Some Things Transcend

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  "You want us to mutilate the bodies," Triona said.

  Lisinthir leaned down, pulled one of the wings up and opened the vane with his sword. "I want you to desecrate them." He glanced at her. "If you'd like to sully them in additional ways, you're welcome to do so."

  She eyed him, then the bodies. "Is what you're suggesting sufficient?"

  "It will enrage them."

  She nodded and bent over the first.

  "And you?" he asked Reya once they were out in the corridor. "Will it trouble you to deface the enemy?"

  Her ears were pinned back and she was breathing quickly, but her shoulders were set and her gaze steady. "Hells no."

  "Good. We will have to collect the horns as well, but the number on this lot should easily fit in our arms."

  "Is it really that important to them?" Reya wondered.

  "You have no idea."

  Back in the mess hall, Triona presented him with the horns and talons of the remaining dead. He noted that she'd also seen to the wings with rather more precision than he had: she'd skinned the wing arms. His Alliance self approved; his Chatcaavan self was horrified at how naked the corpses looked.

  "Excellent. Now it is time to record our provocation."

  Triona nodded. "Whenever you're ready, you can use the wall. I've reported already to the Captain. So far, everything's under control."

  Lisinthir stripped one of the bodies and used its pants as a sack for the horns, then went to the wall and tapped it awake. He closed his eyes, breathing through his desires and his angers, and when he opened them again, the dragon spoke, haughty and dismissive. What he needed to say he did with a few words... and then he lifted the fabric and let it fall open so that the horns spilled free. Catching one he showed it to his enemies and told them what he thought he'd use it for, and then, grinning, told them that an Emperor's bedtoy was worth more than all of them combined. He ended the message there and turned from the wall to find Triona staring at him with her mouth agape and her ears sagging.

  "Understood that, did you," he said pleasantly.

  "Well, I didn't!" Reya exclaimed. "What did you say?" When Lisinthir didn't immediately answer, she elbowed Triona. "Tri. What did he say?"

  The Seersa stammered, "I... don't even know if what he said is anatomically possible without killing someone."

  "It is," Lisinthir said, low. "I would know." He lifted his brows. "Send the message, would you, aletsen? And warn the captain our next wave of guests should be here shortly."

  "So far, so good," Cory reported. "The scrambler's holding."

  "Good," Raynor said. "Ma'et? How's the game going out there?"

  "They're down to six," the Aera said, long ears flipping back. "Triona says they've taken a few hits, but nothing serious yet."

  How long would that last, Vasiht'h wondered, tucked in the corner alongside Jahir. It seemed incredible that Lisinthir had lured fifteen of the Chatcaava over already, and that he and the two women had killed nine of them. How long before the dragons decided enough was enough and showed up in force? Before someone took more than a glancing wound from a talon? He was trying not to imagine Triona with a torn-open throat, or Reya taken captive, Reya whose nightmares had been thick with her terror of slavery. They couldn't continue like this indefinitely. Someone was going to get seriously hurt. Someone was going to die.

  /This is work he can do, arii,/ Jahir said, voice vague with unease and distant like fog. The Eldritch was distracted with his own worries; Vasiht'h could taste them. His partner had his hand tight on the staff; Vasiht'h had been given a palmer, snapped onto the strap of the first aid kit he wore over his barrel.

  /Maybe,/ Vasiht'h said, trying for optimism, /he'll lure them all over here, and we won't have to go over there to fight?/

  /Maybe./

  'But not likely' was how that ended. Vasiht'h had been with Jahir long enough to be able to finish some of his sentences.

  "Fifteen out of sixty," Raynor muttered, fingers drumming on the wall.

  "Maybe they'll all come over," Cory said, echoing Vasiht'h's thoughts.

  Raynor shook his head. "At some point they'll come to their senses and decide to tow us somewhere they can crack the ship open and attack en masse. Probably the only reason they haven't yet is a desire to be able to claim the prize all to themselves. If they can avoid sharing with some other group of Chatcaava...."

  "And we can't have them running away for help either, or we'll never get home," Kordreigh said from the other side of the room among the crew guarding the Pads.

  "We can wait out one more wave," Raynor said. "After that, we're going to have to go over."

  Cory started to speak and stopped, listening to her telegem. "They've taken care of the last six. The Ambassador asks if we're good to transmit the next message."

  "Give him the go-ahead. And tell him to be ready to pull back during this set."

  "Will do." Cory murmured the message to herself, condensing it to the bare minimum words, then tapped the telegem and got it out, shut down the link. They had done something Vasiht'h didn't understand, involving the sensors the crew had been hiding in the corridors... it allowed them to leave the ship's computers offline so that the illusion of their defenselessness held, and still be able to sense the internal volume of the ship and communicate at short range within it. The two of them had been given telegems, too, though neither of them had judged it necessary to wear them yet. Like Jahir, Vasiht'h didn't particularly want to know more about what was happening than necessary. "Message away."

  /Not long now,/ Jahir said in what Vasiht'h was sure was an attempt to be reassuring.

  /That's what I'm afraid of./

  "Next wave," Ma'et reported. "Looks like they're using Engineering again. Five... ten... " She hesitated, ears stiff as she concentrated. "Fifteen... they're still coming. Eighteen--"

  "Tell the Ambassador's party to get here immediately, Cory, and put the block up the moment they cross over."

  Cory was frowning. "They say if they come here, the enemy will head straight for our location, sir. If we put the block up we won't be able to use our Pads to get out of here."

  "We can use the damned corridors, same as they are—"

  "Thirty... thirty-five, sir! And they're spreading out!"

  Cory was already repeating the information. She paused, ears back. "The Ambassador says they'll make their way to the engine room to meet us, but that we'd better get going now."

  "Mouthy bastard," Raynor said, but his mouth twitched once. It was more grimace than smile, Vasiht'h thought, but the fact that the Captain could find any humor in the situation at all was astonishing. "All right, ariisen. Ma'et, have you seen any more crossovers?"

  "I think that's the lot, sir."

  "Let's get moving. Kordreigh, you and your team first. Healer-assist, you and your partner follow. Then the rest of us."

  The Hinichi and four others were already moving, passing over the Pads they'd been so lately guarding. Jahir rose, pulling Vasiht'h up by the arm, and before he could object the Eldritch had guided him over the Pad and into the engine room. Thankfully there were no Chatcaava left in it... the only evidence that there had been were five flat black mats that must serve the aliens for their Pad equivalent. The room was eerie, drowned in extreme, crisp shadows and striped in the grim red emergency lights. Vasiht'h didn't think he would have seen a Chatcaavan coming for him... weren't they gray and black too? He shuddered.

  /Just stay close,/ Jahir whispered, and the nervousness Vasiht'h sensed under the words made him feel better somehow. If his partner had been sanguine about all this, it would have been more than he could bear.

  All of the personnel that had been waiting in the gym appeared out of the Pad-nothingness; Raynor did a headcount and was just finishing when the doors opened. Eighteen palmers whipped in that direction, but Triona called, "It's us!" and the weapons sagged. Their bait party jogged into the light and Vasiht'h flipped his ears back. Fleet uniforms were too dark to show blood, but the
fabric reflected the overheads with a wet glitter. Both of them were injured: Reya had bled onto her eye from a gash over her brow and was limping, and Triona had lost a sleeve to the same wound that had opened her arm, a bad one if the way she was guarding it was any indication.

  Behind them, Lisinthir was a ghoulish sight. He'd been wearing a white coat. It wasn't white anymore.

  "I left them some provocations," Lisinthir said without preamble. "But we'd better be gone before they find us. I would not want to be the target of their rage."

  /Do I want to know..../ Vasiht'h thought.

  /No,/ Jahir answered, the reply tense even in the mindline.

  "I've got the ship scanned," Cory was saying to Raynor and Lisinthir, who were gathered around her to peer at her data tablet. "Here's the internal schematic, as far as we can see—"

  "They'll expect us to go straight for the engine room or the bridge," Raynor said. "We need someplace less expected but big enough for us all."

  "Here," Lisinthir said. "This is a mess hall."

  "Do it."

  "On it, sir."

  Kordreigh and his team were already lining up at the Pads as Cory did the programming. Vasiht'h tried not to flinch, knowing that as soon as the Hinichi went over, they'd have to, and then... then it would be real. He'd be on an enemy ship, surrounded by enemies—

  "I'll take care of you," Lisinthir said from behind him, and Vasiht'h almost jumped forward a few steps. He glanced over his shoulder, wide-eyed, and found the Eldritch behind him. His drawn sword was no longer clean enough to reflect anything, and Vasiht'h didn't want to think about what was stuck to it. "Both of you."

  "We'll watch your back also, cousin," Jahir said.

  Lisinthir smiled grimly. "I know you will."

  "Go!" Cory said, and Kordreigh's team disappeared. Lisinthir flashed past them, drew them after him as if he'd caught them in his wake. It was easier to let himself be carried than to think about it and his own mounting terror. He had to do this. He couldn't abandon Jahir. The Goddess had set him on this path: She would not forsake him, or them.

  Gasping in, Vasiht'h ran over a Chatcaavan Pad, skidding to a halt on the other side and almost crashing into the person in front of him... and then Jahir had caught his arm and yanked him out of the way of the person on his heels. The room around him felt too small and too crowded, and the lighting was different and the ceilings too high and the vibration of the deck under his paws....

  "Clear!" Kordreigh called. "The room's clear."

  "Where's the Captain?" That was Reya.

  Cory said, "He was behind me with Danne's team—"

  "Headcount!"

  "We're missing five."

  Cory hissed and touched her telegem. "Selvein to Raynor! Come in—" She stopped talking, paled so suddenly at the ears that Vasiht'h thought she would faint.

  Raynor's voice on the telegem was admirably calm. "Their shields are up. Cory—you've got the helm. Get the Ambassador home."

  "Captain—!"

  ...and then the ship bucked beneath their feet. A few moments later, the telegem chimed in his ear and murmured, "Switching to local channel. Power reserves: four hours."

  Someone whispered, "Oh, Iley, he did it, he really did it...."

  It was too small a silence to contain the destruction of the courier and the remaining crew on it—too small and too vast. The shock of it was overwhelming.

  Triona shook herself. "Cory, we need to know how many of them are left. Can you hack your way in?" When the Asanii didn't answer, Triona's voice sharpened, "Cory! You're the only one who can do your job. Do we need to move you somewhere else? Some other terminal?"

  "I... I can do it from here. There should be... should be access..." The woman swallowed and said, more firmly, "On it."

  "All right," Triona said as Cory slipped on the finger-sheaths that mimicked a Chatcaavan's claws. "We've got fifteen of us, plus the Ambassador and the therapists. We killed fifteen of them, and the Captain just took out another thirty-five. This is our ride home, ariisen. We can do this. More than that, we have to."

  It was a good speech; though it didn't put the fire in their eyes, it at least loosened their rigid spines. Lisinthir was glad it had worked, and only wished it had worked on him... not because he needed heartening, but because all he could feel was rage and he needed some rein to put on it before it raced off with him. God and Dying Air... they had killed the people under his protection. Not just the helpless, but the men and women who had pledged to fight at his side using a plan he had helped them develop.

  These Chatcaava had killed his people. He was going to kill them all.

  "I've got a number," Cory said abruptly. "And it's twenty-five."

  The words interrupted his rage. "I beg your pardon? Say again?"

  "Twenty-five." Cory glanced at him, ears flattened. "That's fifteen more than we'd planned."

  "It's fifteen more than this ship can carry without compromising something," Lisinthir said sharply. "Are you certain?"

  "Dead certain." Her pupils dilated as she realized what she'd said. She bit her lip, distracting him with the sight of her vulnerability, until for a moment all he saw was the gleam on her lower lip as it creased. "Five on the bridge. The rest are spread out."

  He shook off the fugue. "Spread out where?" Lisinthir strode to her side, looked over her shoulder. She still had her hand with its artificial talons socketed into the interface and had frozen the interface on a wireframe of the ship's layout.

  "I assume the plan's still to take the bridge," Triona added.

  "We'll have to," Cory said. "That's the only place we can't be locked out of the ship's functions. And they know we're here, so we can't stay long."

  He'd seen everything he needed to see. "Go now. I have an errand to run."

  Cory bared her teeth at him. "There was nothing in the plan about you going off alone! You of all people? You're not allowed to die, or all this will be for nothing!"

  "He won't die," a voice said from behind them. "And he won't go alone." The Pelted glanced over his shoulder, but Lisinthir didn't bother. He'd known Jahir would volunteer himself—later he would decide whether he was glad of the company or hated being slowed down. He just needed to be gone.

  "Great, so you want to take a civilian," Triona said. "Are you crazy?"

  "By many standards. I won't be long, and we need what I'm going to get."

  "Which is?"

  "Intelligence," Lisinthir said.

  "In case you've forgotten," Triona said, her voice acid, "You are the intelligence asset here, Ambassador. You're the one we have to keep alive."

  "They won't reveal what they know to any of you."

  "If we take some prisoners—"

  "You can't," Lisinthir said. His anger was so vast he was having trouble talking around it, around the impatience, around the knowledge that as worthy as these people were to fight alongside him, they would never do to a living Chatcaavan what would have to be done to pry the knowledge out of them. "They won't talk to you."

  "And they'll talk to you?" Triona challenged. "I understand the bleeding language, alet. I heard what you called yourself when you were taunting them!"

  Cory had fallen silent and was now staring at him.

  "We're wasting time," Kordreigh said.

  "You speak the language," Lisinthir said to Triona, and to Cory, "And you can take control of the ship. Go, I won't be long."

  She was still staring at him. The dilated pupils, the clammy color of her ears....

  She knew what he intended.

  Cory pulled her claws free, flexed them: the overhead lighting poured down their metal surfaces, feeding his hungers. "Go," the Asanii said to Kordreigh, and as the Hinichi led his team to the hatch and out of it in quick, practiced motions, added to Lisinthir, "You. Don't be long." And then she was jogging with Triona falling in behind. The Seersa shot him a thunderous scowl, but he could read her puzzlement in it. She didn't know what had changed Cory's mind. Which suited him. Sh
e could find out later, or not.

  "Come," he said to his cousins. "They're no less able to read internal schematics as we are. We must be swift."

  "What exactly is it that we're being swift at?" Vasith'h asked, ears flat.

  Lisinthir ignored him, trusting Jahir to make some acceptable answer for him, and silently. He slipped into the corridor, inhaling the alien and familiar smell of the ship, re-acquainting himself with the lighter gravity. There were fifteen extra people on this ship. Why? Why take the risk? Who were they?

  No one was in the corridor, and his glimpse of the diagram indicated that there were a handful of Chatcaava heading for the stern but away from the power chamber, probably for damage control stations. He flexed his fingers under the knives hidden on their backs and went stalking, sensing his cousins falling into place behind him. The ship had been damaged by the close-on destruction of the courier—he could sense it in the lighting, in the stutter he could feel beneath his boots, a cough in the grids that fed the ship's energy needs on every deck. The air circulating had an actinic cling, a taste like storms. He remembered the sight of the Emperor slicing through one, framed by a lancet window, and suppressed his tremor.

  We hunt, Exalted, he whispered. We were born to the hunt.

  Lisinthir led his faithful shadows down a level, through a narrow shunt that Vasiht'h was almost too bulky to squeeze through, and there he found what he wanted. At one of the damage control stations, a Chatcaavan perched on an open drawer shining with ducts. Before the male could do more than whip his head toward them, Lisinthir tore him down and manhandled him to the deck, onto his stomach. The fight was brief and violent, the way he liked them… but not as difficult as it should have been. A runt, he thought, contemptuous, pinning the male's wing back at an angle that was too painful to evoke more struggle.

  "I greet you," he hissed into the male's ear, his free hand pressing the narrow head into the grid flooring with a tight hold on the horn. "And I believe there is something you can tell me. For this information, I will let you keep your wings before I kill you."