Gillian knew that he could not lie to these people, not if he expected them to risk their lives with him.
“His name is Reemul. He is of the breed of Jeek Elementals. He has killed less than two hundred people within your colonies, but on the Earth of two centuries past—my Earth—he was responsible for perhaps thirty thousand murders. He is one of the worst of the Paratwa assassins—vicious and clever, a hunter of not only humans but also of other Paratwa. Reemul will be difficult to stop.”
Gillian observed looks of surprise, disbelief, a trace of bitter humor on the lips of the woman.
“I was awakened from stasis by E-Tech. Two hundred years ago, it was my task to hunt and destroy these creatures. I had a team. We were successful against every Paratwa we went up against. Except one. Reemul.”
He paused. “I intend to remedy that.”
Aaron laughed sharply. “A wild story!”
“But true.”
“And you seek the assistance of pirates? Why?”
“I sense you have had experience with violence. You’re better trained, more prepared than E-Tech Security or the Guardians. Your feelings and thoughts are more unified; your muscles obey without question, without the intervening shell of the overly civilized human being.”
“You suggest we’re not civilized,” Grace snapped.
“It was not meant as an insult.”
Aaron smiled. “And why should the clan of Alexander wish to hunt this Paratwa, this Reemul?”
“Because Reemul tortured and killed eleven of your clan.”
“Ahh! The boy has filled you with childish stories.”
“Not stories,” Gillian countered. “The truth. We both know that. So let’s waste no more time on deception.”
They need a demonstration, he thought. Words will not be enough to convince them.
“Throw this fool off the ship,” Grace argued. “We don’t need...”
“You do need!” Gillian said harshly, “Make no mistake—if you find this Jeek and attempt to go up against him, you will die. Gloriously, perhaps, and with honor to your clan. But you will be dead and Reemul will be alive. That is a fact.”
Santiago swung the sandram onto his right shoulder and closed in on Gillian.
Aaron sneered, “The clan of Alexander seeks no help in this matter. We settle our own scores.”
“Then you’ll die. Oh, there’s always the possibility of luck—fate may intervene and you may have your shot at Reemul.” Gillian added sarcasm to his words. “But only a complete fool relies solely on luck.”
Fury twisted Aaron’s features.
Fighting is the only way. If I defeat these pirates, I may earn their help.
Gillian forced a mocking laugh. “Come! Throw me off your vessel! Show me the skill of the Alexanders!” Then, lowering his voice, he allowed deadly threat to replace boasting. “And I will show you your weaknesses.”
Santiago swung the sandram. Gillian crunched his jaw, felt his crescent web ignite. The sandram struck the invisible field and bounced away as if it had encountered a rubber surface. Gillian twisted, threw his foot sideways into Santiago’s guts. The pirate doubled over.
Aaron charged, slapping his palm against his chest to ignite his own crescent web. Grace leaped toward a wall cabinet.
She goes for a weapon!
Gillian turned sideways, watched Aaron match his movement. Good. He’s fought with a crescent web before.
They stood side to side, a pace away from each other. Grace tore open the storage cabinet on the far wall.
Gillian observed that Aaron was studying him. The pirate appeared to be searching for a way to kick or punch through Gillian’s weak side portal. Either that or he’s waiting for his sister to bring out a gun.
Gillian lectured. “First lesson. In hand-to-hand web combat, never wait for reinforcements.”
Gillian dropped to the deck, barrel-rolled forward. Red sparks flew as their webs touched and repelled each other. Gillian was merely rolled in the opposite direction along the floor. But Aaron, standing, found the bottom of his web shoved violently away while the upper portion remained motionless. His legs flew out from under him and he crashed to the deck.
Grace yanked a thruster from the cabinet. She flipped the sprocket to the armed position and took aim.
Gillian came to his feet, tucked his arms behind the web’s protective front crescent, leaned his body forward. The thruster wailed loudly in the confined space of the shuttle compartment.
Gillian took the blow on the chest, felt his body jerk upright. He now had a precious second while Grace’s weapon recharged itself. He dove toward her, bellyflopped on the deck. His front crescent compressed as he hit the floor.
Grace’s second thruster blast shattered harmlessly against Gillian’s rear crescent. The weapon’s discharge compressed him even further against the deck, working to his advantage.
Like a rubber ball, he bounced violently up off the deck and hurtled headfirst in his original line of motion, toward Grace.
She never got off a third shot. The top of his web, where the front and rear crescents came together in a dull point, plowed into the woman’s chest. With a loud gasp, Grace flew backward. Her thruster dropped to the floor.
Gillian landed on top of her. He rolled away, snatched the thruster, and fired at Aaron, who was just getting to his feet. The tattooed Costeau, still off-balance, caught Gillian’s blast square in his web-shielded chest. He curled backward, crashed to his back.
Santiago charged, sandram raised. Red sparks bristled; he, too, had activated a web. Gillian waited until the enraged pirate was almost on top of him before diving to the floor. He fired upward.
Santiago took the thruster blast directly under his chin. At such close range, the weapon carried enormous power. The portion of the web beneath Santiago’s jaw compressed violently. His head flew back as if a huge fist had crashed into his jaw. He dropped to his knees. The black face stared blankly at Gillian for a moment, then his eyes glazed over. He fell forward into unconsciousness.
Enough, Gillian thought. I’ve hurt them worse than I intended. He allowed himself a grin. They fought better than I expected.
The amount of training they need will be minimal. It will just be a matter of redirecting some of their energies, showing them a few tricks.
Grace lay on her back, breathing deeply. Santiago was out cold. Aaron staggered to his feet, eyes locked warily on the thruster in Gillian’s hand.
Gillian spoke calmly. “What I’ve just done to you is nothing compared to what a Paratwa would do. It holds two Cohe wands, two thrusters, and is protected by webs. Its consciousness exists in two locations simultaneously. Its instincts are to kill.”
Aaron breathed deeply. Fire still burned in the pirate’s eyes, but his fury appeared to be tempered by a grudging acknowledgment of what Gillian had just done.
“There is a way,” Gillian said. “A way for myself and a small team to take on a Paratwa. There is a method. The Paratwa is an incredibly violent opponent, but it has weaknesses. I know of these. I can show you. Together, we can kill this beast.”
Aaron pulled himself erect, rubbed the back of his neck. “And if we refuse?”
“I obviously can’t make you help me, and I know I can’t buy your assistance.” He shrugged. “If you refuse, I’ll leave and keep on searching until I find those who are willing.”
With a slow thoughtful nod, Aaron tapped his chest, de-energizing his web. Gillian lowered the thruster, sprocket-locked the weapon, and threw it gently to the pirate. Aaron caught it with an easy motion.
Gillian de-energized his own crescent web, heard the hum die to a whisper, then vanish. Aaron heard it too. The pirate slowly raised the gun, aimed it at Gillian’s chest.
The thruster is sprocket-locked. It will take him a moment to unlock and fire. I will be able to reenergize my web in time. He smiled. Aaron would know that too.
For a moment, Gillian studied the pirate’s face. Then, with a grin, he turned so that his back w
as to Aaron. Across the compartment, Grace had managed to sit up. She was staring at Gillian with a curious intensity.
Gillian spoke carefully. “If you wish to fire, Aaron of the Alexanders, then do it now. When we go up against a Paratwa, our trust of each other must be complete, absolute. There can be no suspicions.”
He heard a sound, turned. Aaron lowered the gun and threw his head back. The red penis quivered across his cheek as he roared with laughter.
Gillian had not really taken a chance in turning his back to the Costeau. He had known how Aaron would react.
The pirate’s laughter subsided. He grinned wickedly. “Well, Gillian of E-Tech. I believe you have got yourself a team.”
O}o{O
Rome kept pace with the Pasha’s swift stride as they marched through the vaults toward the prime data-retrieval section. Haddad looked grimmer than he could ever recall.
Rome shook his head in disbelief. “How could it walk into a Guardian station and kill forty-four armed men and women?”
“We believe one of the tways allowed itself to be arrested on a minor smuggling violation. The other tway then entered the building and opened fire. More than that, we can only speculate.”
“And seven of our own people?”
The Pasha stared straight ahead. “They were on special assignment in Kiev Alpha. They were working with the Guardians, trying to break a local smuggling case.”
Rome shook his head. It attacks a Guardian station but makes sure that E-Tech people are also killed.
The sixth known assault by the Paratwa fit Nick’s scenario perfectly, Once again, public sympathies would flow toward E-Tech. And the Guardians have been made to look foolish, unable to even defend one of their own colonial stations.
A door vaulted open as it detected their presence. They passed through without slowing down.
“I wonder how the creature got off Sirak-Brath?” Rome asked.
“Artwhiler swore that his Guardians sealed all of Sirak-Brath’s ports immediately after last night’s tavern killings. They claimed to have searched every departing shuttle.”
Haddad shrugged. “Fodder for the freelancers.”
“Partly true. Artwhiler is certainly known for making wild claims and appearing foolish later. But still...”
The Pasha spoke coldly. “On this point, I agree with Nick. There is little chance of preventing this creature from traveling between colonies. The Guardians may have searched every shuttle still in port and they may have boarded every vessel that departed Sirak-Brath before the ports were sealed. But what good are such actions?
“To begin with, the Guardians have no idea whom they’re looking for. There is no visual ID on the Paratwa. And Nick suggests that the creature might split itself—the tways could board different shuttles and rendezvous later. The Cohe wands are the only sure giveaway. And these weapons are tiny enough to be hidden almost anywhere.
“And imagine all the groups that the Guardians would be wary of offending. Private corporate vessels would certainly undergo only perfunctory searches. Medical and local patrol shuttles would be completely ignored. The Irryan Constitution protects religious travel between colonies. Even under a state of martial law, the Guardians would be extremely careful about interfering with such rights.”
The door at the end of the corridor snarled, “Identify.” They stuck their hands against its body-sensor.
“Proceed,” it grumbled, sliding open.
Inside the cramped data-retrieval section, Nick and Begelman stood side by side, studying a twin set of access screens. The midget broke into his patented smile as Rome and Haddad entered.
“How do!”
It was Rome’s first opportunity to see Nick since last night. “Your behavior at Lady Bonneville’s needs explaining.”
“Granted, some of my jokes were a bit old.”
“I’m not kidding, Nick.”
Begelman gripped Nick’s shoulder. “Look!” The computer hawk waved his scrawny hand at one of the monitors. “Another pattern!”
Rome ignored the interruption. “This creature has now attacked the Colonies six times. Almost two hundred people have been murdered!” He heard his own voice budding with anger and he knew, deep inside, that the focus of his rage should not be Nick. But he could not stop. “We’ve allowed you and Gillian wide parameters, which you have continually abused. We have even tolerated Gillian’s disappearance. But your behavior at the party last night cannot be treated lightly!”
The midget continued studying the monitor. “I was acting in a perfectly rational manner at the party. What I did was necessary.”
Rome felt his anger harden. “What you did last night was unforgivable. You dabbled in a complex political arena of which you know little—an arena, I might add, that has taken me a lifetime to master, at least to the point where I know when to keep my mouth shut.”
Nick turned to him gravely. “And what if I told you there was probably an Ash Ock at that party?”
For an instant, the only sound was Begelman, whacking his fingers against a pair of keyboards. Each wiry hand typed rapidly into a different terminal while his head scanned back and forth between the two screens.
Rome slumped down on a cushioned stool, his anger transformed to shock. “What ... are you saying?”
Nick explained. “A few days after we were awakened, I began to have some funny suspicions about this whole mess of yours. But I had nothing concrete until Wednesday evening, when I had dinner with you and Angela. That night, you confessed to me that you felt everyone was being manipulated—E-Tech, the Guardians, La Gloria de la Ciencia, everyone.”
The bright blue eyes seemed to bore into Rome. “Two hundred and some odd years ago, I heard people confess the same uncertainties in the same tone of voice. Oh, the organizations at that time were more complex and the structure of society was vastly different. But the subtle elements—the fears, the confusions—those things rang true across the centuries. Fear and confusion are the visible trails left by the Ash Ock, evidence of their existence.
“For the past three days, Begelman and I have been accessing the history of your colonies.”
“Patterns!” shouted the programming hawk. “They’re here, in almost all our records.”
Nick smiled grimly. “Patterns. Some of them so ethereal that they almost defy conceptualization. It’s only when they’re added together and cross-referenced that they begin to make sense.”
Begelman flapped his arms. “The patterns are base-yielding refractive—nondirectional but visible against a Cheslarian social grid.”
“Mathematically,” Nick explained, “they’re extremely complex.”
Begelman looked disturbed. “That’s not necessarily true.”
Rome held up his hand. “I gather what you’re trying to say is that you’ve found indications of social manipulation. You blame this on the Ash Ock.” He sighed. “Historians have been through our records before. I couldn’t begin to tell you how many examples of so-called manipulation they’ve uncovered.”
“Not like these,” said Nick. “For instance, we’ve found evidence that the long-range planning goals of the ICN have frequently run counter to the banking consortium’s espoused policies. This has been going on periodically for nearly two hundred years.”
“Unethical, perhaps, but certainly not unusual.”
Nick grinned. “We’ve identified four distinct time periods throughout the ICN’s history—periods when the consortium’s largest profit ratios have occurred. During each of these time frames, the ICN has deliberately—deliberately—thrown money away. There is no other way to describe the process. They have invested in projects that every sane financial expert of the era declared hopeless. They have made huge charitable donations at times when the Irryan Senate had enacted the strictest legislation against tax-incentive credits. And we’re talking large percentages, way out of line with normal banking policies.”
Rome spoke wearily. “You are from the pre-Apocalypse. You’
ve lived for too long in a society where the twin gods of profit and progress determined all human activity.” He shook his head. “Did it ever occur to you that the ICN, during these eras, might have been run by civic-minded people—people who invested in projects or made donations because it felt like the right thing to do for the Colonies?”
Nick dismissed Rome’s theory with a wave of the hand. “During these four time periods, I believe that the tway of an Ash Ock controlled the ICN.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Ninety-one years ago, during one of these periods, the Council of Irrya proposed a major investment—a project to revitalize the surface of the Earth, to remove the poisons and make the planet hospitable for humans again.”
“I’m aware of that proposal,” said Rome.
“Then you must also be aware that the ICN refused to go along with the plan. Instead, they proposed financing colonial renovation. They sank huge sums into the upgrading of buildings, refurbishing of mirrors and cosmishield glass, et cetera. Almost all of those expenditures were completely unnecessary. The original cosmishield glass was designed to last a thousand years.”
“Engineers disagreed,” Rome argued. “Refurbishing had supporters and detractors.”
“True. But the end result was that E-Tech’s planetary revitalization project was effectively halted.”
“Nonsense! We established bases, began Ecospheric Turnaround. That goes on to this day.”
Nick pointed to Begelman’s terminal. “The evidence is here. Ninety-one years ago, the ICN effectively put a stop to any major revitalization of the Earth. They refused the necessary funding. E-Tech was forced to pursue the project on its own, with a fraction of the financing that the ICN could have provided.”
Haddad spoke quietly. “You are suggesting that the ICN has systematically, over a period of two centuries, used its financial strength to block E-Tech?”
Nick wagged his finger. “With Earth’s revitalization, yes. But hindering E-Tech has not been their main thrust. Indeed, they have most often acted in ways that complemented E-Tech policy. No, what the ICN has effectively done over the centuries is halted progress in general—by making sure that money was not available for growth.”
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