Pawn

by Timothy Zahn

  That wasn’t going to happen again. Not here. Not now.

  Even with a touchy ankle Nicole was faster than the more lumbering Mispacch. But Mispacch had a good lead, and Nicole was still fifteen yards back by the time the Micawnwi reached the swirling chaos.

  And it was only then, as Mispacch braked to a halt and began looking around for Amrew, that Nicole suddenly realized that she was about to charge into a fight without a weapon.

  But Nicole could fix that. A few steps in front of her was the Micawnwi who’d been killed by the Cluufe archer. Lying in the grass beside him was his abandoned halberd.

  Nicole had lugged one of the things down the Fyrantha’s hallways, and even after Jeff’s instructions she had no illusions as to her chances of wielding it with even modest skill. But then, she wasn’t planning on launching any real attacks. All she had to do was get far enough into the chaos to grab Mispacch and haul her out of there, by one leg if necessary. If she could wave the halberd around enough to keep everyone else back, that was all she needed.

  Ahead, someone shrieked—Micawnwi or Cluufe, she couldn’t tell which. The halberd was right ahead now, and she slowed to a halt, reached down toward it—

  An instant later she let out a startled gasp as a pair of hands closed solidly around her upper arms.

  Her first instinct was to kick at her attacker, slashing her foot backward as hard as she could. A second later she lurched and nearly fell forward as her kick connected with absolutely nothing. She flailed, trying to regain her balance, the hands clutching her arms the only thing that kept her from falling flat on her face. She twisted her head around to the right, wild thoughts of biting her attacker flashing through her mind—

  “You little fool,” Plato snarled as he yanked back on her arm, pulling her fully upright again. “Come on.”

  Nicole looked to her left. Jeff was on that side, holding her left arm, his face grim. Not as angry as Plato’s, but angry enough. “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Plato countered. “I said come on.”

  Nicole tried to resist. But they were bigger and stronger, and there were two of them and only one of her. They spun her around and hauled her back through the grass toward the door.

  They were nearly there when Plato suddenly pulled her close to him. “You went that direction by mistake,” he murmured into her ear. “You didn’t leave the arena because the painkillers from your accident got you all confused and you headed the wrong direction. Got it?”

  Nicole frowned. “What?”

  He gave her arm a sudden, hard shake. “Got it?”

  “Okay, okay, I got it,” Nicole said hastily, frightened in spite of herself. Mispacch going nuts she could understand. But Plato?

  A second later they reached the doorway, and the two men pulled her through.

  Standing silently in the middle of the long hallway—hell, filling the middle of the long hallway—was Fievj.

  twelve

  Nicole stopped short, her heart suddenly thudding as the big armored centaur gazed silently at the three of them. Dimly, she felt Plato and Jeff let go of her arms, and a moment later she heard the arena door close behind her.

  Fievj still didn’t move or speak. Out of the corner of her eye Nicole saw her two companions come alongside her, and cold metal brushed her right hand as Jeff handed her back her crutches. She closed her fingers around them, wondering briefly if she should put them back in position under her arms.

  Not much point, really. Fievj had already seen that she was walking fine without them.

  The silent figure finally stirred. “Leave us,” he said. “I will speak with her alone.”

  Plato made as if to say something, looked at Nicole, and apparently changed his mind. He gestured, and he and Jeff gingerly walked past the centaur and headed down the hallway. As they turned the corner into a cross-corridor, Plato gave Nicole one last, lingering look.

  And then they were gone. “Is there a problem?” Nicole asked, perversely deciding to once again get in the first word.

  “You went inside the testing arena,” Fievj said. “Why?”

  “The Fyrantha told me to,” Nicole said, wondering if she was pushing it to try that same excuse twice in a row. Surely there was a logbook or something Fievj could check to see what the ship was telling the Sibyls to do.

  Apparently, there wasn’t. “Tell me what it said,” Fievj ordered.

  Nicole shrugged, automatically slipping into liar mode. Rule one: Never tell a big lie when a small one would do. Rule two: Never add detail that wasn’t asked for. “It told me there was a problem with the Micawnwi food supply and that I should go look into it.”

  “Did the ship also tell you to flee when the Oracle told the Micawnwi to keep you there until an emissary could arrive to speak with you?”

  “The Fyrantha told me there was other work to be done,” Nicole said, keeping her voice steady. Like every other lie she’d ever told, this one was already showing signs of digging her into a hole. “I’d seen that I couldn’t fix the food dispenser, so I left.”

  “Even though the Oracle had ordered you not to leave?” Fievj demanded.

  “I’m a Sibyl,” Nicole said with as much dignity as she could manage. “I speak for the Fyrantha, and I answer only to it.”

  For a long moment the centaur gazed at her in silence. Nicole forced herself to look him straight in his blank faceplate, trying to ignore her pounding heart. “Why you?” he asked at last.

  “Why me what?”

  “Why did the Fyrantha send you into the testing arena?”

  Nicole frowned. Hadn’t she just answered that one? “I’m a Sibyl,” she repeated. “I speak for the—”

  “Why you?” Fievj cut her off. “Why not any of the hundreds of other Sibyls who’ve been called aboard?”

  Nicole felt her stomach tighten. Hundreds of other Sibyls? “I don’t know,” she managed through suddenly stiff lips. How long had the Wisps been snatching people, anyway? “You’d have to ask the ship.”

  There was another long silence. “Before Plato and the other human went in you were running toward a battle,” Fievj said. “Yet we were told humans don’t fight. Explain your actions.”

  Plato’s last tense whisper echoed through Nicole’s brain. Play stupid, was what it had boiled down to.

  And if she was going to play stupid, she might as well go all the way. “That was a battle?” she asked, putting some bewilderment into her voice. “I thought—Wait a second.” She frowned in feigned concentration. “I saw Mispacch running toward some—I don’t know what it was, but it was noisy.”

  “Yet you ran toward it?”

  “I was a little confused,” Nicole admitted. “I was feeling disoriented, and I asked her to show me to the door so I could get out and get to one of our doctors.”

  “How is it you were confused?”

  “Probably the pain meds I was given.” She had a sudden inspiration—“Maybe there was a bad reaction between them and the stuff in my inhaler. You hear about bad drug interactions on the news all the time. They’re a big problem with humans.”

  Fievj held out a hand. “Your inhaler.”

  Nicole winced. So that he could check its contents and maybe run some tests with the painkillers and healing goo Sam had used on her? Probably.

  And that wouldn’t be good. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. She could tell Fievj that she’d lost it, but a quick search of her pockets would quickly prove that false. “Drug interactions are different with different people,” she warned as she pulled out the inhaler and dropped it into his outstretched hand. Up close, she could see that the armor plates on his hand and wrist were small and fitted intricately together, like one of the fancy mosaics she’d seen at that art gallery her grandmother had dragged her to when she was eight. “And be careful with that. I need it for my work.”

  “There are more,” Fievj said, turning the inhaler over in his hand as
if studying it. “Plato will get you another.”

  “Whatever,” Nicole said. “Can I go now? I have work to do.”

  Fievj finished his examination and lowered his hand and the inhaler to his side. “You will first go to the medical center,” he said. “The doctor there is ordered to isolate the cause of your disorientation. You’ll tell him that.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled,” Nicole said, trying not to sound too sarcastic.

  “Yes, he should find the challenge intriguing,” Fievj said. Apparently, human sarcasm was lost on him. “Go. I’ll speak with you later.” Turning around, he headed down the cross-corridor outside the arena door.

  Let him go, a small voice urged from the back of Nicole’s mind. Just let him go. You’re done with this. She clenched her teeth—“What about the food dispenser?” she called after him.

  Fievj stopped but didn’t turn back to face her. “Explain.”

  “What about the Micawnwi food dispenser?” Nicole said, cursing herself for bringing this up again. “It’s broken. It needs to be fixed.”

  “It’s not broken,” the centaur said. The horse’s rear end was just more of the smooth metal, Nicole saw as she gazed down the corridor, with no sign of a tail. Odd that she hadn’t noticed that before. “The only way for the Micawnwi to obtain more food is to fight the Cluufes for it.”

  He swiveled halfway around, his blank faceplate turning back toward her. “Do you care enough for their welfare to aid them in that battle?”

  Nicole swallowed. Damn, but when was she going to learn to keep her mouth shut? “Why do they have to fight? I’ve been told the Fyrantha has plenty of food.”

  “They fight because those are the rules,” Fievj said. “Do you wish to aid them in their battle for survival?”

  “I don’t think I can,” Nicole said. “Besides, I have other work to do.”

  “You must make a choice,” Fievj said. “You have two days.”

  “Two days?” Nicole asked, frowning. “Two days for what?”

  “To choose whether to fight with the Micawnwi,” the centaur said calmly, “or whether to allow them to starve.” Turning away again, he resumed his four-footed march down the corridor.

  Nicole felt her eyes widen. “Wait a second,” she protested. “What kind of choice is that?”

  Apparently, Fievj had said all he planned to for one day. He didn’t even break stride as he continued along the corridor.

  “Well, damn,” Nicole murmured as she watched him go. Now what was she supposed to do?

  “Nicole,” a soft voice called from down the portside hallway.

  Nicole turned. Plato was standing at the corner where he and Jeff had disappeared earlier. He beckoned urgently toward her, his head turned slightly as if he were listening for heavy centaur footsteps. With a final look at Fievj’s receding back, Nicole headed toward him.

  She arrived to find him alone. His face looked sweaty, she noticed uneasily, and his hands seemed to be rubbing restlessly along the leg of his jumpsuit. Something must seriously be bothering him. “Well?” he asked quietly, as if afraid Fievj would hear him.

  “Well, what?” Nicole countered, peering behind him down the empty corridor. “Where’s Jeff?”

  “I sent him back to work,” Plato said. “We do still have work to do, you know. What did the Shipmasters want?”

  “So Fievj’s one of the Shipmasters?” Nicole asked. “I thought he was with the Masters.”

  “They’re the same group,” Plato said shortly. “What do they want?”

  Nicole shrugged. “The same thing you do: to tell them why I was in the arena.”

  Plato’s lip twitched. “And?”

  “I spun him the tale. He either went for it or he didn’t—I don’t know which. Oh, and he took my inhaler.”

  Plato frowned. “What for?”

  “He didn’t say,” Nicole said. “Probably wants to run some tests. I told him my confusion might have been a drug interaction between it and the pain meds.”

  She expected a lecture for having gone off script that way. But he just nodded heavily. “As good an excuse as any,” he said. “Let’s pray that he accepts it.”

  “I can act more confused if I need to,” Nicole offered. “Right now, that wouldn’t be very hard. What the hell is going on?”

  Plato snorted. “You already know more than is good for you,” he said grimly. “More than is good for all of us. I told you once, and I’ll tell you again: Do not go into the arena again. Ever. The lives of every man and woman aboard the Fyrantha depends on it.”

  With an effort, Nicole managed not to roll her eyes. Overblown melodrama was always the last resort of someone who couldn’t win an argument on facts or logic. “You want me to stay out?” she asked. “Give me a good reason.”

  “I just gave you one,” Plato said. “If you go in there again, we may all die.”

  “Right,” Nicole said. “And if I don’t, some of the people in there are definitely going to die. Women and children are going to starve to death.”

  “I know.” Plato took a deep breath. “Don’t take this wrong … but in all seriousness, let them. A few more lives—” He broke off. “Look. Humanity has a long history of fighting. Of warfare. But the Shipmasters can’t know about that. They can never know about that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Plato said. “Just believe me when I say that if they find out about our history the consequences will be devastating for everyone aboard. So don’t go back in the arena. And for God’s sake, don’t ever get involved with their fighting.”

  “Even if they’re going to die?”

  “They’re going to die anyway,” Plato said harshly. “You can’t stop that.”

  Nicole glared at him. But down deep, she knew he was right. She’d seen how the battle had been going, and there really was no way she could have influenced the outcome. Not without Bungie’s gun or one of Hunter’s old greenfire weapons to even out the odds.

  “Come on,” Plato said, closing his hand around her arm. “I’ll take you back to the medical center. Allyce has gone to tevenri-twelve-sixteen to help with a big accident, but Sam should still be here. Let’s find out what kind of mess you’ve made of your ankle this time.”

  * * *

  Sam wasn’t nearly as vehement on the subject of the arena as Plato was, or at least he didn’t launch into Plato’s ridiculous claim that everyone aboard was going to be slaughtered in their sleep if she so much as looked into the arena.

  But he was still pretty firm.

  “Plato’s right,” he told her as he carefully removed her pressure cast. “Whatever’s going on in there, you don’t want to mess with it. Weapons and fighting—not a good idea.”

  “Right,” Nicole said sarcastically. “I don’t know if you noticed, Doc, but you and I met across a gun. Weapons and fighting aren’t exactly new to me.”

  “That was in Philadelphia, not a battle arena inside an alien-controlled spaceship,” he pointed out. “The rules are completely different.”

  Nicole snorted. “Maybe there were rules in your part of town,” she said acidly. “There weren’t any where I lived.”

  “Of course there were,” he said. “Every society has rules. Who was top dog in the neighborhood, who moved off the sidewalk for whom, how much a fence paid, what you told the cops when they came looking for someone you knew. Those are all rules.”

  “More like the law of the jungle.”

  “It’s still rules.” He nodded toward the front part of the ship. “They have rules in here, too. Only you don’t know what they are. And you probably won’t even know you’ve broken one until it’s too late.”

  Nicole sighed. But like Plato, Sam was probably right. Besides, as she’d told herself over and over, what happened in there was none of her business. “Maybe,” she said.

  “No maybe about it.” He waved at her ankle. “Lucky for you, your little adventure doesn’t seem to have damaged any of my ha
ndiwork. You should stay off it the rest of the day, though.”

  “I think I can manage that,” Nicole said, watching dully as he rewrapped the pressure cast around her ankle. Suddenly, she felt very tired. The morning’s hectic activity had taken more out of her than she’d realized. “Can I go now?”

  “Sure,” Sam said. For a moment he gazed into her face, a slight frown creasing his forehead. Then the frown cleared, and he turned away. “Oh, and Plato said you need a new inhaler,” he added. “I’ll have one ready for you in the morning.”

  “Thanks.” Carefully, Nicole eased her feet back onto the floor. Her crutches were resting against the table; with a moment’s hesitation she took them and positioned them under her arms. “Might as well baby it for the rest of the day.”

  “Good idea,” Sam said. “Go get some rest. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  * * *

  Nicole had planned to rest for only an hour or two, then go back to Carp and the others and stay with them until they finished.

  It was with disbelief and chagrin that she awoke to find that the afternoon and most of the evening had slipped past, and that it was already three hours past dinnertime. Giving her face a quick splash of cold water to help her wake up, she hurried off to the dining room.

  Some nights one group or another stayed after dinner, taking advantage of the tables and access to snacks for games or conversation. But this wasn’t one of those nights. She arrived to find the room empty.

  Except for one lone person still sitting at his favorite table away from the door.

  “There you are,” Jeff said cheerfully, looking up from the puzzle board he’d been working on and waving to her. “I was about to give up and head to my room.”

  “Yeah, sorry,” Nicole said, looking over at the serving counter. All the trays were gone, but the automated equipment back there was always ready to mix up another meal. “I can’t believe I slept that long.”