Adolphus backed away from the shadow-Xayans, tripped and fell as the shock wave throbbed in the air. His ears rang, and he could barely see. He staggered back to his feet, wiped his eyes, and tried to focus.
Tryn and the converts writhed, emitting a terrible combined sound that made the air pulse on the edge of the harbor. Trying to focus his vision, Adolphus saw the crowded shadow-Xayans collapse like harvested stalks of wheat, dropping one by one. The Original alien threw her rubbery arms around Tel Clovis, who stood nearest to her. She began to ooze, losing her bodily shape, softening, slumping. She collapsed with Clovis to the ground.
Adolphus ran toward them, but didn’t understand how to help. Tanja dropped beside one of the fallen shadow-Xayans. “General, they’re … leaking!”
The converts’ skin was gray and slimy; thick, mercurial water drained from their pores, mouths, eyes, and ears. Tryn continued to moan, unable to hold herself up, and Clovis grappled with her—or embraced her—but both were in severe distress.
Around them, other converts were dying, struck down by an invisible blow and strewn in awkward, impossible positions, as if their bones had become gelatin, their bodies horribly twisted, their faces distorted. A few survivors made mewing sounds of pain; somehow, they remained connected through telemancy, focusing their thoughts and appearing to send strength back to Tryn. Saving her.
Leaning over Clovis, the Original spoke comforting words to him, even though she herself had been severely injured. Her once-smooth face was half melted away, and one of her oversize eyes was gone, having merged into the alien skin.
Tryn was using all her concentration, which seemed to be keeping her and Tel Clovis alive, even as the other converts died around them. Weak sounds thrummed through her facial membrane, forming words. “We broadcasted more telemancy than we expected. Synergy … ricochet. Not ala’ru, just … death.”
Clovis calmed as he drew strength from Tryn, like clinging to a lifeline, and the Original kept herself intact as the other shadow-Xayans shared their scraps of remaining energy, offering what remained of their telemancy for her. Tryn held Clovis to her bosom as if he were a child, and continued to comfort him. She managed one more burst of comprehensible words: “We did not consider the ramifications. We may have attracted … unwanted attention.”
“Unwanted attention?” Adolphus demanded. “What do you mean?”
Around them, several dead shadow-Xayans collapsed into soft, oozing puddles. Tryn used all her concentration to preserve her integrity, keeping herself and Clovis alive.
As General Adolphus and Tanja Hu stared in shock and loss, the dying shadow-Xayans continued to twitch, then finally fell silent. Their bodies lay scattered on the ground, covered with a thick pearlescent film, dissolving.
68
The destruction at the Sonjeera stringline hub was unimaginable. Lord Riomini’s six battle groups had been knocked off the iperion path, many of the vessels dislodged from their docking clamps. Thousands had been killed in the turmoil.
Explosions continued to ripple through the hub station, while power surges shut down life-support systems. Sudden decompression had caused automatic isolation of whole sectors of the complex. Stringline traffic throughout the Crown Jewel worlds was shut down, with ships en route unable to reach Sonjeera. Commerce reeled. Heavily traveled routes were blocked.
Fortunately, Riomini’s six battle groups had not yet left the system, so the ships were able to limp home under their own engine power, while the large and empty hauler frameworks plodded back at much slower speeds.
It was total chaos.
Lord Riomini took the better part of a day to return to Sonjeera, where he presented himself, disheveled and agitated, to the Council Hall as ordered. His uniform was rumpled and torn, even the black trousers were ripped on one side. Usually vain about the way he dressed, Lord Selik Riomini didn’t seem to notice it now. He appeared to be stunned, no longer looked like a hero reveling in his accomplishments, the heir apparent to the Star Throne.
Diadem Michella was looking for someone to blame. She demanded explanations, but he had none to give.
Riomini could not hide his anger and confusion when he mounted the speaking platform and faced the bombardment of questions from the nobles. “We are still assessing the damage,” he said, his tone sharp. “As soon as we know what sort of appalling weapon General Adolphus used against us—and make no mistake, this had to be an overt attack from the Deep Zone!—we will do our best to counter it.”
“It was an alien weapon!” Michella said, her voice shrill. “That was no technology we’ve ever seen. The General is preparing his alien allies for an invasion. I’m sure of it.”
Riomini continued in a forcibly calm voice, dodging what sounded like paranoia in the Diadem’s voice, “In the meantime, repairs and reconstruction efforts are being staged. I have placed every qualified orbital work crew on notice. All Crown Jewel resources will be devoted to reestablishing our defenses.” He squared his shoulders and tried to project an air of confidence. “I have everything under control.”
“What if the General attacks us in the meantime?” called old Ilvar Crais. “He says he’s already captured our main fleet!”
The youthful but regal Enva Tazaar shouted out, “I think Lord Riomini has mucked things up enough already.” Tazaar had a classically beautiful face with large blue eyes and a patrician bone structure; her long blond hair was perfectly coiffed. Her face showed well-pronounced indignation. “General Adolphus took no action against us until Lord Riomini’s barbaric attack on Theser. Riomini forced this retaliation.” She sniffed. “If I, and other noble members of the Council, had been consulted in the matter, we would have disagreed with such a foolish and unnecessary provocation!” The Black Lord tried to interrupt her, but Tazaar continued with rising vehemence. “Lord Riomini, you are a ham-handed, inept military leader. Your ‘glorious triumph’ destroyed a defenseless Deezee world and ruined significant industrial and technological capabilities that could have benefited the Constellation after the current difficulties are resolved.”
Rolling his eyes, Riomini looked to the Star Throne, but Diadem Michella did not seem inclined to come to his defense. Then other nobles began shouting, pouring out their ire upon him. Riomini struggled to gain the upper hand, but Tanik Hirdan drew the attention of the audience. “You sent a hundred of our finest warships to planet Hallholme. That was supposed to be an easy victory, too, and instead those ships are lost. Another bungled decision, obviously.”
Enva Tazaar was not yet finished, but this time she turned her sharp gaze to the Star Throne itself. “And you, Eminence—you executed the official Deep Zone ambassador in a fit of pique. Another bad decision! How will the General respond when he learns about that?”
Michella rose to her feet, looking like a furious harpy. “I will not listen to this—”
Lady Tazaar pointed at the Star Throne, but directed her words to the increasingly restless audience. She said in a poisonously sweet tone, “Michella Duchenet has served the Constellation for many decades, but now perhaps she should go into a quiet retirement and relinquish the throne to someone more capable of leading in these trying times. We cannot afford to let her or Lord Riomini commit another blunder.” Her voice grew even harder. “Because of them, our once-glorious Constellation teeters on the edge of annihilation. I call for a vote of no confidence.”
The Black Lord heard a mounting swell of agreement among the nobles. A vote of no confidence? Riomini could not imagine what had gotten into Enva Tazaar. Something must have emboldened her.
Diadem Michella snapped, “Lady Tazaar, we are in the middle of a war, and I will not allow you to take advantage of the turmoil to advance your own political agenda. No one here will tolerate your petty games—we have work to do. This meeting is adjourned!”
The old woman stormed off before the complaints could grow any louder. Riomini stood reeling, until he departed, too, not certain what would happen to him next.
&nb
sp; 69
Their progress along the decayed iperion path to Buktu was painstaking and slow, but Commodore Hallholme quelled his impatience. His soldiers believed in his legendary military prowess, and he was determined not to fail. Thus, he had to be cautious.
“It’s been two weeks already—and it should have been a five-day journey!” said Duff Adkins. He ran a hand through the streak of gray hair on one side of his head. “This damnable waiting is the hardest part.”
“It always is, before battle. You know that, my friend.”
“I just hope we don’t lose too much momentum. When we left Sonjeera, every crewmember was full of adrenaline and bloodlust.”
“When soldiers are too gung ho, they get stupid.” And, though he didn’t say so aloud, the old Commodore feared that his son had fallen prey to that mistake. Aboard his ships, Percival chose not to play the pulse-pounding military theme. His fighters all understood who the enemy was, and were spoiling for a rematch and a fresh victory.
The commando fleet limped along the fading stringline like a heavy man tiptoeing over thin ice. The string of quantum breadcrumbs had grown faint and diffuse. As the hauler moved forward, Percival dispatched small scout ships two at a time to leapfrog along the path. They would shoot ahead, adding extra iperion to shore up the route in the weakest spots, while the main battle group followed.
Three scouts had vanished already, losing the faint stringline. Retracing its path and starting again from the last certain point, another scout went ahead more cautiously, taking conservative leaps through space and mending the iperion path. It seemed to take forever, but a few weeks to an assured victory was not such a long time to wait, Percival told himself. He just hoped he could get there in time to save Escobar … whatever had happened to him.
The Commodore banked on the assumption that Adolphus had not bothered to booby-trap the abandoned path to outlying Buktu. As Lord Riomini had proved on Theser, the rebels did not have sufficient defenses in place on the main lines. Given time, Percival knew the General would realize he needed to bottle up the Buktu point of vulnerability, but with fifty-four DZ worlds to protect, he would not give this route top priority.
If Percival and his commandos could seize Buktu and use the new stringline to reach planet Hallholme, perhaps they could rescue the captured fleet after all. Though he did not admit it to anyone, he worried about his son. Despite Escobar’s numerous shortcomings, the old man had always had high hopes for him, had tried to instill a moral compass in him when he was growing up.
More than a decade ago, Diadem Michella had ordered Percival to overstep the bounds of honor and commit what might be considered war crimes: torturing hostages and threatening to murder them so that he provoked a fatal moment of hesitation in his enemy. Percival had defeated Adolphus with those tactics once, and he knew the General would never make the same mistake again.
What if the situation were reversed? Assuming Adolphus had in fact captured the Constellation fleet, what if he did the same in reverse? What if he used Escobar and those innocent soldiers as human shields, maybe even threatening to murder the hostages—including Escobar—on-screen? The Commodore didn’t know if he would be strong enough to make the correct decision.…
One of the scout ships returned along the stringline, transmitting a message. “The next segment is verified and reinforced, Commodore. We can now proceed to the following system.”
Duff Adkins called up a chart, and marked another segment along the stringline path to Buktu. “That’s excellent progress, Commodore. We might get there sooner than anticipated.”
“Let’s not get cocky,” Percival said. “I want to be as fast as possible and as cautious as necessary.”
The stringline hauler blurred forward along the line, but in less than half an hour, they reached the next endpoint. “Dispatch the scouts again to forge forward,” Percival ordered.
The pilots lined up on the faint remnants of the abandoned line, collimating their stringline detectors and venturing ahead, repairing the iperion path as they went … starting, stopping, backtracking, starting, stopping.
And yet it was progress.
“This waiting is the hardest part,” Adkins said again.
“As you’ve said before.”
Adkins pursed his lips, looked down at his old friend. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”
70
With all the turmoil caused by the damaged stringline hub, and the embarrassing dissent Lady Tazaar expressed during the emergency Council session, Ishop Heer decided it was time to give Michella good news. Ever since the bomb had detonated the Diadem’s autocarriage, he and Laderna had continued their surveillance of the would-be assassin and his associates. Now it was time to move.
Ishop hired private security men to close the trap, not trusting any team Michella might choose. He wanted credit for the entire operation, and most importantly, he wanted to have the information first before revealing it to the Diadem. Laderna asked to accompany him, and since she had already helped him kill many victims on his long-standing list, he trusted no one more.
Along with six armed private security guards, they burst into a small, run-down apartment in the slums far from Heart Square. The small dwelling was cluttered with discarded food packaging; a filthy mattress lay on the floor. Ishop found it disgusting. Two men had been playing a game with cards and chits; another man sprang off the mattress, grabbed a weapon as Ishop’s men moved forward.
The private security team tackled the situation with smooth efficiency, breaking a few bones—not necessarily by accident—and seizing Burum Elakis. The other two were mere secondaries, and Ishop didn’t care what happened to them.
The private guards stunned and dragged the two irrelevant men away, while taking great pains to keep Elakis conscious. With wires and adhesive strips they secured him to a chair so he could barely even squirm. Ishop inspected their work with a satisfied smile. “Thank you. You may deliver the others to the Diadem’s security team and demand your reward. I’m sure Michella will be generous.”
“But you’ve already paid us, sir,” the head guard said.
“I don’t begrudge you a bonus. Excellent work. Meanwhile, leave us alone here.” He turned to grin at the silent Burum Elakis. “My assistant and I have a few polite questions for this gentleman.” Laderna was smiling, and Ishop thought she looked quite attractive today. He was glad he had kept her around after all.
When the security detail left, Ishop put on gloves to avoid the mess of what he intended to do next. Elakis watched his every move, looking defiant and brave, but that didn’t last long. Ishop was a professional.
* * *
The information the conspirator provided was unexpected and enlightening. Burum Elakis did not survive the interrogation, but Ishop had never intended him to do so anyway. The results were for Ishop’s use alone.
The tools of his expertise lay strewn around the body: a razor knife, a small pair of pliers, injectors, even a few household items that Ishop and Laderna used for impromptu encouragement. Before they left, Laderna would clean up all their equipment and organize it in the carrying case again; when they returned to his private offices, she would sterilize every instrument. There was so much blood, and Ishop did not like the prospect of germs and infection.
While he found the traitor’s revelations astonishing, the interrogation process itself was so stimulating that he had not wanted it to end. Still, he did not forget his professionalism. He was thorough with Elakis to the end, noting as he worked that Laderna stood right behind him, smelling of perspiration and excitement.
Splashes of blood made primitive artwork on the walls of the torture room. The scattered fingernails, five of them—any more would have been excessive and unnecessary—lay among the discarded wrappings on the floor. The man’s body was still upright in an attentive pose because of the wires and adhesive strips, though he was quite dead, and mangled beyond recognition.
“That’s all I have,” Elakis had said
at the end. He begged and swore and pleaded.
“We believe you,” Ishop said with a hint of disappointment and pity. From the expression of relief on the captive’s face, he misheard it as compassion.
Laderna stabbed him quickly in the heart, not wanting to waste any more time. Both of them were now very aroused, and each knew what would come next. No one would deny this was cause for another celebration. Finding the shower enclosure in Elakis’s small apartment, they removed their stained clothes (planning ahead, they had brought new garments, sealed in plastic packages) and shared an invigorating shower, followed by lovemaking after placing a sterile plastic sheet on the floor.
Their pleasure was heightened by the remembered echoes of pain in the air of the apartment and the interesting information they had just learned. Laderna scratched his back at the height of passion, even let out a scream—but since no one had responded to Elakis’s screams during the torture, Ishop did not expect her cries would draw any attention. He enjoyed himself, enjoyed being with her. Yes, he and Laderna made an excellent team.
They already knew Burum Elakis was an Adolphus sympathizer, but to discover that the man had been recruited into the assassination plot by Enva Tazaar—now, that was unexpected!
As he lay beside Laderna on the crinkling plastic film that was now moist with their perspiration, Ishop mused, “Why would Lady Tazaar have anything to do with the General?” Perhaps that explained why the Orsini noblewoman had been so outspoken against the Diadem during the last Council session.
Laderna stroked his smooth scalp. “Lady Tazaar is obviously making a power play. She’d love to remove Michella and set herself up as the next Diadem. She’s probably just using General Adolphus as a means to an end.”
“It’ll be her own end, and we’ll see to it.” Still, he couldn’t keep the admiration from his voice. “What a fascinating woman, a real risk-taker. Perhaps a good candidate as a noble wife for me.”
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