“Can’t you at least let us sit in seats and get circulation back?” Ming pleaded with him. “This is very painful.”
“Sorry. I don’t mean to keep you in pain—I really don’t— but one of you is a trained undercover policewoman, and I’ve seen the other outmaneuver our Geldorian friend with some sort of impressive martial arts. Unless you’re under sedation or isolation from me, I don’t think I can afford to have either of you loose.”
“Ship coming in!” Ari announced. “Pazir class. A minor warship, but it’s got enough power to catch us and enough to tow a mod at least two light-years given a fuel hookup.”
Wallinchky frowned. “Our Captain won’t like that. Pazir class aren’t adapted to breathers.”
“I doubt if he expects the Emperor to be aboard or anywhere near here,” Martinez responded. “He’ll try and chase or get aboard.”
“A good point. Are we well away from the ship? I don’t know what they have in mind, but it would be nice to be on their side of their guns.”
“I can’t quite do that,” Martinez said, “but I don’t think we’re close enough to get harmed. I’m station-keeping with the two water lifeboats and they seem satisfied.”
A ship entering from null-space was an eerie sight; there was no bright flash, no spectacular opening in space-time, at least not that anyone could see. It was just as if a ship emerged from nothing, or from a narrow slit that nothing could detect. It was unlike going into null-space, where there was a substantial energy flow and discharge.
The warship looked like nothing so much as three large gunmetal-gray balls one after the other, with the center section ringed by smaller balls of the same type. Although huge when measured against the lifeboats, it was minuscule when contrasted to the massive City of Modar, whose engine and bridge section alone was a good forty times the warship’s size.
The small balls ringing the center section suddenly flared up with a blaze of yellow light that quickly went to white, resembling nothing so much as searchlights going out into space from the ship. As suddenly, the beams converged, and at the point of convergence well ahead of the warship a brilliant thin white beam so bright it overloaded the lifeboat cameras shot out and struck the City of Modar at and just forward of the bridge. A huge section of it vaporized; the interior, which had been under pressure, blew out, scattering debris, and the transparent tunnel and catwalk linking it to the passenger module was sliced off and twisted away from the blast.
The beam winked off, then quickly back on again, this time coming down on the hapless freighter like a knife through soft bread, slicing through the docking mechanism and connectors, literally severing the engine and bridge module, and the main computer, from the tow.
“I’m sorry you can’t see this,” Jules Wallinchky told his prisoners, fascinated by the sight. “It’s pretty impressive.”
The colors on the small balls now changed from white back to yellow, and then to a bright orange, converging again about a quarter of the distance to the now adrift but still station-keeping power plant of the big ship. A series of bright burning fireballs of the same bright orange emerged from the convergence, struck the City of Modar, exploded there, and literally pushed it away and on a different trajectory than the rest of the long train of modules. It got, perhaps, a kilometer away, and then exploded in a spectacular silent fireball.
“Wow! Now that was a good show!” Wallinchky enthused. He turned to the back. “Teynal? It’s your turn to take over negotiations here.”
“Why do they have to negotiate?” Ming asked, almost taunting him, even though speaking hurt her parched throat. “They have the train and maybe two weeks minimum lead time. They could just blow us away and take everything.”
The serpentine Rithian leader came forward and took the portable communicator from Jules Wallinchky. “Not exactly,” he hissed. “Even if they are thinking along those lines, now is the time to disabuse them of that.”
With that, the Rithian spoke into the communicator. It was in a local Rithian dialect and in code; translator modules couldn’t handle it, and all they heard were the deep, inhuman sounds the creature actually uttered.
There was a sudden flare at the connector between the now exposed passenger module and the next mod up the train. Small jets automatically fired, moving it away from the others, whereupon it exploded spectacularly on its own.
“Goodness me! I hope the Captain wasn’t in either of those units,” Jules Wallinchky said in a sarcastic tone that implied exactly the opposite sentiment. “I don’t underestimate him, though. I just wonder what his plan really is, out of plain curiosity.”
“You blew up the passenger mod? Why?” Angel asked him.
“It’s not like anybody who counted was left on it. I suspect it was evacuated fully,” Wallinchky replied. “And now they know we can blow up what they want, just as they can blow us up. It makes a wonderful basis for trust and mutual exchange. The Ha’jiz are the very best at their job.”
“Signal coming in!” Ari told him.
Teynal’s cobralike head bobbed in satisfaction. “Put it on speaker. I will use this for responses.”
A voice came through the lifeboat’s public address unit, sounding a bit tinny but otherwise okay. “You’ve made your point,” it said in a high, reedy tone that gave no clue as to the race of the speaker. “So how do we make the exchange?”
“I assume you wish the entire module?” the Rithian asked him. “It certainly will be easier to move that way.”
“Yes, that is satisfactory. Any problems?”
If Rithians laughed, Teynal would have. “Some. You should know that Jeremiah Wong Kincaid was aboard and that he stumbled over our plans.”
There was a long pause, then, “Kincaid! Oh, they will love that! You dealt with him?”
“Probably not. My best guess is that he is still here, in this area, not on one of the lifeboats, but that he intends to somehow board you and have you take him to your leader, as it were.”
“Any idea where he might be hiding?” the suddenly worried-sounding voice from the warship asked.
“We have some ideas. The most logical is that he located our cargo and is hidden within the module somewhere in an environment suit. You will have to take it with you and thus him, and it would be ridiculous to try and ferret him out in this environment. I could be wrong, but it is the only idea that makes sense to me.”
The man on the warship considered it. “Sounds logical to us, too. All right, I think we can contain that. In fact, I suspect that His Imperial Highness will be overjoyed to have old Kincaid on our turf, as it were, now that we know he’s out there. All right. Which module is it?”
“Twenty-seven. It is, remember, wired—we shall transmit the codes in due course—but we can do an automated disconnect safely. Stand by.”
Again the Rithian spoke some noises none but one of his kind could speak into the communicator, using the preestablished command frequency. Well out in front, virtually too far up the tow to see, the magnetic locks slipped back, the module turned using small steering jets, and it rolled out of line, spinning, until the jets reversed and stopped it. Module 27 was now station-keeping about a hundred meters from the rest of the tow.
“We just scanned it, can’t pick up any life signs,” the ship reported. “Of course, he would have thought of that. Very well. We are going to catch it with a tractor beam and bring it into line with us. Remain where you are until we’re done.”
“Think they’ll pull a fast one?” Wallinchky asked, sounding worried for the first time in the operation.
“They better not,” Teynal hissed. “If they do, it will blow up on them. And I do not think that there’s another of those to be had.”
Angel could only hang against the seat and listen, imagining the sights they were watching on the screen behind her and also watching Jules Wallinchky’s face. He was in fact nervous, but he also seemed to be enjoying the stirring of his own fear. He’d gotten where he was by rising to the crim
inal top as a man of action and a consummate risk-taker; it probably had been a long time since he’d put himself on the line, and it was feeding some inner need in him. She had to wonder if personally taking these risks wasn’t necessary to his well-being, perhaps a better explanation for ventures like this than the desire to own the jewels or whatever else he might “acquire.”
Still, a warship shouldn’t be so easily fooled by a captain who’d had command only a few days and certainly was winging this. She was certain Kincaid wasn’t dead; she could feel his presence out here, somewhere, somehow.
And not on Module 27. As these crooks noted, that would be the logical and first place anybody would look.
So where else would you hide? she wondered. Someplace that would shield you from probes but give you a crack at boarding that thing?
There was a long period of tense waiting, then finally a crackling in the communicator. “We have it. Now, in turn, the three lifeboats will all dock at the designated ports on our ship. You will dock at Port Six, which you’ll see by a series of pulsing green lights on the rear section.”
“Hold it! That was not our deal!” Wallinchky growled.
“We were not to board you,” the Rithian echoed. “This is improper.”
“Well, you stick explosives all over, so our captain thinks we need a few more guarantees from your end. If you want your payment, come aboard and get it.”
“I do not like it,” Teynal told the crime king. “Once we’re docked, we’re at their mercy. We could hardly blow the module without killing ourselves.”
Wallinchky thought a moment. “Yeah, but they still can’t get at it without us, right?”
“Without several of us,” the Rithian agreed.
Ming had to laugh even though it hurt. “Double-crossed, huh? You’re stuck as much as we are!”
Wallinchky got out of his seat and struck her face hard. It didn’t matter. She was already so in pain it hardly registered.
Teynal was not deterred. This was what they paid him for, after all. “We do not consent. Send one of your small boats over with the goods. Know that Rithian honor would require us to die before handing anything over to you in such a nonguaranteed manner.”
There was again a long pause, followed by “All right. Stand by!” from the warship.
“I don’t like it,” Ari commented. “They agreed much too quickly.”
“Noted,” the Rithian responded. “However, we will be able to see the boat, and we can monitor our own status, I assume? They will not be able to leave a crippling bomb?”
“Not a crippling one, no. Not without us knowing. That would require them to either get in here or have somebody outside. I don’t think the latter can be done without me knowing about it. The former—well, the solution’s obvious. It’s crowded in here anyway. Do the business on their courier boat.”
“They’ll still blow us to hell the moment you give them the codes,” Ming taunted. “After all, why not?”
“Because I will possess the Jewels of the Pleiades,” Jules Wallinchky told her, “and the Kharkovs will authenticate them. The only reason for a double cross here would be to retain the jewels and get the trade. If they blow us up, the jewels are also blown up. Hadun’s like a lot of others, even me. He would kill an entire planet, but he’d do anything to prevent the destruction of unique and timeless art. If I wasn’t absolutely sure of that, this would never have taken place.”
A small courier boat was even now leaving the warship as the two lifeboats with the water breathers were heading in to dock with it.
Angel had listened to all of this, and now felt certain she knew exactly where Captain Jeremiah Wong Kincaid was, and just how he was going to manage it.
That did not, however, do her or Ming, or Tann Nakitt, either, much good.
The Grabant System
There had been no dreams. that was the strangest part; there was a sensation of time passing, of an experience ongoing, yet if anything was going on in her mind during that period or if she was in any way aware, it was gone now.
After all the dancing around and threatening talk, the exchange had gone quite normally. The boat from the warship had come alongside, a temporary dock established, then the hatches were opened and the Rithians and the Kharkovs went over to the other boat. There was little noise, since the locks were automatically sealed except when accessed in an emergency, and it took about fifteen minutes to affect the transfer. Finally, the Kharkovs had returned, bearing a very large case of dark polished wood. An ornate seal was carved on it, in what was almost certainly pure gold, and it was studded with precious gems. The case—about ninety by 106 centimeters, and a good thirty centimeters thick—was a beautiful work of art, but what was inside was far more precious, and Jules Wallinchky could hardly contain himself as it was carefully, almost reverentially, handed to him by Ivan Kharkov. The jeweler was wearing surgical gloves, and Wallinchky put on his own pair before going further. Then he sat back, the case on his lap, and looked back up at the master jeweler.
“You’re certain?”
“There is no doubt,” Ivan Kharkov assured him. “I never believed that I or anyone would ever see them, not in this lifetime, and I never dreamed that I would have this opportunity. If those are not the Pleiades, then no creature living or dead would feel any differently toward these than toward the real ones.”
Wallinchky slipped the small manual locks that seemed something out of ancient history and then actually crossed himself and took a deep breath before opening the case. Then the crime king gasped, seeing what Ivan Kharkov had meant. Angel was numb and passing in and out of consciousness, but still managed a glimpse of the case as he stared into it.
The seven jewels varied in size from enormous to impossible; seven colors, but with one cut and finish, set into a metal that seemed almost liquid and which burned, throbbed like something alive, making the gems themselves seem to beat like seven alien hearts.
“Pass them the codes as soon as we are positioned opposite the tow,” Wallinchky said at last, his voice low, almost reverential, as if he were in a grand cathedral and in the presence of God Himself.
Angel was unclear about what happened next. It seemed there was a lower deck composed entirely of coffinlike transparent cages stacked one atop the other, and that she was carried down there by one of the Mallegestors. He untied her—there was hardly much risk, as she couldn’t feel her extremities anyway—and ripped off all her clothing, even her religious medals, which she found particularly offensive. She was then shoved into one of the transparent coffins, hooked up to probes attached within, and then the enclosure was shut with a hissing sound. After that, all she could remember was that it grew incredibly cold, and it became harder to think, harder even to breathe. The last thought she could remember having was: This must be what death feels like when it comes slow and steady upon you.
Then there was darkness, a darkness without sound, without sight, without thought, but a darkness that somehow existed in time. It went on and on and on, but she didn’t care, didn’t think of it, nor anything, but just lay there in the nothing.
And then there was pain. Horrible, racking pain like she’d never experienced before, had never believed possible to experience. It seemed as if every cell, every point of skin, every organ, was in full rebellion, and even her blood consisted of searing white-hot fire.
It did not go on for long; nobody could have stood it for any length of time without passing out. Still, it was longer than she ever wanted to feel that kind of pain again.
There was a horrid ringing in her ears that seemed to mask more ordinary noises, and it took a while to subside, although it never completely went away. Her eyes were open, she had control of them, but everything remained a featureless gray. She attempted to move her arms and legs, to clench her hands and bend her toes, but could feel nothing beyond the elbow or knee. There was a smell of disinfectant and other related substances, and a few lingering odors she wondered if she wanted to find out abo
ut.
Angel coughed, at first a little, then violently, uncontrollably. There were the sounds of people running to her; someone grabbed her shoulders, someone else gave her a shot, and then one of them or perhaps a third person gave her a strong, foul-tasting drink that nonetheless relieved her dryness and actually eased a lot of her immediate discomfort. The coughing stopped completely after she drank some of it, and after she downed it all, the cough didn’t come back.
They seemed satisfied, whoever they were, and then she heard them walking away, talking softly, although she couldn’t understand a word. She tried to call them back, so they could tell her where she was and what was going on, but only meaningless gurgling sounds emerged, which hurt her throat.
After a while the pain subsided further, becoming a dull burning. Angel then became aware of the tubes attached to her, which she guessed was some kind of intravenous feed, and concluded it was why she felt neither hungry nor dehydrated. She worked her head around in increasing circles, flexing her neck. It was painful at first but soon felt very good. She could control her head, and to some extent her shoulders, and began to concentrate as her teachers had instructed and to try and feel all her body.
Her skin seemed to have been mildly burned, apparently from the cryo units in the lifeboat. Well, that might be expected; those units were intended for emergency only, and not for use in deep space. It was likely that only the Mallegestors and maybe Tann Nakitt hadn’t been burned, the former because nothing could penetrate that hide, the latter because of his fat and fur layering. If that was all that this was, she knew it would pass.
The same severe conditions might also have caused her blindness, she reflected, if she’d been in shock from her tightly tied arms and legs and her suspension, and then gone under with her eyes not completely shut. Could be; they’d never gotten their emergency lecture! If that were the case, though, would she remain blind unless given new eyes or lenses or whatever, or would vision slowly return? It frightened her, but she fell back on her faith and her prayers and calmed down.
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