Ammonite Stars (Omnibus): Ammonite Galaxy #4-5

by Gillian Andrews

  Grace found herself staring at the weight in the middle of the blanket. It was Cimma, unconscious, and with her hands and feet tied together. As Grace looked upon the prone figure of her mother, lying at the mercy of her own daughter-in-law, for the first time in her life she felt a hard white, unstoppable fury overtake her. Adrenalin coursed into her veins and pure instinct took over.

  Without knowing quite how she got there, or what her intentions were, she found herself behind Amanita, and her catana was at the woman’s throat. Grace herself was breathing quickly now, and her heart was racing.

  “Just where were you planning to go with my mother, Amanita?” she asked softly.

  Amanita had dropped the corners of the blanket as soon as she felt steel at her own throat. Now she turned around slowly, and Grace saw that her face was distorted with hatred.

  “Going to kill me, are you, Grace?” she jeered. “My husband and Atheron not enough for you? I knew you and your traitor friends would crawl back to Valhai at some stage. I have been waiting for you.”

  Grace considered. Some of the rage had left her now; a small voice of reason was attempting to make itself heard above the clamour for revenge inside her head. She looked along the length of her arms. Some distant part of her brain noted a small cut on her sister-in-law’s neck, where the catana had sliced into her flesh. Bright red blood was welling up in the wound, and drops of it were trickling down her neck. Grace’s own hands were trembling as they held the catana pressed against Amanita’s throat. Part of her was insisting that she finish all this, that she get rid of the woman once and for all. Amanita must have read that intention in Grace’s normally composed eyes, for she took an involuntary step backwards, fell over the edges of the blanket and tumbled down on top of Cimma. Instead of righting herself, she drew the back of her hand nervously across her mouth and lay where she was.

  Grace stared down at her, surprised to feel no shadow of compunction. “I suppose you weren’t about to kill Cimma?” she said. “Or have you already injected her with a lethal dose of Trenexadine, like you did with me last year?”

  Amanita laughed, a light, high-pitched laugh that would have curdled the blood of her children, had they heard it. “I would have,” she admitted in a far-away voice, “but Vion had locked the drug storeroom when he went away. Luckily I had … back-up plans.”

  Grace sent Vion heartfelt thanks for his carefulness. Her mother would already be dead if he hadn’t been meticulous about safety. Then she looked back at the inert body of her mother, and another unreasoning haze covered her eyes.

  “Last year I was helpless,” she said. “I had no means of retaliation; I couldn’t even protect myself, let alone anybody else. Today I can. And I will.”

  Amanita raised one hand, as if to ward her off, and cowered back theatrically. “You killed my husband,” she accused. “I am entitled—”

  “Entitled? You are crazy. I wasn’t even in the cage when he and Atheron were killed. They had pushed me out … twenty miles up! Be reasonable, Amanita. How could it possibly be my fault?”

  “I suppose you are going to say it was their own fault?” demanded Amanita.

  Grace blinked. “Of course it was!” She shook her head slightly. Was it her, or was Amanita not making sense?

  “They were defending the true Valhai. You have made them martyrs to the cause. A cause I shall carry on – to my dying day. I will make sure that they are never forgotten!”

  A cold sensation of inevitability ran through Grace, and she stared down at her sister-in-law. For a long moment she wished that she had been a different sort of person, as the anger ate away into her resolution. Then she made up her mind. “I cannot let you harm anybody else. I am sorry.” She lifted the catana with both of her hands. Amanita twisted, and fumbled inside a deep pocket as Grace tilted the blade towards herself, and swung at the widow with all the power of the hilt of the catana, aiming only to knock her out cold.

  The hilt caught Amanita on the jaw. But the slight movement she had made saved her from the full force of the blow. As her jaw snapped back, she extricated a canister of the same spray she had used to put Cimma into an unconscious state, and aimed it firmly into Grace’s face.

  Grace dropped the catana, and put both hands up to her face. Her eyes were misting over, and she began to collapse to the floor, horrified. As she slipped into unconsciousness herself, she saw Amanita through the increasing haze. Her sister-in-law had slipped on a mask pack to avoid breathing in the spray herself, and was grinning with triumph.

  “Perhaps you should have killed me when you could!” she crowed. “It’s too late now!”

  Grace tried to move her arms, her hands, but her muscles had solidified; there seemed to be no connection between her brain and her limbs. Everything was going progressively black. She made a desperate attempt to reach out mentally, to tell someone what was happening. The last thing she saw was a crowing Amanita, then the blackness reached her eyes, which turned inwards, and she lapsed into unconsciousness.

  Amanita touched the bleeding scratch on her throat, and looked down at the two bodies. The only question was … which of them to take? She knew she had to act quickly. She put one hand up to her throbbing chin. She felt giddy, and found herself swaying slightly. That decided her; she was in no condition to use more physical force than she had to.

  LEDIN WAS STILL trying his hand at a travesty of musical squares when a vortex swept through the chamber, stopping without ceremony at Diva’s feet, depositing a worried-looking Tallen, Petra and Bennel at the same time.

  “What is it, Arcan?” demanded Diva. “What’s wrong?”

  “Grace has called the canths.”

  Ledin felt a shiver of fear travel all the way up his back, and then down again. “WHAT?”

  “WHERE IS SHE?” Six and Diva both asked at the same time.

  “I’m looking … Ah! I have her. She is—” he broke off, “—She is … not conscious.” As Arcan spoke a bubble formed in front of the six of them, and turned black as it gathered them up and transported them directly down to the 1st floor of the medical skyrise.

  “Grace!” As they saw the girl lying prone on the floor, they all raced over to her.

  “She is still breathing,” said Six, with great relief. “But look, there is an empty spray canister here, and a trace of blood on her catana. She has been fighting with somebody.”

  “Amanita!” breathed Diva, putting the pieces together.

  Six got up quickly. “Somebody should check Cimma,” he said, but then he saw Tallen appear in the doorway to the hospital section. The Namuri’s face had drained of all colour.

  “Maestra Cimma is not in her bed,” he croaked, going down on one knee, and bowing his head.

  “We await your decision as to our future.” Petra went white, and then imitated her brother, also dropping to the ground on one knee.

  Six looked surprised. “What on Sacras are you talking about? What decision?”

  Petra looked at them gravely. “We undertook a solemn oath,” she told them. “And we haven’t kept our word. We have not protected Magestra Cimma. We await your decision as to the manner of our demise.”

  Six looked irritated. “I am NOT going to talk of anybody’s demise until we have got Cimma back. You’ll just have to wait.”

  Diva eyed him thoughtfully, and Six realized that he hadn’t been very tactful. “That is … err … I mean … It is my own fault. I should have told you to stay down here with Cimma. I accept responsibility.”

  Vion and the man who spoke to canths appeared just then, brought to the scene by Arcan.

  “ARCAN! You have to find Cimma. Amanita has kidnapped her.”

  The orthogel entity turned black again, and then purple, and then black. There was a long moment of silence, and then, “I have her!”

  “WHERE?”

  “I can see Amanita in the airlock to the terrace here, and Cimma is …” his voice faltered, “… outside.” At the same time Arcan disappeared, only
to reappear a few seconds later with the inert body of Cimma cushioned by a bubble. The others stared at each other, horrified. If Cimma had been in the sparse atmosphere bare planet for more than a few seconds, she would be dead. Grace’s mother was cyanosed, and swollen up to almost twice her normal size. She didn’t appear to be breathing. Vion dropped down to the magmite floor next to her and began to give her artificial respiration, interspersed with cardiac massage.

  “Amanita is running towards the back lift,” Arcan told them all.

  “You two!” said Six to Tallen and Petra. They nodded, and were gone immediately.

  “But I can transport Amanita—” Arcan said.

  Six shook his head at Arcan. “Let them pick her up, Arcan. It may make them feel better.”

  Arcan scintillated his understanding. “How is Cimma, Vion?”

  The doctor didn’t stop his reanimation. “She might make it,” he said tersely.

  Ledin was still holding a comatose Grace. “What about Grace?” he demanded.

  He had to wait until Vion finished that series of artificial respiration. “It looks as if she was given a hefty dose of clorohexanone gas,” he gasped, indicating with his chin the empty spray canister on the floor. “If that is so she should come round in about ten to fifteen minutes, none the worse for wear.” The doctor went back to his work on Cimma.

  There was a horrible pause, as they all waited.

  Then they heard a soft gasp, and a ragged intake of air. Vion, sweat showing on his face, sat back. “She is breathing on her own now. She should make it.” He gestured to Bennel. “Can you bring me a stretcher please? I need to get her on oxygen and liquids.”

  Bennel scrambled to help, and they took Cimma off towards the hospital area.

  The others clustered thankfully around Grace, who was showing some signs of coming to.

  “Arcan, can you bring Mandalon 50 over, please?” suggested Six. “He might know what to do with Amanita when they find her.”

  Arcan flashed. “I can, if you think that he might be of use.” Instantly the young Mandalon appeared, and looked around him with a rather bemused expression. Vion walked up to him and gave him the details of what had happened.

  “Arcan, could you bring my guards over, please?” asked the head of Sell. “If we don’t they will put out an emergency call over the whole planet, which will help nobody.”

  Several burly guards arrived immediately, all drawing weapons and taking a defensive stance as they touched the magmite floor. Mandalon signaled to them, and they took positions around the chamber. The young leader also ordered two of them to watch each entrance.

  “We might as well be careful,” he pointed out. “Until she has been safely detained, that is. Now I will contact her children.” He made his way into the voting chamber, and pulled himself easily up into the highest chair. Once there, he pressed his own code into the tridiscreen in front of him, and began to push buttons.

  They could see him talking briefly, and then he cut the connexion. “Both of her children are in their home,” he told the others. “They say they know nothing about this. Amanita went out a couple of hours ago, but they thought she had a non-virtual doctor’s appointment.”

  There was a general murmur of incredulity, and they made their way back into the reception chamber.

  Mandalon looked around. “It is still going to be another case of her word against Cimma’s and Grace’s,” he said. “Unless we can find physical evidence this time.”

  Six indicated the empty canister of gas. “What more do you want?” he said shortly.

  “If that proves to have her fingerprints on it, it would serve,” admitted Mandalon. “Good. Proof will make the job of a Commission of Investigation that much easier.”

  THERE WAS A fierce scuffling from the voting chamber entrance, and the guards there stepped quickly forwards to block the way. There was a quick interchange of muttered threats, as they found themselves challenged by a young female figure with a very aggressive posture.

  Mandalon took a step forward to see what the commotion was. “Who are you?” he asked.

  Petra’s glance swept over him with something very like scorn. “I am Petra, acting bodyguard to Maestra Cimma,” she said. “And you are a meritocrat. I am Namuri. The Namuri do not like meritocrats.”

  Mandalon was not used to being spoken to like that. “You don’t seem to be a very good bodyguard,” he pointed out. “Your employer was kidnapped. And my bodyguards don’t talk.”

  The girl in front of him seemed to grow in stature and a harsh, frozen expression settled on her face. “My brother and I are Namuri. We talk when we want to. And, for your information, I choose my employers. They do not choose me. As to these so-called bodyguards of yours, who meekly stay in their place and don’t talk, they would stand no chance against me and my brother.” She ignored the rumble of disagreement from the two burly Sellites standing immediately behind her, and faced Mandalon defiantly.

  Mandalon grinned. “Maybe, one day, we shall see,” he said. Then he pointed behind Petra and his two guards, to where Tallen was holding an outraged Amanita securely in front of him. “But perhaps we should leave such weighty considerations until we have resolved the current problem.” He motioned to his guards to let Tallen through.

  Tallen manhandled the widow into the reception chamber. “She was trying to get into the back ortholift,” he told them.

  Amanita started to babble as she was pushed unceremoniously into the reception chamber. “I have been attacked!” she lamented. “Mandalon, please help me! I don’t know who these two foreign kidnappers are, but they must want all my money!”

  Tallen and Petra looked disgusted. They pushed Amanita to the centre of the room, and then each took a pace back, although their eyes never left her back, and it was clear that they were both ready to move at an instant’s notice.

  Amanita looked piteously around at her audience. “And I was trying to rescue Cimma,” she wailed. “These two infidels suddenly carried me off, just when I was about to go outside, bare planet! – to pull her to safety. Oh my! Cimma has killed herself! How terrible!” She finally lapsed into a panting silence, but few of them missed the sly glance she shot around the room, trying to assess the impact of her story.

  “I am happy to tell you that Cimma is safe,” said Mandalon.

  For the slightest moment, the mask over Amanita’s feelings slipped, and the instant flash of fury was clear to them all. Just as quickly, she veiled it, and gave a cry of delight. “How wonderful! Oh, I am so glad. She must have been hallucinating of course! I expect she will tell us some ridiculous story about having been dragged off! She will have had an adverse reaction to one of the good doctor’s medicines.”

  Vion looked as if he were likely to be sick to hear himself referred to as the good doctor by Amanita. He opened his mouth, but Mandalon held up one hand.

  “There is much evidence against you this time,” he said stiffly. “And I am ordering a full Commission of Investigation. Guards! Take her to her own skyrise, and keep watch on all the exits until the Commission comes to a decision.”

  As the import of Mandalon’s words crept into Amanita’s brain a change came over her face. It was transformed in one instant from the confused, amenable widow to a twisted facial wreckage of hatred.

  “So be it!” she hissed, turning with lightning speed on Mandalon. She made a leap towards the young leader of Sell, but Petra was before her, and had brought Amanita to the floor in a flurry of movement before Mandalon even had time to take one step backwards.

  Mandalon looked impressed, but held his breath, merely signing calmly to several of his own guards to approach.

  Amanita twisted around on the magmite tiles. “You will all regret this! I have done nothing wrong! You will all be punished for touching me! Yes, you will see. Vengeance will be mine!”

  Mandalon shook his head, and nodded to the guards, who dragged Amanita off, still promising retribution in vitriolic tones. Mandalon stare
d at Petra as she jumped to her feet, and dusted herself down.

  “You can move fast,” he murmured.

  “The Namuri are quicksilver,” she replied in a voice which seemed to challenge everybody, her shoulders straightening with pride.

  They all jumped as the canth keeper’s voice came from behind them. He had been so quiet that they had forgotten he was there.

  “She has children?”

  Mandalon nodded. “Two.”

  “Then she must be removed from them. A person capable of such actions could ruin her children’s colour forever.”

  Mandalon pursed his lips, and thought for several long moments. “I think there is enough indication this time for her to undergo mental evaluation on Cesis,” he decided. “We cannot allow her to continue such actions on Valhai, and putting her under secure treatment on Cesis would enable her children – at least temporarily – to have independent care.”

  A croaky voice interrupted him. “I will take care of them.”

  They spun around. Grace had managed to push herself up onto on elbow and had obviously been listening to the last part of the conversation.

  Grace closed her eyes for a moment to stop the room from wheeling about her dizzily, before managing to go on. “I will not leave Xenon 50 and Genna to independent care. They are part of my family.” She thought for a moment and then admitted, “Even though they probably hate me.”

  Mandalon shook his head. “I am sorry, Grace, but that will not be possible. Even though they are family, you are no longer a Sellite, and so may not legally take responsibility for them. But, rest assured, I shall make sure that they are well cared for.”

  Grace stared at the young boy in front of her. He was actually even younger than her niece and nephew, and it seemed strange to hear him talk about them as if they were children. Of course they weren’t, she realized. The Second Valhai Votation was to take place in a few months, and only this young, new, 50th generation would be voting. She fell back onto the stretcher again, with a weak gesture of acceptance. They would do just fine. Valhai was a different place now.