Jack shifted. Without his helmet on, the armor was hot, unable to air-condition itself efficiently. The audience hall seemed close. Sweat trickled down his back with a maddening slowness.
“Your munificence,” Dhurl said, and his synthesizer implant seemed a little louder than necessary, “I have begged for an audience with you concerning a most unfortunate grievance, one which I am told you claim awareness of, and yet have not sought redress with my League over. I refer, of course, to the unhappy incident at the mining community of Lasertown.”
The corner of the emperor’s mouth twitched. Amber inclined her head toward Jack’s shoulder.
“He can’t say much, not with Randolph’s cameras still recording.”
Pepys looked at Dhurl. “I beg your indulgence, Ambassador. I have petitioned your offices for conference twice since the facts have come to light. You have, unhappily, been unavailable.”
The mask shifted ever so slightly. A mandible worked. It was eerie seeing the silent voicings followed up by the synthesizer. Dhurl had had surgery to be able to make the throatings of a human, but unfortunately he did not have the larynx strength to vocalize loudly enough to be heard. “Then it is favorable that we both are now available.”
“Indeed. A treaty of twenty years is too valuable to be given up lightly.”
Dhurl waved an arm. “Our treaty is as sound as ever. I only wish to be given the opportunity to express our unhappiness over the unfounded destruction of one of our ships—an accident, I’m sure—a ship that was sent to your colony upon receipt of distress signals. Our commander logged in messages indicating that the dome was giving way and, after receiving permission from his superior officer, attempted to conduct a rescue mission.”
Amber shifted unhappily. She looked at Jack. “That’s not what happened,” she mouthed.
He smiled briefly back at her. The ambassador’s version was entertaining, if not factual.
Pepys said, “It is reassuring that our allies are as concerned over the fate of our colonies as we are, however far-flung they may be. Unfortunately, I cannot confirm the distress signals, as the communication center was destroyed by the revolt of the contract laborers. You have my apologies, Ambassador Dhurl, and my sincere condolences to the crèches of your dead, for my agent’s actions. Your ship, however, was thought to have been overrun by revolutionists and it was assumed that it was being brought in for a bombing run that would most assuredly have destroyed the already weakened dome of Lasertown. Out of anarchy comes chaos, damaging to all life. Strong alliances such as ours must be nurtured to avoid future incident.”
Dhurl paused. His mask slipped a little. “And the accountability of your agent?”
“He did as well as he could, under the circumstances.”
“He destroyed a ship and all its crew.”
Pepys’ expression grew hard. “Then next time, my dear Ambassador, I suggest you send a transport ship to the rescue, instead of a fully weaponed warship. Your intentions will be less questionable.”
The Thraks drew himself up to his full height. He replaced his mask and said, “And then, next time, as you request, Emperor—our intentions will not be questionable at all.”
“Good.” Pepys made the effort to smile. “Have you any other petitions we can discuss while we have the meeting time?”
“There is the question of Bythia, your majesty. My superiors request that you consider the possibility of ceding it to our League. We have received a plea for that action.”
Jack saw the violent blush start from the emperor’s neckline and work its way up. Pepys stood.
“We will discuss that privately, Ambassador, in the future.”
The Thraks made a sketchy bow. “Assuredly.” He left, without having been further dismissed or released.
Jack watched as the crowd in the audience hall parted for the ambassador and his guards, thinking that if the Thraks were interested in Bythia, so was he.
“What is it? What happened?”
“I’m not sure,” Jack answered slowly. “But I think the Thraks just announced their next move.” He did not like what he had just heard. Was the Thrakian League, after a twenty year halt, once again ready to cut a swathe across the solar systems, turning verdant planets into sandy nests for their young? The thought balled in his chest, making it difficult to breathe smoothly. Had he just heard the beginning of another Sand Wars?
Pepys gathered himself with an effort and beckoned Jack near. He hesitated, then took Amber’s hand off his arm and answered the summons.
The emperor was still somewhat distracted, but he said, “I’ve done all I can for you, Jack.”
“Your highness… what about Claron?”
“Claron?” The emperor frowned.
“You have a committee studying the feasibility of terraforming it. This is not a security risk, but an ecological matter.”
“And one which merits my careful consideration. This is not a day for hasty decisions.”
Jack’s heart sank. He was not to win this day, no matter what he did. “Thank you, your majesty.”
“You have your leave, and then I want you back in my service. The Thraks have just promised us more trouble than we want to handle, and I can’t spare a man. Is that clear?”
“Very clear, sir,” Jack answered, thinking that, of all the people in this palace room, only he knew full well the implication of what the Thrakian ambassador had said. Only he was a veteran of the Sand Wars.
Chapter Five
What makes you think it was Bogie?”
“What makes you think it wasn’t?”
Amber wrinkled her nose. “I heard what Purple told you. The official investigation says the weaponry computer went down—a fraction of a second—probably due to a power surge, because all the media cams were being jury-rigged for the ceremonies, and it just happened to be your suit going through decommission when it happened. So the computer and the techs missed the gauntlet.”
“Right.” He felt her body stiffen a little, and the walk became a little less companionable. “Listen, Amber. You know I can’t hear Bogie anymore. He won’t respond.”
“Maybe he’s dead.”
“You said not. Changed your mind?”
She shook her head, tawny hair rippling with the movement.
“I don’t think so either. But maybe he’s going through another stage. And if he is, and if it means a power struggle between us over who controls the suit, I can’t let it continue. I’ve ordered new armor and I’m leaving Bogie behind.”
“Why don’t you just rip the chamois out and be done with it.” “What?” You heard me. That Milot officer the Thraks had at Lasertown—what’s his name—K’rok—he told you the berserkers either laid eggs or regenerated. You told me yourself it could be the chamois you put in on Milos. Just rip it out and burn it up, if you’re that scared.”
His face felt hot. “I’m scared all right. I’m scared of Thraks, and if there’s anything out there big enough and mean enough to put Thraks on the run, I’m scared of it, too. But there’s no reason to think the beast I saw at Lasertown is the same.”
“Bogie thought so. And it would explain why his regeneration cycle is different. Otherwise you’d have been chewed up and spat out long ago.”
“Then I’d be a fool to destroy him. He might be the only clue we have to an enemy even the Thraks are afraid of.”
She jabbed at him. “You won’t do it, anyway. You’re even more scared you’ll find out you’ve been talking to yourself.”
She’d hit home, and from the sudden expression on her face, she knew it. Amber cleared her throat and tried to change the subject. “How long are you going to be gone?”
“As long as it takes.” Jack looked down at Amber. Her face was tilted downward in thought, watching the pathway to her apartment a little too closely, and he wondered if she’d been in his guardianship long enough to lose the brittle street façade she’d worn for so long. “I’ll be back soon; the emperor made that clear.”
She slapped her palm onto the door lock. “I don’t think you should go at all—without me, anyway. You need me to tap your sources.”
“I’ll be able to access what I want to.” He followed her inside and watched her dampen the World Police monitors effortlessly. “I had a good teacher, remember?”
“The best,” Amber returned defiantly. She stood and looked at him, her whole body on edge, weight shifted, chin out, hand on one hip.
She’d filled out in the last two years, filled out very nicely. He let the sight of her fill him, flowing into every nook and cranny of his memory. Tawny hair, amber eyes, skin with the natural blush of youth… long legs and a firm bustline that begged—
Jack pushed his thoughts to the back of his mind. Not yet. And especially not tonight. Maybe when he got back… but he wouldn’t approach her now. Not to have her and leave her. Amber meant more to him than that.
“Seen enough?” she said testily, and he felt himself blush under his Malthen tan. She pinked in return and looked away. “I didn’t mean that.”
“I know what you meant.”
She didn’t answer right away. That bothered Jack more than her abrasive sarcasm. He said, “The Purple will be watching out for you. Rolf can’t get close enough to hurt you.”
She still didn’t answer, but looked away, and to Jack’s astonishment, tears brimmed in her golden brown eyes.
“He can’t touch you, Amber.”
“Maybe,” she said finally. She balled her hand into a fist and scrubbed ferociously at telltale tears. “You have your dreams. I have mine.”
She faced him then. “I didn’t want to have to say this to you, but I’m going to. I’m the only one. Maybe Bogie’s not gone, Jack. Maybe you’ve just shut him out because you don’t want to hear him anymore. Maybe you’ve lost that part of your mind… and if you have, it’s not Bogie that’s eating you up. It’s you. You’re doing it to yourself, with your nightmares and your hates and your fears. Go look for yourself while you’re looking for the rest of your past.”
Stung, he said, “Amber, I—”
She shook her head. “Go on, get out of here. You’ve got an early transport. Just remember, if you disappear again, I’m coming after you!”
Jack forced a grin. “I’m counting on that.”
She turned her back quickly, denying him a parting hug, and so he left quietly, locking the door behind him. He returned to his quarters in the barracks and entered without even turning on the lights.
His duffel was packed, and Bogie was stored on his equipment rack. He ran his hand down an opalescent sleeve. Maybe Amber’d been right. Maybe he’d gone deaf to Bogie instead of losing him. Or… maybe he’d gone schizo. Maybe it had been himself he’d been talking to all these months. In which case… Jack shook himself violently.
He went to the bathroom, found a vial of mordil and sucked down a dose. It was bittersweet, the taste lingering on his tongue, promising a night without dreams.
He set his alarm for before dawn, to be in time to catch his transport and lay down to get what little rest he could. He drifted quickly into mordil-locked slumber, but nothing could prevent the dreams.
For Jack, to remember the Sand Wars was to be locked in cold sleep dreams, in a military debriefing loop that only death or awakening could free him from.
It was pleasant at first, seducing him with the idealism that led him from his agrarian planet of Dorman’s Stand to enlistment. He didn’t mind that… he had few memories left of home, most of them destroyed by the debriefing loop that had waded through his mind, kicking aside the unimportant, looking only for those memories of the engagement on Milos. The loop would normally have been unimportant, intended only to be impressed for a few weeks at a time… not for seventeen years. It was not the debriefing program’s fault he’d permanently lost most of his childhood and some of his sanity.
He blamed the Thraks for that.
He’d survived boot camp nicely and come out of it as a lieutenant, with his own squad of Dominion Knights under his command, although the sergeant was a grizzled veteran and ran the unit better than he did. But he’d taken to battle armor as though it were a second skin and he’d won his promotion fairly. He prided himself on being a good lieutenant second, a good Knight first. Jack would never forget his first view of Milos.
It hung in the heavens, another water planet, teeming with potential. As the shuttle’s decaying orbit eased them in closer and closer and they swept across the continents, Jack could feel his chest swell with excitement and hope. Even barren rock peninsulas didn’t discourage him—he was a farmer. With irrigation and evaporative farming, he knew how to coax the green out of a planet. Only sand defeated him. He could not miss the beige and rust continent, like a blight on a crop, and he pointed it out to Sarge.
“That’s where we stop the bugs. They won’t get any farther here than that.”
Sarge spat to one side, catching it in a disposable cup. He rolled a weary eye at the Thrakian damage. “Don’t get your hopes up, kid. They say the Milots are worse than the Thraks.”
“They invited us here!”
“Yeah, didn’t they, though,” the veteran said and squinted out the shuttle window, saying nothing more. He only opened his mouth to spit and Jack sat back, forgetting to warn the sergeant that chewing stim wasn’t allowed in transport.
But the sarge didn’t spit. He pointed at Jack and mumbled something, something about eyes and began to claw at his.
As Jack screamed in horror, the veteran plucked out his eyes and held them out for Jack to see.
The transport rocked. A klaxon went out. The systems computer came on-line, announcing, “Emergency landing. Emergency landing.”
Jack scrambled for his suit, thinking that this wasn’t real; it couldn’t be real, nothing like this had ever happened to him before. The shuttle bucked around him and with every shudder, a man fell off, sucked out windows that shattered one by one with a crystal belling that nearly deafened all of them.
The sight of his battle armor beckoned from a rack at the far end of the shuttle. Jack clawed his way there.
He reached for it. The gauntlets went up, independently, grappling with him. The helmet hung on a hook next to it, window glaring balefully at him.
“Bogie! It’s me! Let me in!” Jack shouted over the shattering of windows and the hooting of the klaxon.
The white armor fought him clumsily. Then, through the open portal of the neck, a fringed frill emerged. Jack’s breath clogged in his throat. He staggered back, as a saurian head pushed its way forth, expanding, rearing, and the suit stretched with it. A Milot berserker!
The lizard warrior slavered and reached for him.
The gauntlets pinched shut round his elbow, crushing bone and viscera, dragging him close. Close to fetid breath. Close to warty scales and a black, oily tongue that hung out its gaping jaw. Too close—
Jack bolted from the nightmare of sleep. He fought awake enough to wipe a thin veil of sweat from his forehead and lay with his eyes open, staring at the barren gray ceiling of his room. He hadn’t forgotten that, he thought. He’d never forgotten the horror of a full-grown berserker bursting out of armor after it had consumed its wearer. No one who’d ever seen it could.
But even that horror was not sufficient reason to abandon platoons of men to the tender mercies of the Thraks.
Jack chewed on his memories of betrayal.
But he had forgotten how green most of Milos had been when they’d first landed. Not the cultivated, patchwork greens and crop colors of his home planet, but raw green, a primitive planet inhabited by nomadic barbarians. Different from Claron where he’d done his rehabilitation, but in some ways the same.
Jack took a deep breath. Sleep and grit had piled in the corner of one eye and he dug it out. Sarge had been right. The Milots had been almost worse than the Thraks… thieving, dishonest, stinking… they’d stolen the Dominion troops blind and in the relay centers, set up to maintain armor, among
other things, they often bled off fuel and power as well.
Not that Jack thought they’d deserved the fate they fell to on Milos. No one deserved to lose his planet to the sand, to the living microbes the Thraks infested it with, to protect and nurture their nests, bacteria that turned all the green to beige and rust
… paradise to hell. Few enough Milots lived to be conquered.
It was not the first, nor the last, planet to fall to the Thraks. Unstoppable, the League swept through the outer edges of the Dominion in a crescent path, then, as suddenly as they’d begun, they stopped. Went to Treaty with the Dominion.
What was it that had driven them in the first place? A nesting swarm? An uncontrollable urge to terraform and reproduce? Jack hardly thought so, and he’d been thinking about it for years. The Dominion had rubbed up against Thraks as early as a hundred years ago. Peace had always been uneasy, but there had never been a swarming cycle like this before.
K’rok reared in his mind. Ursine, greasy, smelly, and proud. Both he and the Milot warrior, as well as the Thraks, had had a terrible interest in an archaeological site outside of Lasertown. Jack had only had a brief glimpse of it before it had been sabotaged and destroyed—but it had looked like a crash site, complete with a mummified body imbedded in the rock strata. No more had he made out… he’d been busy at the time. K’rok had hinted at an ancient enemy of the Thraks—an enemy so dire that the Thraks could not withstand it and had been driven into Dominion territory. Might someday soon be driven again.
A cold chill went through Jack’s sleepless frame. What kind of enemy could so frighten the indomitable Thraks, Thraks who had run over Dominion Knights and berserkers alike? He could not imagine one, and he was equally sure he’d never want to meet it.
Celestial Hit List Page 4