Authors: Margaret Weis
"What we
were paid to do. Check out these files." Xris took the twist
out, pointed it toward the empath. "He know of any more zombies
around?"
"No. Only
the two at the end of the corridor, who are currently unaware of our
presence."
"They're
going to be aware of us pretty soon, unless your friend has a real
good set of lungs."
"His lungs
are in excellent condition for someone his age, but I am not sure—"
"I was
referring to his talent with that blowgun," Xris said shortly.
"Ah, you
were being facetious." Raoul gave a polite smile. "Might I
see for myself?" He slid around the cyborg, glanced down the
tunnel, and came back, shaking his head. "The distance is far
too great."
"Damn! I'd
like to get in there without them or anyone else knowing about it."
Xris stuck the twist back in his mouth, chewed on it irritably. "Just
what the hell are you doing?"
"I will
deal with the mind-dead." Raoul was pulling back his long hair,
tying it behind his head in a knot. "Please, allow me," he
added, giving Xris a charming smile. "It's my turn."
"How—"
"Wait,
please."
The Loti closed
his eyes, concentrated a moment, then opened them. The pupils were
fixed, unmoving. The eyes held no expression, the face was smooth,
impassive.
"Do you
think I can pass?" he asked in the dull, lifeless tone of the
mind-dead.
"You're
crazy," said Xris. "All right, you look like one of them,
but these guys must all know each other by sight. They'll shoot you
before you can get close enough—"
Raoul shook his
head, began to carefully draw his gloves off his hands. "The
mind-dead have one flaw. Each is connected to only one being and that
is Abdiel. They do not care about anyone else, including each other.
Consequently, they do not know each other. Don't touch, please."
Raoul drew his
hands aside.
"You're
going to need this." Xris was holding out a dart pistol. "Unless
you're afraid you'll break a nail."
"My nails
are quite strong. It is the cuticles with which I have a—Ah,
facetious again." Raoul smiled, bowed. "Thank you, but I
have no use for your weapon."
Flexing his
hands, he turned and, before Xris could stop him, strolled languidly
and gracefully out into the passageway. As he walked, the Loti's body
posture altered. He set his shoulders, stiffened his back and neck.
He stared straight ahead, proceeded down the corridor with the fixed
and unalterable purpose of one of the mind-dead, whose mental
faculties have been directed toward a single goal.
"Spooky
character, that poisoner," said Lee.
Xris glanced
meaningfully at the empath, whose eyes glittered brightly beneath the
brim of the overlarge hat. He wondered suddenly what Raoul meant by
"someone his age."
"Hell, the
little guy knows I'm thinking it," Lee asserted defensively. "I
might as well say it."
Xris had to
admit Lee had a point. The cyborg turned back to see what was
happening in the tunnel.
Raoul walked
with even, measured steps toward the computer room. The two guards
couldn't see him, due to the darkness, but they must surely hear him.
If so, they gave no sign of noticing.
Xris refocused
his eye, kept the Loti in sight.
Raoul stepped
into a pool of harsh light. The mind-dead moved, at last. Xris swore
softly.
"What's
going on?" demanded Harry in a loud whisper. "Well, damn
it, I can't see anything!"
"They've
pulled guns on him," reported the cyborg.
"Should we
go?" Lee held his weapon ready.
"No, give
him a chance. They haven't shot him yet."
"What are
you doing here?" The mind-dead raised their weapons. "This
zone is restricted."
"Abdiel
sent me," Raoul answered. He stood between the two mind-dead,
his hands open, palms out, to indicate he was unarmed. "I have a
message for you."
"What is
your message?"
The mind-dead
lowered their weapons; the name of Abdiel removing any suspicions
they might have had.
"The Lady
Maigrey is coming. There she is!"
Raoul moved, as
if to point. The mind-dead started to turn to look. The Loti glided
forward. One hand grasped hold of the gunhand of the mind-dead on his
right, his other hand closed over the wrist of the mind-dead on his
left.
Shock, pain
contorted the faces of the mind-dead. Their knees buckled. Raoul let
loose his grip, and both mind-dead slid to the floor.
The Little One
sprang out from his hiding place, began running down the hall,
tripping on the hem of the raincoat. The small empath could run fast
for someone his age.
"Move out!"
Xris ordered.
Reaching the
computer room, his men took up positions in the passageway. The
cyborg inspected the bodies. The light shone on faces grotesquely
contorted, mouths parted in the screams of pain neither had been
alive long enough to utter.
The Little One
stood over them, making chortling animal noise in his throat. Raoul
gazed down complacently at the corpses.
"Compliments
of my former employer, Snaga Ohme," he said languidly.
Removing the
pair of gloves from his belt, he drew them back onto his hands.
"Poison." He wiggled his fingers. "That's why I warned
you not to touch," he added, glancing at Xris. "Plastiskin
over the palms protects me from the poison's effects. And it's
remarkably versatile. I've even had it made into my favorite shade of
lip gloss."
"Lip
gloss." Xris took the twist from his mouth, looked at it, looked
at the Loti, started to put the twist back and changed his mind. He
thrust what was left in his pocket. "They didn't have time to
send a message back to that master of theirs, did they?"
"The pain
they experience is brief, but quite debilitating. It would prevent
them from thinking about anything except possibly their own impending
demise."
"Yeah,
well, I guess you know what you're doing. I'm going into the computer
room, do a little work. If your friend 'hears' anything, let me
know."
"Certainly."
Raoul fluttered, glittered. The Litde One was removing the gold card
case from his pocket.
Xris didn't wait
to see what came next.
It took him a
while to readjust his thinking to using the old-style computers, and
he learned, fumbling with Corasian technology, that although they
copied accurately from humans, they occasionally had no idea of what
it was they were copying or how it worked.
He jabbed away
at the keys. One good thing about the collective mind, each Corasian
trusted every other Corasian. No need for passwords, locking codes,
any of that nonsense.
"This is
just plain weird," he said to himself.
He was conscious
of time passing, conscious of the desperate need to hurry, conscious
of danger around them. But all that seemed remote, hard to believe.
The room was quiet, except for the whirring of the computers. He
might as well be in a museum. A glance out the door showed Raoul,
letting his hair down.
Xris searched
the files. But he caught himself wondering about how her ladyship was
doing, wondered if she was still alive. He wondered about Agis, about
the priest. Probably not. Probably dead, like Britt.
"And likely
all the rest of us soon enough. A goddam army on the surface. There
you are!" he said at last.
He'd found the
file. Pulling it up, he glanced through it, skipped over the complex
technical language, paused when he discovered numerous
three-dimensional schematics. Xris had no idea what a space-rotation
bomb looked like, but he had the feeling these weren't it.
"It appears
to me, sister, that they've got the pieces to the bomb, they just
don't know what to do with them. But we'll let the experts decide."
Switching on his
own internal computer, Xris hooked himself to the Corasian machines
and downloaded all the files he could find that appeared to have
anything to do with bombs, humans, or the Milky Way galaxy in
general.
All the while,
he kept one eye on the door, expecting any moment to see his men
spring to attention.
He was about to
shut down and leave when a thought occurred to him. The Corasians had
all or most of the basic parts, but were obviously, from the number
of models, having difficulty figuring out how they went together. It
wouldn't help to erase the files. The lady herself had figured that
once in the central computer system these files would go all over the
Corasian galaxy.
"But what
if we added a few more parts?"
He created a new
file and transmitted. A three-dimensional drawing of his own
cybernetic limb appeared on the screen. Beneath it he added, in
Standard Military, "Arming device."
This complete,
he covered his electronic footsteps, left the computer humming and
whirring to itself in ignorant intelligence.
"Any sign
of the enemy? Good. Then let's get the hell out of here. Our job's
finished. I got the dope stored inside me. If anything happens to me,
make certain that my files get back to whoever's in charge. All
right, move out. That means the two of you, unless you're thinking of
staying."
"The Little
One says that the Starlady is in much trouble.
"Yeah? Well
that's her concern, not mine. We're going to be in a hell of a lot of
trouble ourselves, if there's an army between us and our
spaceplanes."
"The Little
One says you could be of assistance to her."
Xris took a
twist from his pocket, inserted it between his hps. His men stood,
looking at him in silence.
"It's not
in the contract," he said finally, and, turning, began to
retrace his steps, back up the tunnel toward the planet's surface.
What I have done
is yours; what I have to do is yours; being part in all I have,
devoted yours.
William
Shakespeare, dedication
Maigrey entered
the chamber in which Abdiel held Sagan captive, her heart and soul
hushed. Four passages opened into the room, one at each of the
cardinal points. Four bridges led from each entrance, met in the
center to form the shape of a cross over a vast pool of flaming black
water beneath the high point of the domed ceiling.
In the center of
the chamber stood a bier, made of stones piled up, one on another.
Derek Sagan lay on the bier, his eyes closed, arms at his sides. He
was dressed in his red cape and golden armor, his ceremonial armor,
which he wore on illustrious occasions. The armor was a copy of the
real armor, currently aboard
Phoenix.
The mind-dead did good
work.
It was like
Abdiel to have added that touch, Maigrey thought bitterly. Making a
mockery of Sagan's victories in this, his ultimate defeat.
The flames lit
the chamber; firelight gleamed on the golden armor, shone on the
face, composed, peaceful, cold and still as the rock that pillowed
the head. The hands that lay at his sides did not move, the
breastplate did not move.
On the
threshold, Maigrey stopped, physically unable to go farther. She
reached out a trembling hand to catch hold of the wall, found Agis's
strong arm there to support her.
"We are too
late," Agis said. "My lord is dead."
Sparafucile gave
a fierce, harsh cry, like that of a wounded animal.
"No!"
Maigrey drew a deep breath, trying to recover from her first,
terrifying shock. "We are meant to think he is."
The soul had not
left the body, but had shut itself up inside.
Windows were
sealed, entrances closed and locked. No light gleamed from within. It
was up to Maigrey to find the door.
Sparafucile shot
her a dark, suspicious glance. Gliding forward, soft-footed, the
half-breed hurried onto the bridge.
Agis started
after him, but Maigrey stopped him, her hand clasping his arm.
"Let him
go," she said.
The centurion
looked at her, his face grim, doubtful whether or not to obey.
Maigrey
understood. Agis's loyalty, like that of the half-breed's, was first
and always to his lord. She had only borrowed it awhile.
"He can do
no harm," she said.
Sparafucile came
to stand beside the bier, the still, unmoving body. The assassin
stared down at it, eyes searching the cold face with its harsh,
uncompromising lines of strong purpose and resolve. Reaching out a
hand that shivered with the temerity of doing that which he would
have never dared do while Sagan was alive, the half-breed touched
gently the Warlord's arm.
"She is
right!" he hissed. "Tricksy woman is right. Flesh is warm.
You live. You fool them, eh? Sagan Lord! You fool them all, including
Sparafucile. That is very clever. I laugh, Sagan Lord."
The half-breed
gave a laugh that was more like a sob. Drawing near, he plucked
timidly at the red cape.
"You wake
up now, Sagan Lord. Sparafucile is here. Sparafucile make report, eh?
Same as always?" The half-breed's voice cracked. He shouted
hoarsely. "Sagan Lord!"
"May God
have mercy," whispered Brother Daniel.
Maigrey began to
understand. This wasn't loyalty, but—in the half-breed's own
dark and twisted way—love.
"Agis, stay
here and guard the doorway. Brother Daniel, come with me."
Maigrey walked
across the bridge. The assassin, hearing her footfalls, whirled to
glare at her, keeping his body between her and his lord. His hand
darted into the rags.
"I can help
him, Sparafucile," said Maigrey, continuing to approach, keeping
her gaze fixed on his. "I need you to guard the other entrance.
She pointed south, Agis stood at the western passage.
The half-breed
eyed her warily, glanced back at Sagan, who had not moved.
"I can help
him," she repeated. "I'm the only one. You know that,
Sparafucile. I am Blood Royal."