators to be bribed, and deadlines that littered his mother’s life. Fifteen minutes allocated to an appearance before a judge. Not an unusual occurrence. Probably some paperwork designed to keep planetary laws within GTE guidelines while concentrating a maximum amount of power and money in Melinda’s hands. After the court date, she’d budgeted an entire hour for his birthday celebration. The fact that it coincided with the evening meal surprised him. Mealtimes were prime opportunities to access business associates and rivals in supposedly casual settings. An Adol figure beside the mealtime must represent the amount of money Melinda was willing to part with for Martin’s birthday present.
He raised his eyebrows, surprised at the amount. Quite a bit more than he expected.
“Wonder what she wants to bribe me for this time?” He mused. “Add this figure to my bank balance.” He touched the day-planner image and dragged it up to the right-hand corner. The numbers ran upward.
Still not enough.
“Scaramouch, delete foul weather bubble from HD 37000.”
The holoimage wavered and distorted, then reassembled itself without the protective force field that would keep rain, wind, and unpleasant temperatures from disturbing the rider. The price numbers flickered and changed. The difference between the price and the amount of money he might expect to tap decreased but remained far too high.
“Scaramouch, replace bubble. Since I’ve got to get creative, let’s go for the whole thing.” Martin memorized the number in the center of his field and blanked the screen. “Scaramouch, boot up BigMoney program.”
Martin spent the next hour moving figures around the program. He bought some high risk stock with his available allowance and sold it almost immediately at a slight profit. He bought a confiscated cargo sitting in the police warehouse and sold it through the port authorities. That brought him closer to his goal.
Then something in the port records caught his eye. The entry was listed in bright red and displayed in letters three times the normal size.
“M. Konner O’Hara, ship Sirius. No entry under any circumstances on or before above date.”
Martin looked closer. The “above date” was his birthday. Why had the port—and therefore his mother—banned Martin’s summer camp counselor from the planet on his birthday?
Melinda sent Martin away for three AMs every year for “education and socialization opportunities.” In other words, she wanted her son out of sight and out of mind. Konner O’Hara had been his counselor for four years. Except this year. Melinda had kept Martin home with no explanation other than a new tutor with loads of homework assignments.
Martin skipped back to his mother’s day-planner. The judge to be bribed that day also included a court time handwritten in tiny letters rather than computer generated. An unusual entry. Electronic pencil markings could not be changed easily and Martin had yet to discover a program to hack them. The computer had difficulty reading the print and kept blanking it out.
Martin enhanced that portion of the schedule and set it on decode mode in case Melinda had gotten creative with her private entries. She did that every once in a while, as if she feared industrial espionage. She should.
“Final custody hearing. Make certain Martin has a new suit.”
“I don’t believe it. Melinda is actually going to go through the motions of obeying a law that is good for the masses but not necessarily good for her. She’s going to let me choose my custodial parent. That myth she’s been telling me, an
d everyone else, that she chose artificial insemination to gain an heir is a big fat lie! But why outlaw Konner. Maybe he knows my father. He could get my dad here in time for me to legally choose him instead of Melinda.”
In order to maintain good standing with the GTE, Melinda Fortesque had to make a show of a republican government for the people who lived on Aurora—all of them her employees. Anything that she disliked or found inconvenient was taken care of with a bribe of money or influence. At some time in the past, she had allowed a law to pass that in cases of contested custody, the child had the right to choose his/her final custodial parent at the age of fourteen.
The fact that a hearing had been scheduled meant that Martin’s father—whoever he might be—had challenged Melinda. He hadn’t totally abandoned Martin.
“I wonder who my dad is?”
He zoomed back to the port authority and moved the order banning Konner O’Hara from Aurora to the previous year. No mention of banning him on or after the birthday and crucial court date. “Konner went out of his way to become a counselor at my summer camp. Maybe he’s my dad.”
Martin hoped so. The three Aurora months each summer that he spent with Konner represented more time than the accumulated amount Melinda allotted him on a daily basis.
“If he is my dad, then his name is on the custody suit.” Martin hesitated. Did he dare hack into the official court records? The GTE maintained those records, not the local judicial system. If he got caught, even Melinda would have a hard time bailing him out.
He called up the message center of his computer. Sure enough, Bruce Geralds, his cabin mate at summer camp had left three messages. Martin opened them. All three were innocuous greetings and gossip about other friends.
Martin opened a mailbox and dashed off a hurried message for a conference. He needed the help of all of his friends to hack into the court records—especially Bruce whose father was a freelance bounty agent.
“Martin!” Melinda appeared in the center of his screen, life-sized and in three dimensions, as if she actually stood there. Her lustrous brown hair was sculpted into the latest fashion of the sleek professional woman. Her suit had cost the annual income of several small worlds. And anger blazed from her amber-brown eyes.
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