The Crimson Claw

by Deborah Chester

  “Shall we move on to other matters on the agenda?” Temondahl asked tactfully.

  Israi glanced at him and realized he must have stopped talking without her realizing it. She gestured for him to continue.

  “Military dispatches from the rim world rebellions,” he announced. “The conflict on—”

  “Why do we not simply destroy those planets?” Israi interrupted. “We would lose a few worlds but the others would be frightened into new obedience. It would save time and costs.”

  Temondahl stared at her as though he saw a monster. It took him a moment before he seemed able to speak. “Yes, indeed,” he finally said. “But—”

  “Which of the defense installations is closest to galactic border nine?” Israi demanded. “Simply withdraw our forces and order a strike. If I recall my last study of the imperial star charts, we have an installation not far from—”

  “It does not work, majesty,” Temondahl said.

  His voice was so low, Israi was not certain at first that she had heard correctly. “Repeat that.”

  “It does not work.”

  She stared at him, her rill so rigid she thought it might snap off. “Explain.”

  “We have forty of these secret installations scattered around the empire.”

  “Yes?” she said, flicking out her tongue and wishing he would get to the point.

  “Only twelve of them are actually operational.”

  She felt as though she’d been gripped in a nightmare without end. Was there nothing right? Was there nothing working as it should be? “Twelve,” she repeated in disbelief. “Why?”

  Temondahl made a gesture. “Who can say why some equipment fails and others continue to function.”

  “You mean no one has maintained them properly,” she said icily.

  “As the Imperial Mother says.”

  Israi slammed her fist down on the desktop again. “We have nothing!” she screamed, her rill darkening to indigo. “Nothing at all! We rule an empire that is a ghost! It is dead. It is lost. How long until the people learn the truth, that we can hold nothing that is ours, that we can pay for nothing that should be ours? How long?”

  Temondahl met her eyes without flinching, his composure unshaken by her temper. “With sufficient cleverness by the Imperial Mother and her council, the people will never know.”

  Israi choked back something and rose to her feet. “We hate this,” she said bitterly. “You mean we are to perpetuate a lie.”

  “Exactly, majesty.” Temondahl’s gaze followed her. “That is what it means to rule. Nothing is ever what it seems to the public.”

  She flicked out her tongue, feeling overwhelmed. “We did not anticipate so many problems, chancellor. We thought the solutions could be applied quickly.”

  Temondahl hesitated a moment, then said, “There are two types of kaas, majesty. One type will work hard, serving the people—”

  “The people exist to serve us!” Israi cried.

  “No, majesty. The people are the children of the Imperial Mother. She works hard to protect, guide, and keep them safe.”

  Israi glared at him, hating this lecture as she had all his others. “And the other type of kaa?” she asked in a voice like silk.

  “The other type defers that which is difficult, ignores that which is troublesome, delays that which is inevitable. The problems become cumulative, and eventually insurmountable.”

  Seething, Israi said nothing. She understood his point perfectly, and she did not like it. She hated drudgery, hated these long hours in her study, closeted with Temondahl, who never ran out of reports or problems. There was no end to the work, and she hated work. She longed to be in her garden, lying in the sun, while musicians played soft flyta tunes.

  Temondahl said, “Although the empire teeters on the brink of ruin, it is my belief that we can save it, majesty. With hard work and sacrifice, such as—”

  “You are a joyless creature,” Israi declared. “Have we not sacrificed enough, waiting all these years to inherit the throne from our esteemed father? Have we not been patient? Have we not endured?”

  Temondahl’s pupils narrowed to very small dots of black. “Sacrifice, majesty, such as reduction of the imperial household expenses, the elimination of waste and duplication in the military budget, especially inherited officer rankings for the aristocracy, suspension of restoration in the old palace, the closing of unproductive space stations such as Shrazhak Ohr, and the—”

  “Enough!” Israi said, raising her rill. “We will hear no more of this today.”

  Temondahl bowed at once. “Very well, majesty,” he said, closing the dispatch box. “But the problems not dealt with today will have multiplied as fast as Skeks by tomorrow.”

  She glared at him, feeling furious and trapped. A chasm seemed to yawn before her. She knew she had a momentous decision to make, one that might make the difference to the very survival of all she knew and held. But she was tired and too distressed by all she had learned today. She felt that Temondahl was being unfair, dumping so much on her at once.

  “Tomorrow,” she said. “We will resume this tomorrow.”

  Temondahl’s rill sagged with disappointment. He bowed without protest, his eyes meeting hers in silent criticism. “As the Kaa commands,” he said and left her.

  To the sound of cheers, Ampris jogged into the arena for her final appearance at Shrazhak Ohr. She carried her glaudoon, which she brandished aloft in a salute to the crowd. It amazed her how the Viis had resumed the games as though the Kaa hadn’t died, as though they hadn’t been rioting, looting, and killing each other only a few hours ago.

  But Ampris spared little thought for the morally corrupt Viis. Instead, she felt pumped by renewed optimism and inspiration. She believed now that the abiru folk really did have a chance at freedom. But they would have to make a real alliance and take action instead of just talking about it.

  Now she focused on her quarry. The Zrhel engineer crouched on the opposite side of the arena, his gray eyes huge with fear and hostility. From his narrow, domed skull covered with tiny, plush feathers, to his thin shoulders, to his knobby legs, he clearly possessed no athletic ability at all. As soon as he backed away from her purposeful advance, Ampris gauged his movements and knew he had no chance at all to spin this out.

  Being condemned, the Zrhel was unarmed except for his talons and huge, curved beak. Ampris swung her glaudoon about, making showy motions to please the shouting crowd while she closed in.

  Again he backed away from her. She circled him, growling to get his attention.

  “Hey, Zrhel,” she said softly under the noise of the crowd. “Listen to me. We must talk.”

  He squawked in alarm and scrambled away from her. Ampris circled him again, driving him back to the center of the arena, away from the walls.

  “Listen,” she said, lunging at him with a flurry of sword movements that ended in a whack at his legs with the flat of her blade.

  The crowd booed her. Ampris backed her ears but ignored them. Halehl began murmuring instructions through her collar, but she ignored him too.

  “Listen,” she said once more while the Zrhel glared at her, his beaked mouth open. “I am Ampris. I am friendly to the cause of the Zrheli. Answer me one question, please.”

  “Liar!” he shouted at her. “Why don’t you execute me and get it over with? Then you can go back to your fancy living, the pet of your accursed masters.”

  “I am not here by choice,” she said.

  He charged her, squawking and scattering feathers. Ampris whacked him with the flat of her blade, sending him tumbling to the ground.

  Again the crowd booed.

  “Ampris,” Halehl said through her collar. “Make this quick. We’re paid by the number of Zrheli you kill, not by the show itself.”

  She ignored the trainer, focusing all her attention on the engineer scrambling to his feet. “I didn’t choose to be a gladiator,” she told him, anxious to make him understand. “I am a slave, just l
ike you.”

  “Slave, hah!” His contempt came hot and furious. “Do you die for your convictions, the way Zrheli die? You talk, Ampris, but you don’t act.”

  “Can you fix the jump gate?” she asked, knowing she couldn’t delay killing him much longer.

  The crowd had seated itself and was booing her constantly now.

  “Kill him!” Halehl commanded her.

  “There isn’t much time,” Ampris said to the engineer. “I will be merciful to you. I promise. But can your people fix the jump gate so that the abiru can escape to freedom at—”

  Screaming curses, the Zrhel attacked her. Ampris thrust him off with her arm, refusing to use her glaudoon until he answered her question. Again he went tumbling across the dirty sand. She tackled him before he could rise, and pinned him to the ground.

  He thrashed beneath her weight, snapping viciously with his beak, his talons clawing at her.

  “Can it be fixed?” she shouted at him. “Could it be used for the abiru?”

  He went on screaming curses, too panicked to listen to anything she said. Growling, Ampris let him up, thinking he would scramble away from her. Then she would be able to ask him once more before she had to run him through.

  But when she released him, the Zrhel instead turned on her, clawing across her chest with talons that sliced razor sharp. Ampris roared in pain and gripped him by one feathered arm. But he dived across her, ignoring the sudden snap as her grip broke his arm.

  His beak cut through the tendons at the back of her knee before she could stop him. Roaring again, Ampris rolled with him, trying to dislodge him. But the Zrhel clung to her like something demented, gashing her again and again with talons and beak.

  She was losing blood and strength. She had dropped the glaudoon as they rolled and tumbled. It was useless at such close quarters anyway. Elrabin had not armed her with a dagger, as she wasn’t supposed to need it. Thrusting the Zrhel’s snapping beak away from her throat, Ampris bared her fangs and bit his shoulder.

  She got a mouthful of skin and feathers, her powerful jaws crunching through bone. The Zrhel’s screaming grew shrill and louder, then it abruptly cut off as Ampris snapped his neck.

  Panting hard, the world swimming around her, she thrust his lightweight body away from her and tried to climb to her feet. Her left leg refused to support her weight and she fell.

  The crowd booed her more loudly than ever.

  From the corner of her eye, Ampris could see medics and handlers running out to her. She shook her head, trying to clear her cloudy vision. Again she tried to rise. Again she fell.

  Pain skewered her, a fiery throbbing pain. Her golden fur was smeared with blood, her own blood. Ampris lifted her head and roared defiance at the booing crowd. Then the handlers reached her, tossing her bodily onto a stretcher and sending it bobbing out of the arena with the medics.

  Ampris kept hoping they would give her something to null the pain, something that would knock her unconscious, but they didn’t. She was shoved through a tunnel jammed with trainers, servants, handlers, and waiting gladiators. Everything was a blurred confusion of shapes and noise. She was still bleeding, her senses spinning around her.

  For an instant she managed to blink her vision clear and glimpsed the veteran Aaroun gladiator of the Greens. He stood in fighting harness, waiting to go in with the slouched patience of a professional. His gaze met hers, briefly, full of pity, and he gave her a tiny salute of farewell as she was carried past.

  Not until the medics bumped the floating stretcher against the infirmary doorway in their haste, jolting her weight onto her injured leg, did Ampris think she might finally pass out. Writhing, she screamed in agony, and rough hands pressed her flat.

  “Be still,” someone told her without sympathy.

  Ampris could hear the hum of a medical scanner. Someone close by was moaning and whimpering. She gritted her jaws to hold back any sounds of her own suffering.

  Temporary bandages were stuck over her lacerations and gashes. By then Fuvein was there, bending over her and giving the medics a rapid series of instructions. They yanked her leg straight, and Ampris cried out, arching her back in pain.

  Again they pressed her down, and this time restraint cables were secured around her to hold her immobile. She heard Fuvein’s voice arguing with Halehl’s, both sounding very far away, then a mask was placed over her face, and she knew nothing else but oblivion.

  CHAPTER•FIFTEEN

  Shivering with nerves, Elrabin compressed himself even more tightly in the narrow space between the desk and a box of training gear in Halehl’s office. He had hidden there to avoid being caught searching Halehl’s desk. Now he tried to stay still, not even breathing more than he absolutely had to, and cursed the trainer in his heart for having come in at this critical moment.

  Halehl seemed to be in a hurry. Activating only a single lamp, much to Elrabin’s relief, he switched on the linkup. By turning his head minutely to the side, Elrabin could just glimpse part of the small screen.

  The station’s operator could be seen on it. She said something in Viis, and Halehl replied, looking at his timepiece as he did so. Static blurred the screen, then an icon blinked, indicating an incoming transmission.

  Elrabin moaned silently to himself. If he got himself caught in here, eavesdropping on the master’s conversations, even if he couldn’t understand what was being said, then it would be worse than the whipping post for him. Elrabin figured he would get the rod, and the thought of even minor electrocution made his heart quail. Oh, Master Halehl was always imaginative when it came to dealing out punishments. But Elrabin was here to help Ampris. All he needed was a pass from Halehl’s desk, and he would be permitted into the station’s infirmary to see what had become of her.

  Halehl was standing in front of the screen, which now showed the furious visage of a Viis aristocrat. His skin was variegated in shades of green, dark blue, and yellow, and his rill stood up tall behind his head. His yellow eyes were the coldest, most ruthless Elrabin had ever seen.

  It was Lord Galard. Elrabin recognized his features from vidcasts he’d seen. Elrabin panted, then gulped and forced his jaws shut. Be quiet. Be quiet, he told himself.

  Halehl bowed to the face on the screen. Static obscured it momentarily, then cleared, losing part of what Galard said.

  Halehl spoke briefly, keeping himself partially inclined in obeisance.

  “Chuh-ha!” Galard said vehemently.

  Elrabin’s ears perked forward. He knew that word. It meant stupid. He grinned in delight. Was Halehl being blamed for what had happened to Ampris? So maybe justice still existed.

  But Halehl was nodding. “Chuh-ha,” he said in agreement.

  When Elrabin realized Halehl was not getting a reprimand, his ears flattened and he mouthed a silent curse.

  The two Viis discussed matters for a few seconds more, then Galard’s image blanked off the screen.

  Halehl stood there a moment, breathing hard, his tongue flicking in and out. He swore in Viis and kicked his desk with a thud that startled Elrabin.

  The box of gear scooted slightly, and Elrabin froze, except for the thundering of his heart. His mouth was suddenly so dry he could not swallow. He had to clench his jaws shut to silence his involuntary whining.

  The lights flared on, and the gearbox was shoved aside. Elrabin looked up at Halehl towering over him. Halehl’s rill was flame red and stiff.

  “Get up,” he said in a voice of fury.

  Fear grabbed Elrabin’s entrails, but he forced himself to jump to his feet. He bowed to Halehl, cringing a bit, and said rapidly, “May the master forgive me. I was just checking the gearbox for—”

  “You were spying,” Halehl said, his tone as sharp as a whipcrack.

  Elrabin flinched. “Please, I—”

  “Never mind. There isn’t time to beat you now,” Halehl said shortly. “Our shuttle is departing in two hours. See that the fighters are informed. Make sure all the gear is checked and accounte
d for.”

  “At once, master,” Elrabin said, starting to breathe normally again.

  Halehl glared at him. “What are you waiting for? Go!”

  “Yes, at once. As the master commands,” Elrabin said. He scuttled around the desk, relieved to have escaped so lightly, yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave as commanded. “Please,” he said hesitantly, swiveling his ears back. “Please, master?”

  “What?” Halehl asked without looking up from the manifests he was collecting from the desk. “I ordered you gone.”

  “Yes, master. At once, master.” Elrabin moved toward the door, then once again turned back. “How do I collect Ampris from the infirmary?”

  Halehl’s rill flared out and he pinned Elrabin with a suspicious glare. “So that is what you were after.”

  Elrabin opened his mouth, panting, and found himself unable to deny it. Once, long ago when he was just a young grifter in the Vir ghetto, he could feed anyone a line of patter as slick as could be. But he was older now. There had been too many beatings, too much cruelty. Besides, Halehl had always had the knack of being able to probe straight to the depths of any slave in his keeping. Lying to him was almost impossible.

  Bowing his head, Elrabin whispered, “Yes, master. I’ve been worried about her. You ain’t told us nothing, not how bad her injuries are or if she’s healing good. I thought—”

  “You are not expected to think,” Halehl snapped, red burning in his rill. “You do what you are told.”

  “Yes, master. But is she going to be released in time to go with us?”

  Halehl puffed out his air sacs. “No. Ampris is no longer on the team. She was stupid to let that Zrhel get close to her. She knew better.”

  Elrabin sighed. Yes, Ampris had known better. She had been up to something out there in the arena. He had seen a light in her beautiful eyes that had been absent in recent months. She had been fired up, enthusiastic again. But when she was carried out of the arena, bleeding and torn, her face contorted with agony while the fickle Viis booed their once beloved champion, Elrabin had wanted to howl in anguish.