“Sixteen,” she said. She studied her map. “The nearest sanctuary is at Kami, but they could not send a party before dawn. I doubt the slaves could hold out that long.”
“Our ship could be there in minutes,” Redfire answered. “Come on.”
He took her by the arm and began to lead her back in to the Aves Kate. She came with him, made no question or objection.
Redfire called out as soon as he entered the ship. “Ironhorse, contact Pegasus, clear us for take-off. Alert the rest of the landing team to rendezvous at Neville, until we return.”
He saw an eyebrow raise on Ironhorse’s face.
“Ironhorse, have you ever heard the joke, ‘how do you know when someone in Flight Core is about to die?’”
“How?”
“It’s when he says, ‘I’m gonna try something.’ Well, Ironhorse, I’m gonna try something. There’s a party of escaped slaves on the coast a few hundred kilometers inland. They’re going to either die or be re-captured if we don’t rescue them.”
“There is very heavy weather along the coastal plane,” Ironhorse observed, not as a warning, but just reminding himself of a factor to take into account in his flight plan.
“Call in the Marines and anybody else who wants to join us,” Redfire ordered. “How soon can we be off the ground.”
“We can be off the ground in two minutes,” Ironhorse answered.
“Make it twenty. We’ll form a rescue party. Hoo-ah!”
Ironhorse bristled. “Don’t say that around the Marines.”
“What? Hooah!”
“Za, you have not earned the right to say it.” He turned and made for the command deck. Winter took his hand. “Will your people risk their lives for a few slaves?”
What risk? thought Redfire, opening a weapons locker and selecting a pulse weapon. Redfire’s gut reaction was, It’s easy to brave when you’ve got better weapons than your enemy, but something kept him from saying it. “Freedom is the most important value of my people. They value their own, and they will fight for the freedom of others.”
“If the Aswanees capture you, you will be killed, or enslaved.”
Redfire doubted that would happen. Pegasus would not let that happen, although, for a moment, he entertained the romantic fantasy of allowing himself to be captured only so that he could lead a slave rebellion, overthrow the tyranny of this planet. Winter reached around his neck and brushed her fingertips through the close-cropped hair at the back of his scalp and he realized, for her, he would have taken on the slave-chasers even if he had nothing but a spork to defend himself.
Eden – The Dayside – Citadel Altama
Lord Havebone had failed, but Scion Altama would devise a suitably entertaining execution for him later.
The Scion walked through the halls of his First-Best Palace, the golden light of the re-emergent sun throwing shadows on the polished stone floors that seemed to bear no resemblance to the man who cast them. No visitors were ever permitted here, only his most loyal subjects. Although its walls were of the smoothest stone and its floors of the finest marble, the accoutrements here were far less opulent than the second best, palace. There was no need to show off, here.
His Reception Room was a great circular hall in the center of the palace. The skylight above alternated clear and colored glass, producing pleasing patterns on the white floor that, viewed from the balcony rail, made out the crest of Altama. His throne was in the center of the room, a huge cushioned chair which put his dangling feet at eye-level to anyone he received here. One of his loyal firstservants was waiting to help him up, as always, and to carry out his every command, among them were a pair of flash-servants. “Summon the telemancer Jasmi,” he ordered, as he arranged himself on the throne. The flash-servant snapped to work and ran from the room, literally in a blur of speed.
Flash-servants were fast.
A few moments later, a telemancer was brought before him, a slim young girl in a shimmering purple gown that clung to her body as tightly as her own skin. Her eyes were surrounded by an intricate design of black and indigo thorns that were painted over the top half of her face like a veil. When she bowed to him, the fabric of her gown strained against its own seams, threatening to burst out and reveal the intricate black, purple, and green tattoos that covered her body and were said to move in the moonlight.
The Scion distrusted telemancers, regarding them as, at best, a pernicious necessity. The telemancers were an odd and exotic lot, invariably female. It was said that the touch of a man degraded their abilities, and if she could not communicate telepathically with every other telemancer in the world, she was no good to him. After adolescence, their abilities faded, and they were bred to make more telemancers in a very secret hall of one of the temples in the citadel’s Ritual District.
If there were any other way to communicate over long distance, he would have had the lot of them tortured and killed in this very chamber. “I desire to contact the Scion Chiban.” He told her.
Wordlessly, she moved to her station, a small octagonal platform with a pair of golden handgrips set into it. She grasped these tightly and her eyes rolled back in her skull. She concentrated this way for several long seconds, not moving so much as a twitch. The Scion Altama arranged his black robe around him, sat up straight and imperiously, one arm firmly on either arm of his throne. He did not know if the telemancers saw, or merely heard their Scions as they spoke, but he took no chances, would show no weakness before Chiban.
Finally, her head lowered, and she stared right at him in a manner that would have gotten any other of his subjects beheaded. She spoke in a tone that would have gotten any other subject cast into the pit of Needle Vipers.
The Scion Chiban wishes to know why you are contacting him. He is aware of no issue between our Prefectures, and knows you too well to expect a gratuitous interchange.
“There is always some issue between us,” the Scion said, then caught himself. “Do not send that, ask Scion Chiban this question: ‘Have you looked at the sky, lately,’”
There was always a delay in communicating through the telemancers. The Scion Chiban would relay his words to his on telemancer, who then would have to project her thoughts, containing those words, into the mind of his own telemancer, who would relay them to him. The wait for a response was even longer than usual in this case. Scion Chiban, arrogant bastard, was probably seeking to make him wait, deliberately, a vulgar display of his higher position among the Inner Prefectures.
We have noted the presence of a ship.
“Exactly! Once again, it appears, the stars have sent envoys among us. It is time again to re-consider an alignment for our mutual benefit.” He waited for his response. Our astrologers tell us this ship is not like the other ones. Have you met with these envoys?
“We have captured four of their party, and two of their sky-ships, but several more have escaped, killing some of my guards, although not my best ones. The prisoners, under torture, admitted that they are the Vanguard of a large force which intends to conquer our world.”
They confessed this to you?
“Red hot iron and a sharp boning knife are the most reliable truth detectors I have ever known. They have come against us because we are the strongest of the Prefectures and if we can be defeated, the whole of the planet shall follow. We must show ourselves capable of self-defense.”
He waited for the Scion Chiban to respond, and when he had waited long enough, he continued. “We have attempted to dispatch them on the Goldstone Highway as they made their way toward Chiban, but they were too much for our forces.
How many casualties did you suffer?
“That matters less than the fact that they were defeated swiftly and with near total fatality.”
No way would he betray the true strength and numbers of his forces to the Scion Chiban. How many envoys?
“By our count, there are perhaps twelve on the road. Heavily armed. We suggest dealing with them as we dealt with those who came before. By my mark,
if they are not already in Chiban Prefecture, they will be so shortly. I suggest a large detachment of high and low guardsmen. Do not let them escape, Scion Chiban. They are headed for you, as surely as a mid-day storm. You must strike them down with totality.”
That would be our duty in accordance with the Treaty of Idoh
“You will do it then?”
A long silence followed. Eventually the telemancer collapsed to the floor. Chiban had broken off contact. The Scion pondered her unconscious form for a moment before ordering it cleared from his chamber.
Chiban would honor the Treaty of Idoh, he was certain. Chiban would send an overwhelming force of armed guardsmen to finish the job quickly. That was the nature of Chiban, forceful and prudent, although not particularly subtle or creative. He stared at the iridescent purple and red water splashing in the fountains on either side of his throne (which were meant to keep the air cool and fresh in his chamber), and contemplated himself, a luxury in which he had indulged more frequently as he aged. He was Scion of a High Prefecture, descendant of a line bred by the Progenitors themselves to keep order among the masses. Yet, Altama was only one of the High Prefectures, and foremost among them was Chiban, which controlled all of the trade along the river and its tributaries. A more ambitious Scion could have expanded Chiban, conquered Altama, Betrobi, Kansia, and the others and controlled the entire Central Landmass.
If only he had been bred in Chiban, he was sure he would have made more of his destiny, more than his all-too-cautious counterpart. Disagreeable as ever, Fate had put him here, in this position, and he supposed it was better than his seven brood-mates. Eight are bred, but only one may be Scion, and the other seven were all put down, except for the one who escaped. He had ruled over for Altama for two-thirds of his life, a life that seemed most times to consist of little more than being the focal point of any number of petty conspiracies. He was like a game-master, who could watch as those lesser than he maneuvered for position. Occasionally, he might intervene on behalf of someone he favored, or to destroy someone he dislike, or change the rules just to see how the players would adapt. He smiled wanly at that. Lord Havebone’s family had occupied a particularly desirable suite in the Eastern Tower. The competition to be his successor was bound to be entertaining.
Chapter Seventeen
Pegasus – The UnderDecks
Trajan came to his senses stumbling through some kind of connector corridor deep in the UnderDecks. He must have been running for a long time. As he stopped to catch his breath, he nearly collapsed, struggling to bring enough breath into his body to keep from passing out. He looked back and could see no sign of the place where he had been held, no sign of the man who had taken him, and nothing in the least way familiar at all.
Fighting the hunger and dizziness that swam into his head and threatened to bring him to the deck, he continued stepping along the passageway, almost involuntarily, as though some instinct were compelling him to keep moving as far away from that place as he could manage. His chest was heaving, his arms and legs shook, but he could not stop. He felt his way along with his back against the wall, his head moving back and forth in quick movements as his wide eyes scanned the passageway. His jaw still throbbed where the ID Sliver had been removed. He touched it lightly with a shaking hand and found it tender and stinging. His surroundings had changed, although he had no memory of when one section had ended and another began. He vaguely remembered jumping down through a tube-way. He guessed he was at least 400 meters, and maybe a deck or two below where he had been held, but he did not know whether he had been running toward the bow or the stern of Pegasus. The new corridor stretched ahead of him, a utility deck lined with blue-gray panels separated by dark gray connectors. It did not look like any part of the ship he had seen before. Although he could not make himself stand still, he undertook a great effort to pull his thoughts together. He had enough discipline inside him to know that what he needed to do. It was like a voice inside of him, one true voice rising clearly above the tumult, telling him that whatever fear, whatever hunger, whatever panic he felt must be restrained by the part of him that could still reason. Because he was strong, he was able to focus on that one voice of clarity. He would have to thank his mother later for that.
Another eight meters or so brought him to a junction of two passageways. On the corner, at eye level, was an ident panel. “Deck –44/Section 78:08. EVS” It listed the locations of several adjacent Environmental Systems Substations. This meant he was only 44 decks below the centerline, and almost directly underneath the command tower than he had been when he lay down to sleep in the storage bay. He touched the display, hoping to use it to gain access to a map of the nearby area, and his location within the total ship. From there, he could request the shortest route to the nearest occupied section of the ship.
When he got back, he decided, his first order of business was going to be to tell his mother everything that had happened. She would send a hundred Marines and Watchmen down here, and they would check every section until they found the man who had captured him, and then that man would be flash-frozen and sent back to Republic. Trajan would personally throw the switch on the cryo-stasis chamber, and he would tell the man he hoped his chamber failed on the way back to Republic.
Instead of going into motion, however, the panel remained inert, like a static sign. He tapped it several times and finally lay his palm flat on it, trying to bring it to life. Trajan reflected on this bitterly, the first ident panel he comes to was malfunctioning. How up was that? He guessed the UnderDecks were not high on anyone’s maintenance list. Below the ident panel was an emergency communication relay. He slapped it hard.
“Emergency. This is Trajan Lear. I’m on Deck minus forty-four, section seventy-eight-oh-eight. Please Respond.”
Nothing happened. The com-link remained inert.
“This is Trajan Lear, my mother is Executive Commander Goneril Lear. My ident code is Strong Tiger – seven-seven-six-four-seven. I’ve just escaped from a man who was holding me. I was kidnapped. I’m on Deck minus forty-four, section eighty-oh-eight. ”
The emergency comlink had not responded, and showed no sign of having been activated. He hit it again. “Can anyone hear me. Respond, please.” He hit it again, and then again. “This is Trajan Lear. Someone, help me, please.”
No response.
“Pegasus, acknowledge activation of emergency comm-relay 78:08 minus 44.”
Nothing.
“Access personal communication. Text, audio-visual. Trajan Johannes Lear,” by this time, he realized the link was inoperative, and he sort of collapsed against the passageway. “Please…”
he repeated weakly. “Please.” He turned upward and screamed at the ceiling. “Help me, somebody, please... help me!”
Silence answered him, and he realized with terror that he might have just betrayed his position to the man who had captured him. He turned to the corridor, about to run, then started quaking. Which was the direction he had come from? Which way was forward? The shakes came harder. He didn’t know which way would take him out, and which would take him back to the trap. The passages seemed to stretch on endlessly. He took a deep breath and wiped his eyes. Somewhere along this corridor, there had to be a data kiosk, an operations workstation, a security terminal, something. He walked along slowly, touching the side of the passageway with one hand. He came to one at the mid-point of the junction. He tugged at the indentation in the wall and the station folded out. He pressed his palm down on the input pad. Nothing happened. He tried again, a little more pressure, a little more contact. Nothing.
For a moment, he lay his arm on the computer and buried his face in the crook of his elbow. He felt tears leaking out of his eyes, soaking into the fabric of his shirt. He choked back sobs, lest some sound betray him.
Why was every device on this deck indifferent to him? Why was he locked out? He thought perhaps Pegasus would not recognize him without his Sliver, but then he remembered half the crew were Sapphireans,
who did not carry identification implants. The ship still ought to have recognized him bio-metrically. What was going on?
Suddenly he felt utterly alone. There was no one to help him or save him. He thought of his mother, and Marcus, and his father. He remembered a book he had been reading, an old story about two young men and two women, one young and beautiful, the other old and hideous. The young woman was called Desire, and the old woman was called Despair. They went everywhere together. Desire would seduce a young man and then leave him, and Despair moved in and claimed his life. “He looked at her now without revulsion, for he realized it was
with her that he truly belonged.”
He was not alone, he realized. Despair was here with him, a great, fat sow of a woman with white hair, bony fingers, and a dank scent to her skin. He felt a cold, dark fear fall across him, felt his blood chill as despair wrapped her arms around him and reached into his soul. He felt her calling to him, like a voice from the bottom of a frozen lake, trying to lure him to her, trying to call him to her icy bosom.
“You could spend the rest of your life walking down here. They will never find you. They will never find you before he does.
They aren’t even looking for you.
He is looking for you, and he is closer than they are.
He will find you, and take you back, and you will be his boy forever.”
Despair tugged at him. He felt her sordid, frigid breath on the back of his neck.
“You are mine.”
He remembered the book again. “... and then Despair drew him close to her, and smothered
his mouth with her frozen kisses. With all that he had left, he screamed, or tried to, but his
breath was gone.”
Through his glistening eyes, he could almost make out her form. She was in the corridor with him. Her arms were spread wide open, and her white robes danced in the wind and sparkled like ice crystals, and although he could not see her face, he knew she was smiling.
Worlds Apart 02 Edenworld Page 24