Veriasse got Everynne on her bike, and one man walked forward. Gallen could not mistake his stride. He carried himself with dignity and a calm assurance. He had been in charge of this operation.
He was an older man, with long dark hair and eyes as black as obsidian. He wore a small goatee. "Well done, Veriasse," the stranger said. "We meet again."
Veriasse nodded at the man. "Jagget."
"Yes, Commander Jagget, of the planetary defense forces. To tell you the truth, Veriasse, I was not sure I would be able to take your Terror away, but I had to try. No offense, I hope."
"Of course not. But I am curious—why do you call yourself planetary defense forces when this is a dronon world?"
"I work under their direction now," Jagget said, "The dronon appreciate competence, even if it does come from the hand of an old enemy. I was able to convince them that we could handle this situation better than their green-skinned oafs. The element of surprise, you know."
"I find your wavering loyalty unsettling," Veriasse said. "In fact, I cannot believe it. Primary Jagget would never give his loyalty to an alien usurper. I would expect more from even one of his mad clones."
Jagget shrugged. "Believe as you will. I caught your act on Fale, Veriasse. The incident is being broadcast all over the galaxy." He looked at the Terror, licked his lips, glanced at his men, as if trying to make a decision.
Then he gazed deep into Gallen's eyes. "Young man, if you really are linked via ansible to Terrors on eighty-four dronon worlds, detonate them now, this very second. And if you feel you must, destroy this world, too!"
Jagget stepped forward threateningly, walked several paces toward Gallen. Jagget's eyes went wide, and Gallen could tell that he planned to die. He was trying to force Gallen's hand. He wanted to start the war.
"Stay back!" Veriasse shouted, pulling out his incendiary rifle.
Jagget raised his hand in a commanding gesture. Three men among the crowd shouldered their own weapons. Jagget clones.
"Young man," Jagget said, walking up to Gallen, looking deeply into his eyes, "ignite it, now! Other worlds have burned themselves down in order to keep from falling to the Dronon Empire. It is a worthy trade. Release the Terrors, and someday this sector of the galaxy will remember your name in honor!"
Gallen held the Terror aloft, looked out over the warriors. These were humans whose genes had not been twisted by the dronon. They could not have been subjugated long enough even to feel any loyalty to their conquerors, yet for the most part, they had sided with the dronon. They would have captured Everynne if they could, would have turned her in. As it was, she was unconscious, and Gallen could not tell how badly hurt she might be. And they had killed Orick.
Even now, only their fear of Gallen held the locals at bay. Except for Jagget. Jagget alone seemed to be a true patriot, and he was begging for Gallen to end it all. Set this world afire rather than leave it in the hands of the Dronon Empire. Perhaps he knew the hearts of his people too well.
In that one moment, Gallen would have freed the nanotech warriors within the Terror, if he had had the ability. Jagget walked up to him, grabbed Gallen's wrist, shook it so that the Terror fell to the ground. He stared into Gallen's eyes.
"You can't do it, can you?" Jagget whispered fiercely, as if Gallen had just betrayed all of his hopes. "You've got only one Terror, and you're trying to get it to Dronon—just as Maggie said."
Jagget spun, spoke to his soldiers. "I'll be escorting these people to their destination."
"Sir," one young woman objected, "shouldn't we report their capture to Lord Kintal?"
"You may report it to the dronon bastards if you wish," Jagget said calmly with just the slightest hint of a threat. "But of course, our orders to stop these people were based upon the false assumption that they had many Terrors in their possession. Since that report is obviously spurious, we have no reason to detain them."
The woman looked at him warily, took a step back. "I'll report that everything was quiet on my shift," she said. "May I take a car thereafter, along with my personal leave?"
"Yes," Jagget said. "I think that would be wise."
"You mentioned Maggie," Veriasse said to Jagget. "Where is she?" Veriasse had Everynne on the bike, his arms cradled around her. Everynne's eyelids fluttered. She tried to raise her head, struggled to regain consciousness, then fell back.
"She will join us shortly." Jagget unclipped a small commlink from his belt, spoke swiftly in some personal battle code.
"We'll need a room for a few minutes," Veriasse said. "And some hot food."
"Very well," Jagget agreed.
Veriasse lifted Everynne, carried her to the back of the compound, down to a small apartment. There he laid her on a bed, lightly tapping her cheek as she struggled to awaken. A dozen soldiers followed them into the apartment. Veriasse turned on them, shouted for them to leave.
Only Gallen, Veriasse, and Jagget stayed to nurse Everynne. Veriasse removed her robe, turned her on her back. She had two burn marks from the stunners, a light one on her lower back, a severe wound on her neck.
Veriasse caught his breath, pointed to the neck wound. "This one may leave a scar." Jagget went to a sink, returned with some water and began spooning it over Everynne's back. Meanwhile Veriasse took out his sword, nicked his wrist and let the blood flow over her wounds.
"What are you doing?" Gallen asked.
"The nanodocs in my blood will help heal the skin," Veriasse said. "Unfortunately, the burn has seared the blood vessels at the subdermal level. The nanodocs in her own system will not be able to combat the wound very effectively. I am hoping to prevent a scar."
Gallen sat, and together they watched the wound. Over the next fifteen minutes, much of the burned and blackened skin dissolved; the swollen red welts reduced in size. Everynne finally woke during that time and whimpered at the pain. Veriasse bid her to be still.
At the end of the fifteen minutes, fresh new skin began to grow over the wounds, but there was a distinct red mark on the back of Everynne's neck, shaped like an I.
Veriasse put his head in his hands, sat still for a long time. "I fear," he said heavily, "that all my years of preparation have been jeopardized. Now that the nanodocs have finished knitting the tissues together, we can do nothing to speed the healing process. The blemish should clear in a few days but . . . We must delay our trip. Everynne's blemish makes her ineligible to challenge the Lords of the Swarm."
"How long of a delay do you need?" Jagget said.
Veriasse shook his head. "A few days."
"Veriasse," Jagget said, "the dronon have been sending in troops all week. They know you're here. I could try to hide you, but I don't think I could hold them off that long. At this very moment, the vanquishers have this entire area surrounded. The sooner you leave here, the better your chances of making a clean escape."
"It's only a small mark," Gallen said. "Her clothing might hide it."
"The dronon wear no clothes," Veriasse said. "They will have the right to inspect her without clothing."
"Cosmetics," Jagget said. "Body paint?"
Veriasse looked up, skeptical. "If the dronon discover our deception, they will kill her outright."
"It's worth a try," Jagget said. "You can't wait for her to heal. The dronon have already built one gate key. They can build another. In a week's time perhaps, none of the worlds will be closed to them."
Gallen studied the two men, feeling trapped. Their inability to make a choice galled him. He wished the scar was permanent. Everynne had never wanted to come on this trip. She had been chosen as a sacrifice, and only her generosity let her continue the journey. The only way she could hope to win this battle was to walk away. At least, then, she could live her own life. A scar on her neck would have been a ticket to freedom.
"It will have to be some form of makeup that will not leave a detectable scent," Veriasse said. "At least nothing the dronon can smell. And it must match her skin color precisely."
"I don't
know," Jagget •said. "That will be a hard order to fill on such short notice."
Everynne turned over, looked at Gallen for a moment, considering her options. "Please, do what you can," she said to Jagget. "I must challenge the Lords of the Swarm quickly."
"Are you sure?" Jagget asked.
"Yes," Everynne said.
Jagget nodded. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes."
Gallen lay down on the floor, weary to the bone, thankful for a few minutes' rest.
A moment later, the door opened again. Gallen did not bother looking up, thinking that one of the Jaggets had entered the room. Suddenly Orick was beside him, licking Gallen's face. "Top of the morning," Orick grinned. "I see you ignored my warning and blundered right into the trap anyway."
"Orick!" Everynne shouted, rousing up in her bed. Gallen threw his arms around the bear. There was a white bandage on Orick's shoulder, a look of pain in his eyes.
"We thought you were dead," Gallen said. "We found bones by the roadside."
"A friend," Orick said soberly. "I left my message and was on my way home, dodging vanquisher patrols. My friend, Panta, stopped to pick me up on the highway, and the vanquishers caught us. She lost her wits and ran for cover. Iwas too weak to follow. Afterward, they brought me here for questioning, then left me with the Jaggets."
Gallen could tell that there was more than casual friendship involved with this she-bear. He could hear the hurt in Orick's voice. "I'm sorry, myoId friend," Gallen offered. Orick limped over to Everynne, gave her a hug. They sat and talked quietly.
Two soldiers brought in some plates of food. Gallen and Everynne sat on the bed and had a bite to eat. Veriasse paced, looking at the wall clock as he waited for Jagget.
Minutes later, two Jaggets came into the room, escorting Maggie. She looked tired, worn, but she smiled in relief to see Gallen. She hugged him and whispered, "I am glad you're well."
One of the Jaggets, an older man, was better dressed than the others Gallen had seen. Captain Jagget introduced him with great flourish as Primary Jagget.
Veriasse stood in deference and said, "Primary Jagget, I thought you were dead." Gallen could not miss the tone of respect in Veriasse's voice. Veriasse glanced at Gallen and explained. "Primary Jagget is one of the great Lord Protectors of our time. He was a Lord Protector three thousand years before Iwas born."
Primary Jagget said softly, "I was a Lord Protector, Veriasse. Now, the dronon have conquered my world, taken my title and position. I have worn out my flesh and been forced to download myself into an artifice. The dronon would not even have allowed that, but for my clones. They have retained enough power to force an uneasy truce."
Primary J agget clapped a hand on Veriasse's shoulder. "I regret having detained you and your friends, and I regret the harm I've caused here. What I have done, I have done in order to protect my world and my people. I had to be sure of your intent."
Veriasse hesitated a moment. "I suspect that I would have done the same in your position."
Gallen sensed that much was being left unsaid between the two men, and he wondered what kind of relationship they had. They were both Lord Protectors, and though their interests ran afoul of each other, they shared a mutal respect.
Primary Jagget begged them to be at ease, then knelt over Everynne, applied a flesh-colored salve to her neck, and rubbed it in until Gallen could hardly see the scar. When he finished, he stepped back and looked at Everynne admiringly, then bowed. "You are the exact image of your mother Semarritte. I had to come see you for myself. May you grow in power and grace and beauty. I wish you could stay and enjoy my hospitality, but I am afraid that I have just started a war in your behalf, and it will not be safe for you to remain."
"A war?" Veriasse asked.
"The vanquishers must have learned you are here. They began moving in just moments ago. I've ordered my men to wipe out every vanquisher within three hundred kilometers," Primary Jagget answered. "It has long been rumored that you built a gate to Dronon. I know the location of every gate on the planet. Tell me where you must travel, and I will clear a path for you."
"North, sixty kilometers," Veriasse said.
Primary Jagget raised a brow. "There isn't a gate in that region."
"I disguised it so that it does not look like a regular gate," Veriasse said. He glanced at Everynne. "We must go now."
"Wait a moment more," Primary Jagget said. He reached into a fold of his brown jacket, pulled out a mantle. "This is the mantle I wore as a Lord Protector," Jagget said. "I do not want it to fall into enemy hands. I would like you to take it. You have long been a Lord Protector yourself, and I doubt that there is much it could teach you. Still, when you battle the Lords of the Swarm, I would ask that you wear it. Perhaps it could be of help."
Veriasse took the gift. It was an ancient thing of black metal, not nearly so elegant as the mantle Veriasse had given to Gallen. Still, Veriasse took it for what it was, a symbol of hope.
Chapter 18
Primary Jagget took a quick survey of the room at the inn, as if he were checking to be sure he didn't leave something when he departed. "We must hurry," he said. "Are you ready to go?"
"Five minutes," Veriasse answered. "When we jump out of the gate, we will be on Dronon. Everynne should be dressed appropriately."
"A couple more minutes, then," Primary Jagget said. "But hurry. Time is of the essence."
Everyone left the room but Veriasse and Everynne. Veriasse opened his pack, unfolded Everynne's golden attire. The metallic robe was made of a flowing material that felt cool, almost watery under his touch. It had an odd sheen to it and was peculiarly heavy, as if it were actually made of microscopic ringlets of pure gold.
Veriasse let his fingers play over the robe. It seemed somehow appropriate that Everynne should wear it this day. She truly was golden, the human equivalent of the dronon's great queen. He had seen it in people's eyes a thousand times: they would look at Everynne and respond with adoration. And though there were physiological reasons for their devotion, something in his bones whispered to Veriasse that mere science could not explain Everynne's power over him. Everynne was sublime. Some said that she was perfect in figure, that the proportions of each bone in her body were designed to conform to some racial dream, an image of perfection shared by all. Others claimed that it was only a combination of scents that she exuded, a carefully selected range of pheromones that turned men into mindless creatures, willing to sacrifice themselves at her feet.
But Everynne's beauty seemed to him to be more than perfect. When she touched him, he shivered in ecstasy. When she spoke, something in her voice demanded attention, so that the softest words whispered in a noisy room would hold him riveted. Everynne transcended the hopes of the scientists who had created her, and in his weaker moments, Veriasse would have admitted that he believed she was supernatural. There was something mystical in the way she moved him, something holy in the way she could transform a man.
And so, today she would wear gold, an appropriate color for the last Tharrin alive on the conquered worlds, the sole child of a race dead in this sector of the galaxy. When all was ready, he left the room. Everynne dressed quickly in her golden robes, boots, and gloves, then put on her mantle of golden ringlets. Though she was a woman, and fully as beautiful as any of her previous incarnations, Veriasse looked at her and thought that there was something special about this incarnation of Semarritte. Perhaps it was only her youthfulness. By having been force grown in the vats, she had attained the appearance of being twenty years old by th teim she was two. Perhaps that was part of it: there was an innocence, a freshness to this incarnation that had been missing in the previous generations.
When she finished dressing, she sat on her bed and smiled up at Veriasse, weakly, her face pale with fear. But for her expression, she looked the part of a queen. He said, “You look wonderful. You look radiant. Are you afraid?”
Everynne nodded. Veriasse himself had great doubts about this plan. “You will do well
today, my love,” Veriasse assured her. “Never has there been a woman more worthy to represent the human species in such a contest. I can only hope that I shall be as worthy.
Everynne took his hand, looked into his eyes. “I trust you,” she said. “If your devotion for me can grant you power, then I know you cannot be beaten today.”
Veriasse kissed her hand, then they went outside to meet the others. Gallen, Orick, Maggie, and Jagget sat in front of the inn, straddling their airbikes. Far to the south, Veriasse heard a dim concussion, the sound of heavy artillery.
“Hurry,” Primary Jagget whispered. “Every minute is costing the lives of my men.”
Veriasse hopped on his bike, and Everynne climbed aboard hers. She was shaking, unsettled, and Veriasse would have reassured her, but she twisted the handlebars, revving her thrusters, and the rest of the group was forced to hurry to catch her.
They roared aover the highway, which was ominously devoid of traffic. Ten kilometers up the road, they came upon a magtruck that had exploded, throwing out the corpses of dead vanquishers, and two kilometers farther along, the whipped past a score of Jaggets lying dead by the roadside.
Primary Jagget held his commlink to his mouth, shouting orders in his personal battle language, a code that was thick with nasal tones and grunts.
Forty kilometers from the city, a wall of scintillating lights blossomed ahead to his right—portable shielding. Just beyond the shields, a curtain of flames and black smoke erupted.
Dronon fliers—swift, saucer-shaped craft—whipped through the air at Mach 15, dropping ordnance on some unseen front. The very ground shook and buckled under the force of the assault, and Veriasse hoped that the saucers wouldn’t target them. Jagget screamed into his commlink, and a squadron of slower V-shaped fighters piloted by humans swerved from the north, perhaps forty strong. They would be no match for the dronon. They could only serve as a diversion.
Veriasse and the others continued north for five kilometers, heading toward the front until a vast pall of smoke hung over the little party. It was nearly dark as night, yet Veriasse did not turn on his airbike’s headlights.
The Golden Queen - Book 1 of the Golden Queen Series Page 28