Alien Chronicles 3 - The Crystal Eye (51 page)

Chuckles ran through the audience.

Ampris looked at them sharply, realizing Israi was a master at manipulating them.

Israi smiled. “The other abiru races also depend on us for our care of them and the meaningful employment we provide. Medical treatment has been offered to those afflicted with the abiru-fever. They distrust our mercy and refuse the treatment. What can we do?”

Her lies were smooth. Ampris glared at her, growling softly in her throat.

“Citizens,” Israi said. “If you have fears about the health of any abiru you own, give them to the government. We will be importing fresh, uninfected slave stock that you may purchase for a discount in the auction.”

“What about the infected Rejects?” Ampris asked loudly.

A guard struck her from behind, driving her to her knees. Israi flashed him an angry glance, and he backed off.

Gasping, feeling the world tilt and sway around her, Ampris fought to maintain consciousness. Slowly, though it took almost all her strength, she rose unsteadily once more. She was colder than ever now, despite the robe, and she forced herself not to shiver.

“The Rejects who have fallen ill are no matter for concern,” Israi was saying. “We all know that they are feeble, sickly creatures from birth—otherwise, they would not be Rejects. No true Viis citizen accepted in society and of good health will ever succumb to this disease, especially if the infected abiru are quarantined and treated.”

Ampris stepped closer to the Kaa. Again a guard started to intervene, but a glance from Israi stopped him.

“Come, Ampris,” Israi said boldly, holding out her hand. “We cannot free your people, for they have nowhere to go. Let us care for you as we always have. Let us show you that we are merciful and capable of kindness.”

Despite the alarmed gasps of the crowd, she gripped Ampris’s hand. Behind her, Chancellor Temondahl shot to his feet, and even Ehssk looked startled.

“Majesty, have great care,” Temondahl said.

Ampris smiled to herself beneath her hood. She had been counting on Israi to grandstand.

“Ampris will never hurt us,” Israi declared to them all, keeping one eye on the cams. “She was once our dear companion, our golden Aaroun. The Imperial Mother fears no disease, and neither will her subjects.”

Ampris took yet another step closer to Israi, inhaling the Kaa’s perfume, hearing the rustle of the Kaa’s beautiful skirts, seeing how the delicate skin around the Kaa’s ear canals had begun to wrinkle ever so slightly.

Facing the cams, Ampris said, “If any historians survive to record this day, they will write of the great destruction. They will write of how Israi Kaa brought down the Viis Empire.”

Israi flicked out her tongue in anger and tried to jerk free her hand, but Ampris held it tightly and would not let go.

“You had your chance, Israi,” Ampris said. “You could have sent us away and lived. Now we will all die together.”

As she spoke, she shoved back her hood and stared into Israi’s widening, horrified eyes. In the nearest cam’s small reflecting lens, Ampris could see that her own eyes were clouded white with fever. Her tongue had begun to swell, and her skin was puffy with heat.

She lifted Israi’s hand, still clasped in hers, and let the world see how violently the fever made her shake. Chills and heat alike ran through Ampris, twisting her so that she could barely stand upright. Spittle drooled from one corner of her mouth.

“No,” Israi said in panic, still trying to pull free.

On the dais behind the force field, the chancellors were shouting. The guards circled, seeking an angle that would let them shoot Ampris without harming Israi.

“It can’t be!” Israi shouted fearfully, her eyes wide. “It can’t be!”

“Here is death,” Ampris said and spit right into Israi’s face.

CHAPTER
•TWENTY-TWO

It was as though civilization snapped. Chaos broke out in all directions. A screaming Israi reeled back from Ampris, her hands clawing at her face. Ehssk shrank away from the Kaa, refusing to touch her. That frightened the others, who gathered around her helplessly.

One of the guards shot at Ampris, but she collapsed at that moment and the shot missed her, going into the crowd, which screamed and fought to get away. The captain of the guard was shouting orders that no one heeded.

And from various points around the Plaza, Rejects came staggering out of hiding. Rejects with white-filmed eyes and swollen rills. Rejects reaching out for citizens or falling in convulsions from the fever.

Panic spread as the crowd ran in all directions. Viis citizens in colorful clothes were suddenly hitting and fighting each other to get away. Other Viis streamed out from nearby buildings, shouting and running as though they had gone suddenly crazy.

Lying on the dais while the chancellors’ and guards’ attention focused on the still-hysterical Israi, Ampris panted from the fever, which filled her with flames. Her skin felt like it was bursting from the heat and swelling.

“Get the Imperial Mother to safety!” someone was shouting. “You fools, there’s nothing to fear from her.”

Ampris looked up and her cloudy vision cleared momentarily. She saw Chancellor Temondahl gather Israi into his arms and assist her off the dais toward the imperial litter. The guards followed, and Ampris knew this was her chance.

She had intended to kill Ehssk at this moment, but he was nowhere to be seen. Nor did she have the strength.

Revenge faded from her mind. She knew the scientist had condemned himself when he’d refused to help the Kaa.

Ampris tried to remember what she was supposed to be doing, but she could no longer concentrate. The flames were around her. She could see now that her fur was blazing. Weakly, she tried to beat out the flames, but instead all she managed to do was roll herself off the dais.

The impact of landing on the ground jolted her back to consciousness. She was so thirsty, and yet her throat was filled with sour-tasting mucus. It choked her, and she coughed, thrusting herself up on her elbows as her chest seemed to break apart.

To her right, the barricade had been torn down and trampled. She saw a shoe lying on the pavement and the crowd running now down the Avenue of Triumph. A Reject fell only a short distance from her and lay there dying.

Ampris tried to crawl to him, but suddenly hands were grasping her by her shoulders and picking her up.

She could not see, could not save herself.

“Goldie!” said Elrabin’s voice, choked with emotions she could not identify. “Come on now. Can you walk? Try!”

He pulled her to her feet. She swayed, unable to see anything but shadows, hearing and feeling the flames that were consuming her. She tried to speak, but only a moan came from her throat.

Now she was floating through the air. Opening her eyes, she squinted against the blinding light and turned her head against Elrabin’s shoulder. She recognized his scent. He was carrying her, his gait rough and hurried, his breath rasping in his throat.

“Too heavy,” she mumbled weakly. “Hurt you.”

“Never mind about me,” he said in a grim, breathless voice. “Got to get you out of here. How much of it did you take?”

She sighed, and found herself freezing, shivering, and crying out in pain.

Something jolted her, and she hit her head sharply against something hard and unyielding. He’d dropped her, she thought.

But the ground dipped and bobbed beneath her.

“Just lie there,” Elrabin said, panting heavily, “while I get this crate moving.”

She didn’t understand, but then she heard an engine sputter to life, and Elrabin saying, “Come on. Come
on.”

And they were flying. She could hear the sound of the wind. It felt deliciously cool, and the flames went out as though snuffed.

“Elrabin,” she said. Her voice sounded thick and strange to her ears.

“Hang on, Goldie. Just hang on.”

The skimmer swerved violently, and Ampris moaned. They swerved again, and came to a lurching stop.

Ampris closed her eyes, sinking into the heat. The flames were back, crackling in her ears, singeing her fur. She twisted this way and that, crying out, and felt his hands grip her hard.

“How much did you take?” he asked frantically. “Goldie, Goldie, wake up and talk to me. I meant to ask you before you left. How much did you take?”

It was so hard to listen to what he was saying. She opened her eyes with a great effort and saw the snowflakes falling on a huge fire that lit the night sky. “Vess Vaas,” she whispered. She was freezing, standing knee-deep in snow. Her fur felt brittle, like it might fall off. Her nose had gone numb and she could no longer feel her ears.

“Goldie, come on. Stay with me now,” Elrabin was saying. His voice was so faint she could barely hear him, then suddenly he sounded very loud. “How much did you take?”

She wanted to see him, but she couldn’t. He sounded so upset, his voice choked as though he were crying. But Elrabin was tough and streetwise. He didn’t cry. She had to be imagining all this.

She lifted her hand, and he gripped it in his.

“Ampris,” he said, pleading with her.
“Try.”

He never called her by her real name. The fear in his voice suddenly pierced through her fog. She realized he must be asking her something important. She had to help him. He was her friend.

“Elrabin?” she asked.

“How much did you take?” he repeated. “Some of it? Half of it? All of it? Tell me!”

The answer came to her, momentarily clear. “All of it,” she said.

A convulsion made her arch her back and cry out. She heard Elrabin shouting something, felt a sharp prick in her arm.

The pain stopped. Her muscles relaxed, and she dropped flat again, breathing hard. She wanted to see him one last time, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t.

And it was dark.

Israi reclined on a couch, surrounded by physicians, a damp cloth lying across her brow. Her magnificent gown was torn and stained with dirt. Bracelets were missing from her bruised wrists, as were some of the jewels that had dangled from her rill spines.

None of her attendants had come near her since Lord Temondahl had brought her back to the palace. She lay now in this chamber she did not recognize, with only the physicians around, prodding her and drawing blood, and felt a fear so terrible and deep she could not think of anything else.

Was she dying? Was she infected? She could not bear to ask the questions. What if she were? She looked into that abyss and her mind would not cope with the answers there. What if she were not? She closed her eyes and prayed, although she had no hope that the panoply of ancient gods would hear her. They were gone long ago, vanished into an age of myth and superstition. Israi performed the worship rituals at official ceremonies as part of her imperial duties, not out of belief.

“The Imperial Mother must lie here now and rest,” one of the physicians said to her.

“No,” Israi said, trying to rise. “We must know. We must have answers now!”

He pushed her down, his hand gloved, a protective suit making him an alien, shadowy figure. “There can be no answers until the tests are run, majesty. Be assured it won’t take much longer.”

She saw the others walking ponderously toward the door, bulky and awkward in protective suits. “Do not leave us!” she cried in fear.

“We must, majesty. The tests require our interpretation.”

Breathing hard, her rill rigid beneath her head, Israi lay there and clutched the sides of her couch with both hands. She had the feeling of falling, and she wanted to wail. But her throat was already raw from screaming. She did not want to die here, alone and abandoned by her own court. They were afraid of her. Even her guards were afraid of her. Only Temondahl, the chancellor she had distrusted, had been brave enough to touch her.

Where was he now? In quarantine, having his blood drawn? Or in the throne room, plotting with Oviel to seize her empire?

Israi tossed her head from side to side. When would she know? When would she have answers?

It seemed forever before the physicians returned. They no longer wore the protective suits. Israi sat up, staring at them, seeing their smiles, and she felt her fear fall away.

“No infection?” she asked, not allowing herself to breathe.

“None, majesty. We will keep the Imperial Mother under observation for a while longer, but—”

“Then Ehssk was right,” she said, letting her mind fill with relief. “It cannot cross species.”

“That is correct, majesty. The symptoms were almost identical to the plague, but it is not the Dancing Death. And your majesty is not infected.”

Rage came clawing up inside Israi. She struggled off her couch, staggered, and barely kept her balance. She’d been trapped in here for hours, suffering unbearable worry and torment, cowering for her life—and all because of Ampris and her trickery.

“She is to be brought before us at once!” Israi raged, kicking at the cushions that had fallen to the floor. “If the guards have killed her, then we want to see her corpse. Now!”

“Who, majesty?” the chief physician asked timidly.

“Ampris, you fool! Who else?”

He stared at her without comprehension.

Pushing away from him, Israi clapped her hands together. “Send our servants to us. Send our attendants and our ladies in waiting. Send us Lord Nalsk.”

“The Imperial Mother is overwrought and must rest,” the physician said. “I can supply your majesty with a sedative if necessary.”

Her rill was throbbing. She felt dizzy and unwell, and fresh fear gripped her. “Are you certain we are well?”

“Your majesty is ill, but your majesty does not have the plague. Rest and—”

“We do not want rest!” she shouted. “We want the head of Ampris!”

Suddenly she was breathless, as though caught in a vise. She stiffened, gasping for air, and the physicians surrounded her immediately. One of them snapped a bitter-smelling capsule under her nostrils, making her sneeze, and the seizure was over as quickly as it had come.

She collapsed, and they laid her on the couch again. A medication patch was placed over her heart, another on her throat. She felt the sedatives taking effect and tried to fight them. She couldn’t lie here, doing nothing. Ampris had to be dealt with.