“Now, tell me about the Paratwa. Santiago—what does it mean when the tways change attack planes?”
The black pirate responded instantly. “When one tway moves to a higher or lower elevation, then the tway still at your own elevation is preparing to spinsaw.”
“Aaron—define spinsaw.”
“The tway at your own elevation will crouch and come up on his toe, go into a skater’s spin with the Cohe arm outstretched. He does this mainly to confuse. The black beam will whip around the room and seem to be everywhere at once.”
“Grace—in reality, only one part of the Cohe beam is deadly.”
“The extended part of the beam—the final fifteen to twenty inches. The rest is harmless, nothing but the trailing light of the projected energy.”
“Aaron—real purpose of spinsaw?”
He hesitated. “To confuse...”
“No! That is a secondary purpose. Santiago?”
“To force us sideways, throw our front crescent shield toward the path of the whipping beam so that the other tway can get a straight shot into our side portals.”
“Correct. Grace—power source for the wands?”
“Thermal heat from the hand, pressure on the surface of the egg, plus rechargeable internal batteries.”
“Battery life?”
“A full ten minutes at constant power,” she quoted.
“Yes. And since the Cohe is rarely turned on for an entire ten minutes, the actual life of the weapon is more in the neighborhood of twenty to thirty minutes, still far too long for us to take advantage of in combat.
“Aaron—Reemul holds the Cohe in which hand?”
“Both tways are right-handed.”
Gillian nodded. Reemul had given away that useful bit of information over two hundred years ago, in Boston.
He tried a more complex question. “Santiago, what tactic should we employ, taking advantage of Reemul’s right-handedness and our goal of directionalizing him?”
Santiago stared straight ahead, lost in thought.
“Aaron?”
The pirate slowly shook his head. His sister broke into a smile.
“We should try,” Grace began, “to come at the tway we are attacking from his right side. The hand that holds the wand is then exposed through the weak side portal of the web.”
“Excellent.” Grace did have her redeeming qualities. In mental agility, she was probably the sharpest of the three.
“Santiago—what position should we avoid at all cost?”
“Never allow ourselves to come between the tways. Keep in motion so that both tways are always within our field of vision.”
“Aaron—what would you do if the rest of the team were killed, and you were knocked down and without weapons?”
“I would deactivate my crescent web and play dead.” He paused. “Then I would die.”
Gillian nodded. “Probably. But the tactic is real, based on the actions of survivors. During combat, the Paratwa is operating at heightened awareness, its advanced neuromuscular system working at blinding speed. It registers the enemy in terms of motion and attacks all forms of movement. The possibility exists, however slight, that if the assassin were forced to quickly leave the scene of combat, a person playing dead might be taken for dead. That person could survive.”
He continued quickly, not wanting them to dwell on thoughts of defeat.
“Grace—what is our best terrain for combat?”
“Wide-open spaces. Such an environment gives us a better chance of keeping both tways within our field of vision.”
“Santiago—range of the Cohe wand?”
“At full power, about forty yards.”
Gillian yanked out his thruster and fired at Grace. Jaws crunched, webs ignited. Grace jerked forward, met the blow. Aaron and Santiago spun on their heels, drew thrusters, fired at Nick and the astonished Pasha.
In a line, the three pirates, webs touching, sidestepped rapidly across the arena, Aaron and Santiago kept firing at the grinning Nick while Grace, in the fully protected center position of the line, shouted commands.
“Left! Hold! ... Right! Faster! Left! ... Hold!” Grace kept up the string of orders, kept them gliding in tandem, making sure that Gillian never strayed from her peripheral vision. Nick swiveled his stool to keep his front crescent facing the barrage of thruster blasts from the two men.
Gillian halted the attack and lowered his weapon. “All right. That was very good.”
Nick chuckled. Pasha Haddad allowed himself a faint smile. Good indeed! thought Gillian. Haddad, their severest critic, was not easily impressed.
Gillian glanced at the wall clock. Almost four hours since we started this session. It’s my time to be alone.
“We’ll take a fifteen-minute break. When I return, we’ll have another practice period with the wand. Your defensive tactics against thrusters are excellent, but you still need more work against my Cohe.”
Aaron grinned fiercely. “We look forward to that!”
Gillian left the arena. He walked rapidly through a twisting corridor to the room where he had spent the past four nights.
Spartan furnishings—a table, two chairs, and a cushioned airbed—broke the severity of the small, darkened compartment. He closed the door, sat on the edge of the bed, and waited.
It came gradually, as it had every four hours for the past four days.
First, a delicate tingling, seemingly from within his skin. Then slices of memory, discrete fragments, dissolving into one another.
Fragments—places he had been, events he had experienced, all manner of ancient reality, all dripping with indescribable feeling.
And then they were gone. The memories whistled through awareness and vanished, losing themselves once again in the flux of his subconscious. He tried to hold on, tried desperately to cling to images representing a time when his thoughts and feelings were one and the same. But he could not retain them. As each memory dissolved, he felt a sense of loss and a grim recognition that he existed today as a mere shadow of what he had once been.
And finally, utterly predictable after four days of experiencing it, came the flash of golden light. This time, the bright light originated from his left side—a blinding instant of luminescence, then nothing, a return to normalcy—the bed, the chairs, the semidarkness of the small room.
The golden light burst from different locations each time, but other than that, the periodic eruptions remained identical. Once every four hours the sequence repeated. Even in sleep, he sensed the eruptions were occurring. Strange dreams, impervious to later recall, ended in showers of gold, like spring rains on a virgin forest.
A knock sounded. Nick opened the door, peeked in. “Is it over?”
Gillian nodded. The midget entered and closed the door behind him.
“Any different this time?”
Gillian shook his head. “The same.”
Nick pushed one of the chairs closer to the bed and sat down.
Gillian folded his hands. “Do you think Jerem could have been right? He said it looked like I was having an epileptic fit.”
Nick shrugged. “Possible, I suppose. Do you feel ready to visit a doctor yet?”
“No.”
“The sensations that come before the light, the memories. You are totally unable to recall them?”
“Totally.” He did not allow Nick to see how truly dismal that made him feel.
Nick spoke cautiously, almost stumbling over his words. “Any memories of ... Catharine?”
“Not since the attacks started.” Gillian allowed himself a smile. “So far, that seems to be the only blessing. I can almost think of her without growing depressed, or worse.”
“Good. Any ideas about why these eruptions are happening?”
Gillian frowned. “Not really. And yet, I get the strangest feeling at times ... hard to describe, really.”
“Try.”
“Well, it’s just that...” He stopped, shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t
even know what the feeling is, not exactly. Something to do with what my life could have become, something to do with life in general, maybe. Life here, in these colonies.
“I guess it’s a kind of displaced nostalgia. Catharine and I could have had a good life here in the Colonies. And yet ... I don’t know.” He spread his arms. “Irrya! It’s everywhere around us, and it’s so big. It’s alive with possibilities we never had on Earth. And not just this colony—the other cylinders, too. There’s something different, a dispassion that allows for a kind of freedom we never had on Earth.” He shrugged. “It’s hard to explain.”
Nick gave a slow nod. “And Sirak-Brath?”
Gillian’s mood broke. He chuckled. “No, I guess there are exceptions to every rule. Sirak-Brath—that place is more like the Earth of our day.”
“And you were getting ready to leave Sirak-Brath when you had the first attack.”
Gillian nodded excitedly. “Yes! I hadn’t thought of that.”
Nick paused. “These attacks—any impairments in your functioning, either before or after they occur?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
Nick leaned back in his chair. “Then you’ll just have to make sure that you’re alone every four hours.”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult. The attacks only last for a few moments. No one will have to know.”
“Just make sure you don’t run into our Jeek friend at one of these four-hour intervals.”
“I’ll be careful.”
They sat quietly for a time. Gillian’s thoughts drifted to the training.
“Do you think they’re doing well?”
Nick frowned.
“The pirates, I mean.”
“Oh, yeah. Real well. They caught on to your training techniques even faster than the team did two centuries ago.”
Gillian nodded. “Another week and I think we’ll be ready.”
“You can’t take that long. Reemul might be back in stasis by then. Rome and I believe that the murder spree is almost over. If we risk waiting too long, we could lose our shot at the Jeek.” Nick sighed. “We came up with a plan. Rome is going to implement it at today’s Council meeting. We may be able to draw Reemul out into the open as early as tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? No, we’re not ready. We won’t be ready to face him.”
“C’mon, Gillian! You know from experience that the fighters who were the easiest to train made the best team members. These pirates are naturals. They’re fanatics, willing to die for a shot at Reemul! Aaron, Grace, and Santiago are ready.”
Gillian shook his head. “We need more time.”
“That’s just an excuse. We both know the score here. You’re the one who’s going to do the real fighting. The team provides backup; they’re flankers, nothing more. They’re there to distract the Paratwa, give you the opportunity to kill it.”
“This is no ordinary assassin we’re going up against.”
“That shouldn’t matter.”
“It does.”
Nick folded his arms. “You honestly think that these pirates aren’t ready?”
“Aaron and Santiago, perhaps. I still have my doubts about Grace.”
Nick stared. “She seems very quick.”
“She is. It’s just that she may lose her discipline in a tight situation. She may allow her anger to overwhelm awareness. She could be a threat to our mission.” He shrugged. “And with her brother fighting beside her ... Well, if something happened to him, she might lose complete control.”
“But that could happen the other way around, too. If Grace were killed, Aaron might go to pieces.”
Gillian shook his head. “Aaron’s too well disciplined.”
“So is Grace.”
He sighed. “I’ve had this argument before, Nick. I look at Grace and I see a woman who could destroy me.”
Abruptly, the midget tensed. He shifted his weight in the chair.
“What’s wrong?”
Nick shook his head. “Nothing.”
He’s lying. I’ve never seen him look so agitated.
Nick took a long deep breath. “So what are your plans for Grace?”
“I guess she stays. If you say that we might have to confront the Jeek as early as tomorrow, I don’t have much choice, do I?”
Nick appeared to study him for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. “No, you don’t have any choice.”
Nick’s voice rose to normal volume as he quickly changed the subject. “Tell Aaron that I found out about Paula Marth and the boy. The Guardians are still holding them, but they’ve been transferred here to Irrya. The Guardians won’t allow visitors yet. But Haddad is using his influence. He’s at least certain they’re being treated well.”
Gillian hesitated. “By this time, the Guardians must know all about me. Jerem was along when I investigated the tavern killings in Sirak-Brath. He’s bound to have talked. E-Tech may have some explaining to do.”
Nick smiled. “Yes. In about an hour, I expect that Rome Franco will be confronted in the Council chambers by a very angry Artwhiler. I wish I could be there.”
“You’re not worried?”
“Do I look worried?” Nick’s grin expanded. “You just reassure Aaron that everything is going well with his woman. Tell Aaron that Paula and Jerem will probably be released within a few days. And tell him also that I’ve spoken with the Lion. Harry says that the tribunal gives full approval to, and I quote, ‘E-Tech’s assistance to Aaron’s mission against an enemy of the Alexanders.’ That’s one way of putting it, I suppose.”
“Harry?”
“Harry, the Lion of Alexander.” Nick grinned impishly. “He’s still in Irrya. I’ve spoken with him several times since Friday night’s party. Harry’s an interesting old fellow. I believe you’d like him. We’re having dinner together this evening.”
“Did you find out anything more from him about those eleven murdered Costeaus? Aaron’s been tight-lipped. He says that it’s none of my business.”
Nick shrugged. “The way I figure it, Bob Max, at Codrus’s direction, passed a secret message to Reemul via the pirates. I believe the message contained a hidden code, ordering Reemul to destroy his benefactors. After all, these Costeaus had seen the Jeek naked, without disguises. The pirates would have run a medical examination. They had seen too much. They had to be killed.”
“And the torture?”
“Reemul was probably just being thorough. He wanted to make sure that no other pirates had witnessed his Wake-up. And knowing Reemul, there was probably a degree of pleasure involved in his actions.”
Nick hopped off the chair. “I guess that’s it. The Pasha and I are leaving for a while. I have to meet with Begelman. If you like, Haddad will send over one of his people to act as a practice dummy.” The small face brightened. “By the way, that was an interesting experience, being shot at. Remind me never to try it again!”
The midget winked, opened the door, and briskly strode out into the dimly lit corridor.
Gillian sat still for a moment, staring into the shadows.
I should have asked Nick about the second computer program. I forgot.
Actually that was not true. I remembered it while he was sitting here. But it no longer seemed so important.
Besides, Nick always had a tendency to play with information, to withhold crucial data until the last moment. He enjoyed pulling the strings—he probably had Rome and the Pasha half crazy by now.
The thought amused Gillian.
Still, it would be best to pry the information about the second program out of Nick’s devious mind. Tomorrow, perhaps.
He straightened and stretched his arms almost to the drop ceiling.
And I’m keeping secrets, too. I didn’t tell Nick that sometimes I find myself staring at Grace. Sometimes, if the lighting is right and the woman is wearing a certain expression, she reminds me of my dead love, Catharine.
O}o{O
Today, in this chamber, I am tr
uly alone.
Rome sat stiffly in the Council chair, his fingers tapping a vague rhythm on the polished surface of the round table. The prism chandelier, set to its lowest illumination, hung like a glittering spider, spinning a web of beams into the far corners of the room. A Rockwell Kent illustration received barely enough light to distinguish faded colors. To its left, Van Gogh’s cornfield lay within deep shadow.
The door opened; a blaze of corridor glow rushed in. Nu-Lin entered the chamber, followed by Drake.
“Fran-co!” She smiled in surprise. “The dark-ness does not be-come you.”
Rome molded his cheeks into a smile and hoped that he did not appear too unnatural. “I was resting, preparing for the meeting. I’ve not been sleeping well lately.”
Nu-Lin, Councilor of Intercolonial Affairs. Born 2243 on the Mann Strip of Leipzig Colony. A small family, parents and one sister, all deceased. Rose to rank of governorship in 2278. Served six years, then emigrated to Irrya to assume high position in the Commerce League. Within three years, developed radical program leading to reorganization of the league and the breaking up of monopolistic interests within the Profarmers Union. In 2288, appointed Commerce League President and permanent representative to the Council of Irrya. Never married.
Drake flashed his hand at a wall sensor, brought the room illumination up to normal. “Hungry, Rome? Nu-Lin and I were about to order.”
“Nothing, thank you.”
“A stimulant, perhaps? We’ll need you alert at today’s meeting.”
Yes, I’m sure you will.
Drake moved his massive frame back into the corridor and yelled for a chef-servant. Nu-Lin sat down.
“Trou-bled?”
She was too clever to be fooled by his excuse about needing sleep. He shrugged. “Artwhiler—he could be a problem at today’s meeting.”
“Why?”
Rome lifted his head, met the regal chin, the gleaming blue eyes.
Cold eyes, he noted for the first time. Her face displayed warmth but the eyes betrayed her. They reminded him of the little ice droplets used to chill Pocono wine.
He felt himself grinning. My imagination runs wild. Nick’s suspicions have infested me.
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