“Dire-lord!”
A voice, insistent with panic, cut across the multiple thoughts, jolting him back into the present. He blinked, disoriented, as Rho hissed urgently at him.
“Hurry! They’re coming.”
“Yes.” Brock pulled himself together, thrusting aside the daunting implications of what was happening to him for later consideration. He lifted his head, letting his mind quest cautiously. There! He drew back and gestured hastily at Rho. “We have waited too long. Is there any armor?”
“Sic! Zamar died an hour past. He will not need his now. I’ll get.” Rho dashed away, pausing in the doorway to let Anza enter. He gestured impatiently at her, and she came at once to Brock.
“Can you walk?”
Insulted, he stared down at her from his full height. “I am in control,” he said, grasping the sheath of the ceremonial dagger tightly in his hand. She said something else, but he ignored her. Under normal circumstances he could have maintained repression while performing several simultaneous tasks, but he felt too unstable to dare split his mind among more than one or two actions.
Getting to the exit of the bunker seemed to take an eternity. Brock again had the sensation of being submerged in deep water. His movements were slow and awkward. Illusion, he thought. The atrox is warping my sense of time passage.
Rho met them in the tunnel, the armor bundled under his long arm. His mouth was open and he was hissing steadily in the Slathese manner of exasperation.
“Too late,” he said. “They are coming. Hear?”
Anza glanced worriedly at Brock. “You’d better stay here and wait for a better opportunity.”
“No,” said Brock fiercely. “I will not give Tregher—”
“You will not give Tregher what?” asked a silken voice out of the darkness of the tunnel stretching behind Rho.
The Slathese whirled, spitting, and Brock drew his strifer.
“Put it down!” ordered Davn, coming into view suddenly as a torch snapped on, stabbing blinding light into Brock’s face. “Dire-lord! Don’t be a fool!”
Others crowded into sight behind Davn, weapons aimed. Anza gave a little sigh, and Brock slowly slid the strifer back into its holster.
Emotions, he thought in sudden disgust. I sat and pitied myself instead of getting away while I had the chance. I have been illogical and inefficient.
“Very wise,” said Davn, striding forward. “Just where do you three think you were going?”
“You were right, Arkist,” said Tregher, coming up to stand beside him. The nairin was slender for a Chaimu, and his nose ridges were lightly pronounced, almost vestigial. They gave him an immature look which did not match the cunning in his eyes. Coiled about his wrist was a thin black oinrth. Its wedge-shaped head was swaying lightly from side to side. The reptilian eyes stared at Brock without blinking. It was the only weapon Tregher ever carried. Brock had seen him throw the serpent with deadly accuracy. It took only seconds for oinrth poison to kill. At the moment, Tregher looked as though he might throw the oinrth right into Brock’s face. “He is a most disloyal dire-lord. Not one I care to trust with my life.”
“Unlike me, Suprin?” said Davn, grinning.
“Oh, you are most loyal, Arkist. And you will have your reward for gaining my freedom for me. But first the important matters.” Tregher stepped to within one pace of Brock, his arrogant eyes flaming. “We shall link, Dire-lord. Now! It is your duty.”
“Wait.” Anza stepped forward, making a hasty civilian salute as Tregher glared at her in astonishment. “He is ill, not himself. Let him rest a while longer.”
“He doesn’t look like he’s resting,” growled Davn. “He looks like he’s trying to sneak away. With your help, Anza.”
“I wasn’t aware that he is a prisoner,” she said stiffly. “I am a medic, not a guard.”
“But you were perhaps assisting him in his disloyalty?” asked Tregher softly.
Anza’s dark eyes flashed. “I am only a medic, Nairin. He is the dire-lord.”
“Indeed he is,” said Tregher, and Brock released his breath slowly in relief. Anza could look after herself, it seemed. “You mustn’t corrupt my people, Brock. That is wicked of you. Come now. Let us link and get it over with, and then you may go and do as you please. I will not hold you to my service.”
Brock stared at Tregher, hating him, wondering how Tregher could have found it in himself to betray his people, his suprin, his throne. There was no use in active resistance; Davn was standing ready to shoot him if he tried to escape. Tregher’s gloved hand reached out and took the ceremonial dagger from Brock.
“A dangerous ambition, power,” Tregher said. “It can corrupt so quickly. Even Sedkethrans, it would seem, are not immune. I hope, Ellisne, that you are making note of this extraordinary behavior.”
“Indeed,” said a feminine voice marked by a soft accent which made Brock stiffen.
He stared, barely concealing his dismay, as a tall Sedkethran woman in the brown robes of a healer stepped gracefully forward through the contingent standing alertly at Tregher’s back. As she stopped beside the nairin, she lifted a gloved hand to pull a cord. The hood of her cloak fell back, revealing a slender, fine-boned face of haunting beauty. Her skin was so white it seemed to glow against the shadows, and her eyes shone with a brilliant luminescence that burned into Brock with accusation.
She hurled one word at him like a blow: “Promadi!”
Outcast. The word with a hundred shameful meanings. The word that proclaimed his failure as a Sedkethran, his denial of the Writings, his refusal to submit to the elder council.
Brock stared through her, rejecting the shame she sought to arouse in him. “I am still the dire-lord of the Held,” he said to Tregher. “I bring you the words of your father.”
“Yes!” said Tregher eagerly. “Speak them!”
“You are a traitor to the Held. You betrayed the defense keys to Colonid agents in exchange for your own safety. Utdi’s death lies to your blame.”
“Arrogant fool!” Tregher lifted his arm to throw the oinrth.
“Wait!” said Davn, stepping in the way. “Must he die before he talks?”
“He has said too much already,” said Tregher, seething, but he slowly lowered his arm. The serpent, disturbed, lifted its black head with a hiss.
“You have the dagger your father wore,” said Brock. “Let that be enough.”
Davn growled, and one of the Chaimu warriors struck Brock behind the ear with the bludgeon end of his staff. Brock staggered beneath the blow, his whole head ringing. The precarious control he was maintaining over his body slipped, and for a moment he was nauseous with pain.
“Stop it!” cried Anza. “He is injured. Davn, please!”
“He isn’t too injured to insult the Superior Life.” Davn glared at Brock, who was staring desperately at Ellisne.
Stop this, he pleaded. Is this justice?
But she ignored him. Her face was a beautiful, cold mask. It was as though his thoughts bounced off a mirror.
“You will obey Suprin Tregher’s commands,” said Davn implacably.
Brock stood without moving, his left arm held stiffly against his body. The goda band was vividly green against the bandages. Tregher’s eyes fell to it.
“You go too far. The corbydium bracelet is not yours to wear!” said Tregher, his face dark with anger. “Take it off. Now.”
“The band is locked by the suprin’s own mindprint,” said Brock.
“Take it off! Or by Meir I swear that you will see your hand severed from the wrist!” The oinrth was erect and swaying on Tregher’s wrist. Its tongue flickered out. Its eyes glowed like jewels.
Brock watched the reptile, wondering if his reflexes could move fast enough to dodge it. He had no intention of surrendering to Tregher’s demands.
“Arrogant fool!” Tregher pulled back his arm to throw the oinrth.
“Suprin, no!” said Davn. “If he dies, you can never—”
“It does not
matter,” said Tregher with a hiss of fury. “I will not be defied.”
“But will you agree to be served by this one?” asked Ellisne. Her voice, artfully modulated, calmed Tregher visibly.
“In what way?”
“The dire-lord has been seriously injured. In order for him to surrender to your commands, Suprin, he would have to lower internal discipline techniques. I am sure he is not really desirous of defying you. But rather, he doubtless cannot control his thoughts sufficiently to unlock the bracelet. Nor if he were to link minds with you, could he keep his pain from being transmitted.”
Brock turned his face away, not from shame at this frank explanation of weakness, but to hide his astonishment at her unexpected assistance. Would Tregher believe her? Had she bought him time?
Tregher bared his teeth in contempt. “He defies me out of ambition, not concern for my welfare.”
“But it’s true,” said Anza. “The dire-lord is hurt. If only, Healer Ellisne, you would—”
“No,” said Brock sharply, backing up a step. He did not trust the healer. She was a member of Tregher’s party. If she touched him, she could probe freely. And once she discovered that he had indeed been named successor by Suprin Utdi, he would not only be in danger from Tregher, but he would be in worse peril from the magstrusi of Felca. She would tell them. As a stated member of Sedkethran society, she could do nothing less.
“No,” he repeated, meeting her compelling gaze only to look away hastily. “I do not permit treatment.”
“You have no choice,” said Tregher. “I command it, Dire-lord.”
“And I do not submit to your commands—”
The Chaimu bludgeon thudded off his skull, sending Brock to his knees. Through waves of dizziness he saw Ellisne coming toward him, stripping off her embroidered gauntlets and reaching out her pale hands.
“No!”
“Merc sic t’,” said Rho, kneeling beside him to help hold him in place. “Let her help you, Dire-lord. You need help, sic?”
And then her icy hands were upon him, flesh merging with flesh and thoughts with thoughts as his pain seemed to flood from him like the blood from a wounded man. Her mind was inside his, sifting through the barriers he sought to erect against her. But she was no novice healer. He could not resist her.
Stop fighting me, she said. What do you fear?
I do not permit treatment!
Atrox. Her hand pressed against his chest and the dull ache there subsided. I sensed this. Why do you resist? This is a serious injury. You should be returned to Felca for treatment.
Promadi! he retorted, taut with fear. She was close, too close. She was threading through his Disciplines. Soon she would know.
Even an outcast may be treated. It is a basic right of—No! You must not! You could not do this! It is forbidden for a Sedkethran.
Utdi gave me the command, Brock said, trying to reach through her horror. I am sworn to save the Held.
Not at the price of galactic destruction. She withdrew her hands abruptly, breaking off the flow of comfort. You are sworn first to Felca.
No. You must listen to me. You must understand—
Promadi ga! She jerked back and rose to her feet, sweeping out an arm. “Kill him!” she said aloud. “You must kill him now, for he is a threat to us all!”
6
“You fool!”
Ton’s slap caught the colonel across the jaw and sent her spinning back.
Taken by surprise, Falmah-Al managed to keep from falling by grabbing a chair. She righted herself, lifting a hand to gingerly touch her jaw. The whole side of her face felt numb until she touched it, and then suddenly pain stung it.
“You’re finished, do you hear! I want you out, and I’m calling up to the ship for you to—”
“Wait a minute, Nls,” she said sharply. “You’re overreacting—”
“Am I?” His voice was icy. The sunlight glinted on his silver hair as he turned from the window to glare at her. “Am I indeed? I spent twelve hours as a prisoner. They could have killed me. Or they could have filled me with slow-activant drugs and monitoring devices to make me their spy, their puppet!”
“But they didn’t. My security team gave you a thorough examination. Perfect check out. The Held wanted you only for an exchange. We’ll still get them—”
“Damn it, their capture is not at issue here! Your incompetence is!”
“This city is not secured, not with its underground tunnel network,” she retorted, trying not to scream back at him. “My people followed procedure flawlessly. The fact that Held rebels were able to execute a surprise offense from those tunnels is—”
“—a very big mistake on your part.”
“—is something which has gone into our tactical study files,” she finished grimly. “And they will not be able to do that again.”
“I am so relieved, Colonel,” he said sarcastically, coming back to his desk. “I can now rest easy, knowing that you are in charge of my safety. Knowing that at any moment, I can be picked off by one of their assassination squads while you are in a completely opposite sector with your precious Major Millen.”
She flushed, thankful now that she had taken the precaution of fitting herself with a miniature camcorder. Nls Ton would regret his jealous outburst, she vowed.
“The major and I were investigating the area where the suprin’s corpse was discovered,” she said. “We found the absence of his dire-lord significant. Certain accoutrements of the suprin associated with his rank were also missing.”
“Thievery,” he said, waving a hand impatiently. “Stop trying to deflect attention from your own criminal incompetence.”
“I am doing my job correctly, Governor,” she said crisply, hating him and hating herself for having ever loved him. He had used her achievements as a springboard for his own ambitious career. She had meant nothing to him but a tool, and she remained a tool now. But this time she would not let him discard her. She had her own ambitions. “And I think my report is worth more attention than you seem willing to give it.”
“The only thing worth consideration at this moment is how fast you can be transferred out.”
“The only thing worth consideration is can I get you the goda locations.”
Ton stared at her, his face slowly changing color. For the first time since his release he became still. “How? If you’re bluffing to save your skin—”
“We’ve been doing further cultural research,” she said, moving briskly away from the personal arena although she really wanted to shove her bootheel through his teeth. “The suprin’s body was given ritualistic attentions before it was abandoned. It is our theory that whoever was with the suprin at his death probably was told the goda locations.”
“Yes, and that does us a tremendous amount of good,” said Ton angrily. “You’re stalling, Colonel.” He punched a button on his desk. “Communications, get me a link with Captain Sala. Yes, on the ship.”
“I am not stalling,” said Falmah-Al. “You are so desperate to alleviate your humiliation by blaming me for what was a brilliantly conceived and executed Held operation that you are refusing to look at the possibilities before us. Don’t you see, Ton? Your capture gave us an excellent opportunity to put an agent right into the rebels’ midst.”
“Who?” he said suspiciously, frowning. “Not the nairin. He can’t be trusted.”
“No, but he can be bought.”
“In exchange for what? We spared him his miserable life, and we shall have constant trouble—”
“I have studied his profile. He is anxious for power. He feels a need to dominate. Historically, the quickest way to undermine rebel actions is to make token acceptance of their demands. If we give Nairin Tregher a little power over his own people, he will be all too happy to assist us in return.”
“You mean make a dictator of him,” said Ton slowly, obviously not liking the idea. “No. That would split my own base of authority.”
“Not if we set up the prison camps on th
e western hemisphere as planned, and leave the nairin in charge of their administration. Prisoners make the best guards.” She smiled slightly.
Ton’s own lips curled in return as he grudgingly nodded an acknowledgment. “It is a use for him. But we still have the problem of neutralizing the godas.”
“Nairin Tregher will find out where they are located,” she said. “And he will give them to us.”
“But suppose he can’t find out. Suppose the suprin died with the knowledge. Or else it is locked away—”
“No, it is supposed to be shared with the successor at the moment of death. If the successor is not present, then a surrogate is found to deliver the message. I am certain the dire-lord is whom we seek. And being loyal to the throne, the dire-lord will be eager to deliver everything to Tregher, who will in turn give it to us.”
The intercom buzzed. “Sir, link established with Captain Sala.”
Ton sat still a moment, then he pushed the button. “Cancel that.”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right, Falmah-Al,” he said, as she hid a sigh of relief. “Try it. But if you foul up on this one, that’s it. Clear?”
She saluted, her face expressionless. “Quite clear, Governor.”
As she left the office, she switched off the camcorder with a mental note to file it away with the other material she was collecting on Nls Ton. She had just bought herself sufficient time to prepare several contingencies. Although he was certain to try again to get rid of her, she would be ready for him.
The implant set upon Tregher enabled her scanners to locate him immediately. She marked his position on her maps with a small grim smile and activated the buzzer which would give him a subliminal but overwhelming urge to contact her agents dispatched nearby.
“I do not understand,” said Izak with a frown as he watched her. “There is an agent surgically altered to resemble one of the Chaimu guards. Why not work through him? It is more direct.”
The Goda War Page 6