A Knight of Ghosts and Shadows Page 14

  grimaced--"who'd been caught at sabotage or whatever, and interrogated."

  "That sounds plausible."

  "But then nobody except us was destroyed! Am I right? Is the liberation

  movement still healthy?"

  "Yes."

  Puzzlement: "Why didn't I tell the Impies about our main base when they

  put me under hypnoprobe?"

  "I do not know," Eonan said impatiently. "Please be quiet. I must bring

  us in on an exact course, or they will shoot."

  As the sled glided near, Kossara spied the defense, an energy cannon. It

  was camouflaged, but military training had enhanced her natural ability

  to notice things. A great steel door in the bluff behind it would go

  unseen from above, should anyone fly across this lofty desert.

  Instruments--infrared sensors, neutrino detectors, magnetometers,

  gravitometers, atmosphere sniffers, a hundred kinds of robot

  bloodhound--would expose the place at once. But who would think to come

  searching?

  The door swung aside. The sled passed through and landed in a garage

  among several aircars. Here were warmth, echoes, a sudden brilliance of

  light better suited for eyes human or Merseian. Kossara shed her parka

  before she stepped off. Her pulse raced.

  Four stood waiting. Three were men. She was not surprised to see the

  last was a big green heavy-tailed person, though her heart said O

  Trohdwyr--and for an instant tears stung and blurred.

  She rallied herself and walked toward them. Her boots thudded on the

  floor; Eonan's claws clicked. Those in front of her were simply clad,

  shirts, trousers, shoes on the men, a tunic on the zmay. She had

  expected them to be armed, as they were.

  It flashed: Why did I think zmay, not ychan? And: They aren't

  Dennitzans! None of them!

  She slammed to a halt. The men differed widely, genes from every breed

  of mankind scrambled in chance combinations. So they could be from

  Terra--or a colony within the Empire--or--

  Eonan left her side. The Merseian drew his pistol. "Hold," he rapped.

  "You are under arrest."

  He called himself Glydh of the Vach Rueth, nicknamed Far-Farer, an afal

  of his navy's Intelligence corps. His immediate assistant was a lanky,

  sallow, long-nosed man, introduced as Muhammad Snell but addressed by

  the superior officer as Kluwych. In the middle of wreck, Kossara could

  flickeringly wonder if the Eriau name had been given him by his parents,

  when he was born somewhere in the Roidhunate.

  They took her to an office. On the way she passed through such space and

  among such personnel that she estimated the latter numbered about

  twenty, two or three of them Merseian by species, the rest human. That

  was probably all there were on Diomedes: sufficient to keep scores of

  native dupes like Eonan going, who in their turn led thousands.

  Though are they dupes? she thought drearily. Merseia would like to see

  them unchained from the Empire.

  No. That isn't true. Merseia doesn't give a curse. They're cheap,

  expendable tools.

  The office was cramped and bleak. "Sit," Glydh ordered, pointing to a

  chair. He took a stool behind a desk. Snell settled on the left; his

  eyes licked her, centimeter by centimeter and back again.

  "Khraich." Glydh laid his hands flat on the desktop, broad and thick,

  strangler's hands. "An astonishing turn of events. What shall we do with

  you?" His Anglic was excellent.

  "Isn't this, uh, Captain Flandry more urgent, sir?" his subordinate

  asked.

  "Not much, I believe," Glydh said. "True, from Vymezal's account via

  Eonan, he appears to be capable. But what can he know? That she

  defected, presumably joining a remnant of the underground if she didn't

  perish en route." He pondered. "Maybe be isn't capable, at that--since

  he let her go, trusting her mere self-interest to keep her on his side."

  Hoy? Chives said Flandry is famous ... No. How many light-years, how

  many millions of minds can fame cover before it spreads vanishingly

  thin?

  "Of course, we will have our cell in Thursday Landing keep him under

  surveillance, and alert our agents globally is he leaves there," Glydh

  continued. "But I doubt he represents more than a blind stab on the part

  of somebody in the opposition. I don't think he is worth the risk of

  trying to kidnap, or even kill."

  "We may find out otherwise, sir, when we interrogate Vymezal in detail,"

  said the man. He moistened his lips.

  "Maybe. I leave that to you. Co-opt what helpers you need."

  "Um-m-m ... procedures? Treatment? Final disposition?"

  "No!" Kossara heard the yell and felt the leaping to her feet, as if

  from outside her body. This was not real, could not be, must not be, God

  and saints, no. "I am not a, a Terran agent--I came here to--at least

  I'm a prisoner of war!"

  "Sit!" Glydh's roar, and the gunshot slap of palm on desk, flung her

  back like a belly blow. She heard his basso through fever-dream

  distances and humming: "Don't babble about military conventions. You are

  a slave, property we have acquired. If you do what you are told, there

  need not be pain. Else there will be, until you are broken to obedience.

  Do you hear me?"

  Snell's fingers twisted together. He breathed fast. "Sir," he said, "it

  could be a long while before we get a chance to send a report offplanet

  and ask for instructions about her. So we have to use our own judgment,

  don't we?"

  "Yes," Glydh answered.

  "Well, considering what was originally intended for her, and the

  reason--sir, not a woman among us in this whole region--"

  Glydh shrugged. His tone was faintly contemptuous. "Quiz her out first

  under narco. Afterward do what you like, short of disfiguring damage.

  Remember, we may find use for her later, and the nearest biosculp

  laboratory is parsecs hence."

  I will make them kill me! Even as she plunged toward Snell, fingernails

  out to hook his eyeballs, Kossara knew Glydh would seize her and not let

  her die.

  The explosion threw her against a wall. It made a drum of her skull. The

  floor heaved and cracked. Snell went over backward. Glydh flailed about

  to keep his balance.

  Faintly through the brief deafness that followed, she heard screams,

  running, bang and hiss of firearms. Ozone drifted acrid to her nostrils,

  smoke, smells of roastedness.

  She was already out of the office, into the central chamber beyond. At

  its far end, through the passageway which gave on the garage, she saw

  how the main door lay blown off its trunnions, crumpled and red-hot.

  Beyond was the ruin of the cannon. Men boiled around or sprawled

  un-moving.

  Enormous shone the bulk of a suit of combat armor. Bullets whanged off

  it, blaster bolts fountained. The wearer stood where he was, and his own

  weapon scythed.

  As she broke into view--"Kossara!" Amplified from the helmet, his voice

  resounded like God's. His free hand reached beneath a plate that

  protected his gravbelt. He rose and moved slowly toward her. Survivors

  fled.

  Fingers closed on her a
rm. Around her shoulder she saw Glydh. He swung

  her before his body. "That's not nice," the oncoming invader pealed. He

  spun his blaster nozzle to needle beam, aimed, and fired.

  Glydh's brow spurted steam, brains, blood, shattered bone across

  Kossara. She knew a heartbeat's marvel at that kind of precision

  shooting. But then the heavy corpse bore her down. Her head struck the

  floor. Lightning filled the universe.

  The armored man reached her, stood over her, shielded her. A

  spacecraft's flank appeared in the entry. It had sprouted a turret,

  whose gun sprayed every doorway where an enemy might lurk. Kossara let

  darkness flow free.

  XI

  --

  A breath of air cool, pine-scented; all noises gone soft; a sense of

  muted energies everywhere around; a lessened weight--Kossara opened her

  eyes. She lay in bed, in her cabin aboard the Hooligan. Flandry sat

  alongside. He wore a plain coverall, his countenance was haggard and the

  gray gaze troubled. Nonetheless he smiled. "Hello, there," he murmured.

  "How do you feel?"

  Drowsy, altogether at ease, she asked, "Have we left Diomedes?"

  "Yes. We're bound for Dennitza." He took her right hand between both of

  his. "Now listen. Everything is all right. You weren't seriously harmed,

  but on examination we decided we'd better keep you under sleep induction

  awhile, with intravenous feeding and some medication. Look at your left

  wrist." She did. It was bare. "Yes, the bracelet is off. As far as I'm

  concerned, you're free, and I'll take care of the technicalities as soon

  as possible. You're going home, Kossara."

  Examination--She dropped her glance. A sheer nightgown covered her. "I'm

  sorry I never thought to bring anything more decorous for you to sleep

  in," Flandry said. He appeared to be summoning courage. "Chives did the

  doctoring, the bathing, et cetera. Chives alone." His mouth went wry.

  "You may or may not believe that. It's true, but hell knows how much

  I've lied to you."

  And I to you, she thought.

  He straightened in the chair and released her. "Well," he said, "would

  you like a spot of tea and accompaniments? You should stay in bed for

  another watch cycle or two, till you get your strength back."

  "What happened ... to us?"

  "We'd better postpone that tale. First you should rest." Flandry rose.

  Almost timidly, he gave her hair a stroke. "I'll go now. Chives will

  bring the tea."

  Wakefulness returned. When the Shalmuan came to retrieve her tray,

  Kossara sat propped against pillows, ready for him. "I hope the

  refreshments were satisfactory, Donna," he said. "Would you care for

  something more?"

  "Yes," she replied. "Information."

  The slim form showed unease. "Sir Dominic feels--"

  "Sir Dominic is not me." She spread her palms. "Chives, how can I relax

  in a jigsaw puzzle? Tell me, or ask him to tell me, what went on in that

  den. How did you find me? What did you do after I lost consciousness?

  Why?"

  Chives reached a decision. "Well, Donna, we trust that in view of

  results obtained, you will pardon certain earlier modifications of

  strict veracity which Sir Dominic deemed essential. The ring he gave you

  was a mere ring; no such device exists as he described, at least within

  the purview of Technic civilization." She choked. He continued: "Sir

  Dominic, ah, has been known to indulge in what he describes as wistful

  fantasizing relevant to his occupation. Instead, the bracelet you wore

  was slave-driven from an external source of radiated power."

  "Slave-driven. A very good word." And yet Kossara could feel no anger.

  She imitated it as a duty. Had they given her a tranquilizing drug which

  had not completely worn off?

  "Your indignation is natural, Donna." Chives' tail switched his ankles.

  "Yet allow me to request you consider the total situation, including the

  fact that those whom you met were not noble liberators but Merseian

  operatives. Sir Dominic suspected this from the start. He believed that

  if you reappeared, they were sure to contact you, if only to find out

  what had transpired. He saw no method short of the empirical for

  convincing you. Furthermore, admiration for your honesty made him

  dubious of your ability knowingly to play a double role.

  "Hence I trailed you at a discreet distance while he went to Thursday

  Landing to investigate other aspects of the case. Albeit my assignment

  had its vexations, I pinpointed the spot where you were brought and

  called Sir Dominic, who by then had returned to Lannach. Underground and

  surrounded by metal, your bracelet was blocked from us. We concluded

  immediate attack was the most prudent course--for your sake

  particularly, Donna. While Sir Dominic flitted down in armor, I blasted

  the cannon and entrance. Shortly afterward I landed to assist and, if

  you will excuse my immodesty, took the single prisoner we got. The rest

  were either dead or, ah, holed up sufficiently well that we decided to

  content ourselves with a nuclear missile dispatched through the

  entrance.

  "The resultant landslide was somewhat spectacular. Perhaps later you

  will be interested to see the movie I took.

  "Ah ... what he has learned has made Sir Dominic of the opinion that we

  must speed directly to Dennitza. Nevertheless, I assure you he would in

  all events have seen to your repatriation at the earliest feasible

  date."

  Chives lifted her tea tray. "This is as much as I should tell you at the

  present stage, Donna. I trust you can screen whatever you wish in the

  way of literary, theatrical, or musical diversion. If you require

  assistance of any kind, please call on the intercom. I will return in

  two hours with a bowl of chicken soup. Is that satisfactory?"

  Stars filled the saloon viewscreen behind Flandry's head. The ship went

  hush-hush-hush, on a voyage which, even at her pseudospeed, would take a

  Terran month. The whisky he had poured for them glowed across tongue and

  palate.

  "It's a foul story," he warned.

  "Does evil go away just because we keep silent?" Kossara answered.

  Inwardly: How evil are you, you claw of the Empire?--but again without

  heat, a thought she felt obliged to think.

  After all, his lean features looked so grim and unhappy, across the

  table from her. He shouldn't chain-smoke the way he did; anticancer

  shots, cardiovascular treatments, lungflushes, and everything, it

  remained a flagellant habit. One could serve a bad cause without being a

  bad man. Couldn't one?

  He sighed and drank. "Very well. A sketch. I got a lot of details from a

  narcoquiz of our prisoner, but most are simply that, details, useful in

  hunting down the last of his outfit if and when that seems worthwhile.

  He did, though, confirm and amplify something much more scary."

  Memory prodded her with a cold finger. "Where is he?"

  "Oh, I needled him and bunged him out an airlock." Flandry observed her

  shock. His tone changed from casual to defensive. "We were already in

  space; this business doesn't allow delays. As for turning him ove
r to

  the authorities when we arrive--there may not be any authorities, or

  they may be in full revolt, Merseian-allied. At best, the fact he was

  alive could trickle across to enemy Intelligence, and give them valuable

  clues to what we know. This is how the game's played, Kossara." He

  trailed out smoke before he added, "Happens his name was Muhammad

  Snell."

  Blood beat in temples and cheeks. "He got no chance--I don't need

  avengers."

  "Maybe your people will," he said quietly.

  After a second he leaned forward, locked eyes with her, and continued:

  "Let's begin explanations from my viewpoint. I want you to follow my

  experiences and reasoning, in hopes you'll then accept my conclusions.

  You're an embittered woman, for more cause than you know right now. But

  I think you're also intelligent, fair-minded, yes, tough-minded enough

  to recognize truth, no matter what rags it wears."

  Kossara told herself she must be calm, watchful, like a cat--like

  Butterfeet when she was little ... She drank. "Go on."

  Flandry filled his lungs. "The Gospodar, the Dennitzans in general are

  furious at Hans' scheme to disband their militia and make them wholly

  dependent on the Navy," he said. "After they supported him through the

  civil war, too! And we've other sources of friction, inevitable; and

  thoughts of breaking away or violently replacing the regnant Emperor are

  no longer unthinkable. Dennitza has its own culture, deep-rooted,