The Thrones of Kronos

by Sherwood Smith

  Montrose flung his arms wide in a gesture of frustration and sat down heavily on the nearest bed. Then the door sloonched open again and a sudden weight bounded onto Ivard’s bed, shedding glops of food in every direction.

  ‘‘Luce!” Ivard sat up. “What happened to you?”

  He rubbed his fingers behind the big cat’s ears and down into the jaw muscles; Lucifur butted him in the chest, purring thunderously, and began kneading his stomach as Ivard looked up at Larghior. “Where’d you find him? He’s been missing since the Norio ruction.”

  “Rec room.” Lar grinned. “He won a fight against a sex toy belonging to Hreem the Faithless—” Lar went on to tell the story. Ivard laughed with the others at the vivid image of the food flying and Hreem buried in stew, but he sniffed the bitter herb of regret that suffused Lokri when Lar mentioned Marim.

  “Morrighon told me to stay here.” Lar seemed uncomfortable.

  Sedry smiled. “Where is Tat? She’s not in your chamber.”

  “I left her sleeping there before I went to the rec room.” Lar looked at the door, irresolute in the silence, broken only by the tapping of Sedry’s fingers on the keys and the heavy sound of running footsteps outside the chamber as what must have been a squad of Tarkans passed.

  The tension in the room mounted with the silence. Only Luce seemed undisturbed as he began to clean himself.

  Lar looked around, then dropped his gaze. “Excuse me.” He closed himself in the disposer.

  Sedry said, “Lar’s crew now. You’ll have to trust him sometime. He can’t always stay in the disposer when we want to talk.”

  Lokri shook his head, obviously too upset to think about Lar. “Hreem. How could Marim do it? He blew Markham away. Shot up Dis and everyone on Sunflame. I’m afraid this is my fault.”

  “She’s still a part of the crew,” Jaim said slowly. “Until Vi’ya tells us otherwise—or Marim herself bunks out.”

  Everyone nodded, but Ivard could feel the distrust that her name evoked, and he buried his face in Lucifur’s rumbling neck, fighting against a terrific sense of impending loss.

  o0o

  The blaring of the alarm jerked Tat and Dem awake. Dem sat up, his eyes wide with sudden fear. She spoke soothingly, and the manic distension faded from his eyes.

  He got up and pulled his suit from the cleaner. Tat’s head and guts protested as she made her way to the console. Every part of her body ached. Even her hair hurt, and her stomach clenched into a knot of painful nausea.

  The console was locked down. A momentary exploration convinced her it would take more time than she had to penetrate. This has to be the lances. Where was Lar? She looked at Dem, who methodically pulled on his shoes. If he didn’t know, she risked frightening him all over again.

  She massaged her taut scalp with her fingertips, heading for the shower. But before she reached the fresher, the outer door belched open and Morrighon entered, moving with more haste than she had ever seen before. Her arms crossed before her in an automatic defensive position, but then she forced herself to straighten, reminding herself that nudity meant nothing to him.

  “We are being attacked. Lances are on the way,” he said. “You are to report to the array lab immediately. The tempath is on her way to activate the station.”

  “Attack?” Dem said, his voice high with fear. “Attack!”

  “It’s all right.” Tat moved quickly, putting her arms around him. “I’m with you, Lar will be with you. ’S all right.” She looked at Morrighon over Dem’s shoulder, and saw his impatience. “Where’s Lar?” she asked, forcing herself to sound casual.

  “I sent him to the Rifter chambers and told him to stay.” He frowned as she opened her mouth. “I don’t have time to satisfy your curiosity, Tatriman Alac-lu-Ombric.” He tossed a necklace onto the bed: a pass tag. “This will get you to the array lab.”

  He paused, looking at Dem, who clung tightly to Tat, even though the alarm had finally stopped its clamor. Then he pulled another pass tag out of his pocket and threw it down next to the first. “And your cousin.” Then he rushed out.

  Tat looked after him in astonishment. Probably just didn’t want to argue with me. Then she felt ashamed at the thought.

  But she didn’t let it slow her down. She thrashed swiftly into her clothes, put the pass tags around each of their necks, and pulled Dem out into the corridor.

  The journey to the array lab worsened her aches and nausea. The Ogre near the intersection of their dorm corridor was active, the sensory bulbs in its insane double face glowing like red eyes. Dem took one look and tried to climb into her arms, whimpering like a small animal. Holding him tightly, Tat made Dem walk with her past the Ogre. It did not move. The effort made her head pound with jagged pain.

  Then a squad of Tarkans thundered past, filling the corridor, a juggernaut of powered armor, each of the soldiers in the bulky suits almost as big as an Ogre. They were heedless of the two Bori except as an obstacle to be trampled if they didn’t move fast enough. She barely managed to hold onto Dem, who panicked, a wet stain spreading across his crotch. As soon as the Tarkans were gone Dem looked down and began to weep.

  “It’s all right, Dem,” Tat said. “No problem. We can put your clothes through the cleaner soon’s we get back, to our room. Let’s look for Lar, shall we? Hmm?”

  “I peed,” Dem whimpered. “Lar won’t like it. I peed.”

  Murmuring endearments and calming words, Tat moved him inexorably down the long, empty corridors. What would she do with him in the array lab? But I can’t send him back to the room—not if this place is about to become a battle zone.

  They passed locked-down doors, and behind them, faint through the Urian quantum-plast, came the sounds of terror: sobs and cries, shouts of anger, the hum and whisper of panicky arguments and recriminations. She shuddered and pulled Dem along, wishing she had more arms so she could cover his ears, and hers.

  At last they reached the array lab, and again the Ogres outside were activated—but again, they did not respond to either Tat or Dem. Still, it was a relief to slip past them inside. The lab was bedlam, filled with technicians, all the shifts, more than were necessary. As she watched, another knot of them spilled through the door, shoved unceremoniously in by the Tarkans who had escorted them. She wasn’t surprised: it was what she would have expected of Lysanter, to let them all come to where they could distract themselves with work, however useless.

  The two Catennach goons prowled about, pass tags swinging on their chains, their movements nervous though they seemed to be trying hard to look and sound authoritative, an effort helped considerably by the jacs holstered at their waists. That, more than anything, told her how serious things were. She’d never seen Catennach carry weapons before.

  Lysanter’s pale face lifted, and he beckoned. “Tat! I need you on the coordinating console now. The tempath is due to make her attempt at any moment, and I have to get to the chamber.” He glanced at Dem with a puzzled frown, then ignored him.

  “Lennoragh’d be a better choice,” she replied. “The Norio-remnant is still active, and if Vi’ya brings the station up, it will grow in power with it, perhaps enough to break the cordon we threw round it.” She took a deep breath, trusting Lysanter’s monomania to save her. “Need to link with Sedry Thetris’s console. Took both of us to restrain Norio last time.”

  Lysanter’s eyebrows lifted, but he didn’t hesitate. “You’re right. We can’t afford any interference. Do what you need to do.” He pointed with his thumb at Dem, who was tugging at Tat’s arm. “But what about him?”

  “He stays,” she said desperately. “Give him a job, easy one, and he’ll be fine. But he stays, or I can’t work.”

  “I’ll have someone get him a broom, then,” Lysanter replied. “I don’t want you thinking about anything but your job.”

  Moments later a young man from the tech crew appeared with a floor cleaner and handed it to Dem, leading him away. Dem looked up at Tat. She forced herself to smile and nod, and
he began to sweep.

  Tat flung herself into her pod as Lysanter hurried out of the array lab. When she lit up her console, the first thing she saw was Sedry’s interrogative. Sedry quickly reassured her about Lar. The relief diminished Tat’s headache to a jangling murmur behind her eyes as they linked up.

  She groped beneath her console as Sedry’s worm insinuated itself into the arrays, exploiting the trapdoors she’d installed. There was no sign of the Mandalic entity. Sedry would need its help against Norio, for her efforts would be focused on getting the codes for the Ogres.

  Her fingers closed on the last ampule of brainsuck. It probably wouldn’t kill her. If it does, I’ll never know—and anyway once the Marines arrive, who knows what will happen?

  All she could do was fight to make it that far.

  As she was turning it over in her hand, Morrighon hurried away from the array lab, his mind racing ahead.

  Where was Anaris? He had been with his father. His guts clenched: that meant was probably now in the Chamber of Kronos—with the Avatar. And Barrodagh.

  Supposedly the Ogres had been programmed to ignore Morrighon and Anaris along with Barrodagh and of course the Avatar, who controlled the command code.

  The Avatar can also change his mind, Morrighon thought. If something untoward happened in the Throne Room, Anaris had his own means of escape, but Morrighon did not. And if Anaris does escape, he will want his line of retreat secured.

  Morrighon nodded, relief flooding him at his clear duty. The Tarkans would probably not permit him alone on board the corvette—if he could even get to the landing bay—but there was the Telvarna.

  He hurried to his quarters, his pace quickening whenever he passed one of the now-activated Ogres with their red-lit sensory clusters. He entered, going directly to his safe and tabbing in his ID. He removed the little cylinder within and weighed it in one hand. The subtle gas it contained was a legacy of the suspicion of the tripedal aliens that had nearly led to genocidal war during Third Contact centuries before. Not easily synthesized even by the powerful cims on the Suneater, it would have been one of humanity’s main weapons.

  Morrighon slipped the cylinder into a pocket, retrieved the jac he’d also kept hidden, then looked around. He would probably never return to this room—but there was nothing else he needed.

  He hurried out without a vestige of regret, pausing only to tap a locate into his compad, which led him to a transport abandoned in a nearby corridor nexus, its motors still humming. He climbed in and sped toward the landing bay.

  o0o

  Riolo was working at his compad, fine-tuning the code he’d devised for the Ogres, when the link failed. The harsh hooting of an alarm dinned through the puckered door of his chamber. Curious, he tabbed the console—it, too, was dead.

  He shrugged. No matter. It was obvious what the alarm portended, even if he didn’t already know, from his furtive excavations in the station’s arrays, what the Dol’jharians were expecting. The Panarchists were making their move. He envisioned the lances plunging toward the Suneater. He’d seen vids of the havoc they’d wreaked in Avasta Station, the subterranean redoubt on one of Barca’s moons.

  The Marines had dealt successfully with the Ogres there, but that had been a hit-and-run raid. He had more Ogres than Avasta had possessed, and there were the Tarkans as well.

  Riolo stood up and looked thoughtfully at the door. He could do nothing in here, but outside he would be helpless against the Dol’jharian prejudice against Barcans, all the stronger for their odd notions of sexuality and its proper place in life.

  He grimaced. There was only one person on the station who would help him, and that was Hreem. He tabbed the compad, checking the monitor he’d placed on Hreem’s quarters. When the link had broken, Hreem had not been there. There was only one other place he could be.

  He hefted the compad. How odd, and how typical of life outside the Under, that I must place my faith in one who calls himself Faithless.

  Faith was all well and good, but code was better.

  Decisively Riolo tabbed the compad, breaking the override on the door, and slipped out into the corridor.

  o0o

  To Sedry’s delight, a few minutes after she had activated her console, it lit up with a message from Tat and a wide channel to the station’s arrays. Quickly reassuring Tat about her cousin, and passing similar reassurances to Lar, she released her worm. Tat outlined what she needed to do: Sedry did not look forward to facing Norio alone. And where was the Phoenix?

  She opened the drawer next to the console and pulled out her last dose of brainsuck. She sensed Montrose’s disapproval. But she had no choice. Still, she would put it off as long as possible.

  The others watched in total silence. Presently she felt a warmth and a subtle tension. Ivard lay back on his bed. Lucifur had his front paws around Ivard’s neck and was licking his ear; the big cat lifted its head, ears perked, and uttered a querulous mrrrow?

  o0o

  The feeling of muzziness stayed with Vi’ya as Barrodagh hurried her to a transport, intensifying as they approached the Chamber of Kronos. The mind-blurs along their path, even set low as they were, distorted the feeling, as did the constant bite of Barrodagh’s fear and anger. She fought to clear her head; she would need every bit of alertness she could muster to survive full contact with whatever awaited her at the heart of the Suneater, for only that would suffice to activate the station.

  And then what? The Rifter weapons would rapidly become irresistible as the station powered up. The Fleet risked a terrible beating until the Marines could wrest control and shut down the Rifter ships. Her only course of action now was to delay the start-up as long as possible, perhaps even until the Marines arrived, so that the interval between power-up and shutdown was as short as possible. For she was sure one of those at risk in those naval ships was Brandon. He would not have stayed on Ares.

  They left the transport at the usual place. As they walked down the last corridor toward the Chamber, Vi’ya felt the presence of the Heart of Kronos stronger than it had ever been. She wondered if the Unity’s last probe, and the struggle with Norio, had brought it to some new level of activity.

  The flash of fear and hatred from the nearest Tarkan guard was like a hot needle through the eyeballs.

  Eusabian waited inside, flanked by two Ogres. His dirazh’u writhed in his hands. But she barely spared him a glance, for Anaris was there as well.

  Never before had her tempathic sensitivity been so profound. His emotions were as clear as speech: anticipation, wariness, triumph. He did not want his father there, yet he looked forward to wresting control of the Suneater from him. The only problem he foresaw was the timing.

  Eusabian’s hands did not pause in their curse-weaving as he looked across at Barrodagh. “Begin.”

  He would not demean himself by addressing Vi’ya directly—an observation which she found amusing, and oddly steadying. Where she expected danger was not from him, but from his son, from whom she had to guard even her thoughts.

  “Go on,” Barrodagh said testily, motioning Vi’ya forward. He did not dare to come near her, she noticed. From beyond him, near the bank of instruments, Lysanter nodded at Vi’ya, his thought encouraging.

  The Eya’a were already standing at the base of the upwelling of the station’s substance that now resembled a throne in every respect. Its substance seemed to pulse with hidden power, as though moiré patterns below the threshold of perceptions were chasing through it.

  Anaris watched Vi’ya follow the Eya’a, stepping directly onto the Throne. Cautiously he probed at the weird mental barrier, which was more a door than a wall—a door that could be opened, but not by him.

  He sensed her awareness of him, then it turned away. She stood still for several minutes. Anaris felt an internal flutter, exerted his will, and the soles of his boots pressed up against his feet and regained their contact with the floor. He could control his TK, so far.

  Eusabian made a slight movement.
Lysanter said hastily, “Increased activity detected by stasis arrays, centered here.”

  The Avatar returned his gaze to the Throne as Vi’ya stepped up to it. Anaris could sense the care with which she moved, an appearance heightened by the darting gestures of the Eya’a, who appeared unconscious of the danger of the well before the Throne.

  In the crew’s chamber, warmth spread down into Sedry’s hands and along her spine, filling her with energy. She knew it was time. She twisted the brainsuck ampule, inhaled sharply, and fell into dataspace.

  For Vi’ya, the Chamber of Kronos vanished as a surge of antonymic force overwhelmed her, a synesthesia of opposites: sun-core heat and the deathly cold of interstellar space, the fierce x-rays of gravity-kindled fusion and the muttering embers of a dying sun, fervent birth, heat death, hope, despair. Succor, contact. Trapped, alone.

  Whipsawed by oscillating emotions more intense than any she’d ever experienced, she reached out for the Unity, panicked briefly at her solitude. Then, with a sensation she imagined similar to that of a paralytic regaining contact with her body after spinal regeneration, the various minds of the Unity flowered around her like newborn suns, and the Chamber of Kronos snapped back into being around her.

  It was no longer possible to reach the Heart of Kronos: the back of the Throne was now too high. Vi’ya stepped carefully around it and faced the Heart, aware of the gulf yawning behind her. She was not afraid of falling—few Rifters were—but very aware of her fragile hold on the physical reality around her. Patterns in the Throne, suggestions of light beneath the surface, almost like carvings . . .

  I’m not ready for this! Wordless reassurance flowed from the Unity, from the Kelly’s tender laving of infinite understanding to the astringently bracing anticipation of winning that belonged to Anaris. It was the awareness of Anaris’s presence, and the effort it took to keep him walled from herself and the others while still drawing on his strength, that kept her focus fragmented now.