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Dushau tdt-1

Page 27

by Jacqueline Lichtenberg


  ***

  Her daydream was shattered when the deck bucked under her. “Screens up!” said Arlai in his business voice, then added, “Imp isn’t seriously hurt, and I’ve only lost a few sensors.” In another tone, he added, “Jindigar—”

  Krinata felt the multiawareness fade as Jindigar adjourned them again. He answered Arlai, “Not now.” He folded in on himself, groaning. In a sidewise flash, she saw his teeth were paling.

  The next shot rattled them hard, but shields held.

  “I’ve taken a hit,” announced Arlai, and coolly produced a damage report of which Krinata understood not a word.

  Krinata heard herself, but didn’t believe her own words, nor the sudden icy calm in her voice. “I’m going to have to fire these guns, Arlai. Can I do it? Maybe it will keep them from firing at us long enough to get away.”

  “I’m not permitted weapons, Krinata, nor is your onboard programmed into them,” answered Arlai, and she detected true regret in his tone. “Your fire control is on manual. But Jindigar’s at that board. Targeting is by digital calculators and non-Sentient live-tools.”

  She had to try. She locked her board to Arlai and scrambled around to Jindigar’s station. The big Dushau was huddled with his feet on his seat and his head buried between his knees. He was shaking violently, as if in a fit. She could feel a ragged blackness eating away at the periphery of her awareness. It had Desdinda flavor, a mad distortion, growing with every passing minute.

  “Arlai, show me what to poke when,” demanded Krinata.

  A display lit on her board, the orange light turning Jindigar a sickly color. One of the switches on the display began to flash. “This is your fire-control rack. One, Three, and Five are armed. Aim by centering this screen mechanism.” Cross hairs appeared over the image of Timespike, and the centering controls lit up. Any idiot could do it.

  “Timespike is recharging and maneuvering for advantage. You have eighty seconds before they can hit you six times with their beamers while sending three more missiles after me. The

  yacht will buck when you fire—it has lousy gravity control. You’ve got seeker missiles, Krinata—three hits could totally destroy that battleship, which carries a crew of six hundred. I’ve taken another hit. Rinperee, give me those numbers quickly or I won’t be able to program them. I’ve got onboard tires.”

  Rinperee’s voice began to drone numbers.

  They had to have Arlai if they were to live through this, for the seeker craft could barely accommodate them packed in like sardines. But to fire on that ship was to strike at the heart of the Empire.

  She could see Zinzik leering, feel his hand on her back, smell the breath of his minion as he undressed her, and was amazed that she found herself hesitating.

  Jindigar: custodian of a living memory longer than human history; a true prince of his people; a man who could be inwardly ripped to shreds by the torments of others; a man of loyalty and honor such as her father had always called worthy of an Emperor’s respect; a man the Emperor had tortured by the choice between his loyalty to his friends and his honor-bound duty to his people and all the civilizations yet to come in the galaxy. The thought of what had been done to Jindigar was almost enough to make her strike.

  She thought of Trassle’s proof that Zinzik had taken the throne by a ruse. There hadn’t been time to be sure the evidence was solid. She felt it was, but she had no proof.

  Jindigar put a hand on her wrist. She looked at him, seeing a silent battle there. He’s holding Desdinda out of our triad. He can’t keep it up much longer.

  A side monitor screen lit showing the Time spike’s bridge. Zinzik was there, in full ceremonials, leaning toward the pickup. Desdinda, once again in a chairmobile, sat behind him. “Surrender, or be destroyed,” he decreed, as if it were of no moment to him which they chose. But there was a light in his eye that seemed familiar. He enjoyed pain, preceded by as much torment as possible.

  It was the same expression she’d seen on his face when he disposed of that poor Rashion. His eye roved their bridge contemptuously until he saw Jindigar. “So you survive again! Well, not for long.” He grabbed a weapon from one of his guards, the ugly smile broadening as he pointed it at Desdinda’s head. “You think I don’t remember what happened when Fedeewarn died? Bring that ship back to its docking bay – gently – and maybe you won’t die as your Oliat did.”

  She felt the impact of those words on Jindigar, like flint shards coated with acid, driven deep into the half-healed wounds of mind. The pain blinded her. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. But she could see Zinzik’s face, the same twisted leer as at the moment he’d shot the Rashion.

  As his eyes narrowed, and his hand tightened on the grip of the beamer, she summoned every last ounce of strength in her, and slammed her open palm down over the row of switches, firing all weapons on the flagship of the Empire.

  Simultaneously, their ship recoiled, and she grabbed at Jindigar to keep from falling. Jindigar screamed, “No!” The world went crazy, color blotches smearing, sounds expanding and contracting, and that horrid smile loomed closer and closer, filling her mind. But the smile was on Jindigar’s face.

  Eyes squeezed shut, she denied that perception with all her soul and clung to the warm napped shoulders as he clung to her. He had lost the battle to keep Desdinda at bay.

  Then he pushed Krinata away, shaking her.

  She stared into Jindigar’s swirling, haunted eyes. The two of them—the four of them—the two of them. Perception oscillated as he tried to cut them off from Desdinda and Frey. But he couldn’t shatter what he had built. His sense of panic at what was to come hit her.

  The screen display went fire bright, and she hid her eyes against the top of Jindigar’s head. She didn’t feel his grip tighten as they were both swept away into a vortex of intense pain. Hot lances of fire entered her eyeballs and pierced to the back of her brain. An explosion of fear turned to ravening panic.

  She couldn’t breathe. Her skin prickled. Her eyes felt too big for her head. Her mouth fell open so wide it almost split her cheeks and she screamed. It went on and on and on until she felt the universe lost, and she was tumbling into hell to remain forever at the outer brink of sanity.

  And then, with a snap like a bone breaking, it was over. She was on the deck, Rinperee bending over her as Storm eased Jindigar from his chair onto the deck beside her.

  Arlai announced, “Timespike has been destroyed. Stand by to detime, eighty-three seconds.”

  Terab scrambled to Krinata’s helm station.

  “Three seeker craft astern,” announced Arlai. “They’re ranging, and we’re pursued by Timespike’s missiles, but we can’t take evasive action now.”

  Trassle stepped over Jindigar and took the weapons station. “Arlai, how do we fire stern missiles?”

  Arlai instructed him, then reported, “You got one! Another’s chasing one of my landers.” Then, “Detime!”

  The screens went gray. Krinata pulled herself up using Rinperee. She could make out a tiny white blip accompanying them. “That’s got to be Arlai,” she said.

  Rinperee looked at her with new hope. “Yes, it’s Arlai.” She turned to Jindigar. “We’re away free, that is, if you are—”

  “We’ll be all right,” he managed. When he spoke, his voice didn’t echo, and she saw only through her own eyes now.

  Krinata breathed a deep, shuddering sigh. It was over. They’d made it. All the horrors he’d predicted hadn’t come to pass, though the horrors that had were worse. / killed the Emperor– maybe the whole Allegiancy. But, no. She’d seen for herself; the Allegiancy was dead already. And the man she had killed was certainly no Emperor, and the crew of his ship no better than he. She regretted their deaths, but didn’t feel like a vengeful murderer.

  She knelt beside Jindigar, embracing him to still the tremors that swept both of them now. The warmth helped chase the amputated feeling away. In a few days, they’d be at Phanphihy, a new world and a new life. There would b
e nightmares, but they’d fade. They were free.

  The smell of smoke and singed fur intruded, and suddenly Rita was prying her way between Jindigar’s legs, licking his face. A patch on her back was still smoking, and she whimpered pleadingly for Jindigar’s attention.

  The tremors lessened. He uncurled, gently taking the piol into his lap. He looked up at Krinata and smiled. “I hope Imp likes Rita.”

  He’s interested in life again. He’ll recover, too.

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