The Legacy of Lehr (23 page)

Mather continued to play dead. He knew who it had to be. Remembering what Reynal had done to Wallis, he had to fight an almost uncontrollable urge to roll violently away from that cold scrutiny, but he knew he dared not, no matter what else happened. He sensed Reynal bending closer—and then pain seemed to explode up his arm and race all through his body as the needler was plucked from his fingers.

Not that the needler could have done any good against Reynal's shields, anyway—for the shields were surely what Mather had just experienced, judging by what he had seen before he went down. It had not been as bad as taking a stun charge, for which he was grateful, but that was small comfort as he lay twitching, every nerve ending screaming. His limbs continued to twitch and jerk uncontrollably for several seconds after Reynal moved on toward the door.

Nor was there any way Mather could warn whoever remained outside. His Rangers all were out of commission except Fredricks, still down in the hold with the cats; the ship's security people would be all but useless against someone as ruthless as Reynal. For the next minute or two, as he listened to the whine of more stun bolts being discharged in the corridor outside, Mather could only concentrate on trying to make his abused nerveways reconnect properly again and trying to make his left hand work—for that was crucial, if he hoped to stop Reynal. When the sound of stun bolts finally ceased, his heart sank as he heard Reynal's voice.

“Come on in, Doctor, or I'll have to shoot you, too! I have a patient who requires your attention.”

“You've—killed them!” He heard Shannon gasp.

“Only some of them, Doctor. Now come and see to Lieutenant Wing. Don't make me touch you, or it will be very unpleasant. And if Wing dies, I can promise that you shall follow him.”

Mather still could do nothing yet, though feeling was starting to come back into his arms and legs. Cautiously he watched Reynal march Shannon past him to where Wing lay, Reynal covering her with his stunner and further menacing her with his clawed glove. Wing was hardly breathing and must be close to comatose, with five darts in him. Tense and obviously frightened, Shannon dropped to her knees and scanned Wing briefly, then removed the darts from his chest and began charging a hypospray. With Reynal engrossed in watching what she did, Mather sensed that this might be his last chance to take positive action.

His left hand was shielded from Reynal now, as would be anything Mather removed from his jacket—unless, of course, Reynal came back. Carefully Mather started to work. Every centimeter of gain hurt, but he finally managed to get the larger, wider-mouthed of the two plastic vials out of his jacket and into the shelter of his side and got the stopper out. But he had only begun to pull out the second vial when Reynal looked up from where he knelt by Wing and Shannon and glanced around the room again. As Reynal stood up, Mather palmed the small vial and closed his eyes to merest slits, praying that the man would not notice the larger vial nestled behind his cupped hand. (And why should he even think of Mather again, believing him to be incapacitated by Wing's darts and his own touch?)

But as Reynal's gaze swept the room again, moistening bloodstained lips with a bloody tongue, Mather suddenly knew why Reynal might approach. The knowledge chilled him, but not half so much as when he realized that Reynal's gaze had fixed itself elsewhere—on Wallis, still sprawled in the chair where he had dropped her. Her eyes were closed, and blood stained the right side of her neck and had run down that side of her clothing, but her breathing seemed steady. Reynal's expression changed from speculation to purpose as he began walking slowly toward her, and Mather had all he could do not to launch himself at the man.

He made himself think, instead. He had to have time! As far as he could tell, Wallis was not yet in any real danger from loss of blood—though there might be other complications that he could not anticipate. By any outward sign that Mather could perceive from where he lay, Reynal probably had not had time to do her any grave damage—though he apparently was preparing to resume where he had left off.

Not only did Mather need time to finish preparing his weapon, but he needed a chance to get to his feet so he could deliver it. If Reynal stopped him before he could get up, Reynal would kill him and then kill Wallis, anyway. Nor could Mather take another charge from Reynal's shields and expect to survive.

Feverishly he searched his mind for some delaying action, some diversion that might give him—and Wallis—the time they needed. His eyes lit on Shannon, still laboring over the unconscious Wing and nervously trying
not
to look at Reynal.

It was a very long shot, because he did not know Shannon well, but it was the only shot he had. He did not know whether he could pull it off, especially in his presently befogged condition, for only determination and his sheer bulk were enabling him to keep fighting the needler's drug as long as he had.

There was no way to know but to try. Closing his eyes briefly and betting everything on his sometimes unreliable psychic resources, he sought the state of altered consciousness from which he had empathized with the Lehr cat. To his relief, he felt himself shifting mental gears almost immediately and guessed that, in this instance, the needler's drug probably was helping him achieve the results he sought, rather than hindering.

Heartened, he reached out a tentative probe toward Shannon, aware that lack of physical contact was not going to help matters any, and tried to concentrate all his strength, all his heightened awareness, on a single act of
willing
Shannon to action. Reynal was within an easy arm's reach of Wallis now. He had turned off his shields and was settling on the chair arm beside her, bending across her body toward her bloody neck. Frantic, Mather launched his remaining strength into one emphatic command. He could almost feel Reynal's teeth sinking into his own neck as he
willed
Shannon to leap up and scream.

Suddenly he knew she had heard him—and even as he sensed her lungs filling with air, he was dumping the contents of his smaller vial into the larger one, swirling the mixture together in an opalescent haze. In that same instant, Shannon shrieked,
“Noooo!”
and sprang to her feet.

Reynal gasped and threw himself back from Wallis's chair, switching on his shields again—which was just what Mather wanted. Reynal started toward Shannon, murder in his eyes as he reached for her with the clawed glove, and in that instant Mather staggered to his feet to fling the contents of his larger vial directly at Reynal, splashing the milky liquid across his shields in a dazzling display of blue sparks, smoke, and an odor of wet seaweed.

For just an instant the shields held, the outer perimeter alive with blue flame and acrid greenish smoke, and Mather was afraid it wasn't going to work. He rummaged frantically in his pocket for the silver chain, ready to throw that, too—but then Reynal and the center of the room exploded in a sheet of white fire, and Mather was throwing himself at Wallis's chair, overturning it and her to shield her with his body, clapping his palm to the wound in her neck. Shannon recoiled against a bulkhead with the concussion, collapsing to her knees in a heap as the flames raged. The explosion brought more ship's crew bursting through the doorway, and they made valiant attempts to drag those nearest the door to safety.

But Reynal himself was afire, screaming hideously as the flames roared around him and singed the acoustical baffles in the ceiling. Fire-fighting equipment was summoned, but it was too late for Reynal by the time it arrived. By then, all that remained of him was a charred, smoldering hulk, vaguely humanoid in shape.

The stench of burnt flesh and hair hung heavy on the air, along with utter, disbelieving silence, until the ceiling ventilation system cut in and began to clear the smoke from the room. The sound released Mather, who raised his head and started to pick himself up from over Wallis's limp form. As he did so, Shannon also staggered to her feet and limped painfully to his side, there to support herself wobbily against the overturned chair and gaze with horror at what remained of Lorcas Reynal.

“What next? A stake through the heart?” she whispered, in a voice that only Mather could have heard.

Mather grinned and patted his free hand unsteadily against the toe of her boot in reassurance, then shifted Wallis enough in his arms so that he could peek carefully under his hand at her wound.

“You'd better get the rest of your medical people up here as fast as you can, Doctor. As far as Wallis is concerned, I can handle basic first aid as well as the next man, but you'd better see to the captain, if we haven't already lost him.”

“But is Wallis all right?” Shannon asked.

“She'll be fine with me until they get here. Go to Lutobo.”

Still a little dazed, Shannon nodded and moved to Lutobo's side, where one of the newly arrived crew was already administering emergency first aid. Mather managed to find a pressure dressing in Wallis's medical kit and slapped that over her neck wound, then rummaged in the kit again until he found a familiar hypo-spray, which he charged and then triggered against his own wrist. As he felt the stimulant racing through his system, clearing his head and helping to counteract the effects of the needler dart he had taken, he took a few seconds to pull out the darts in his torso, shaking his head as he discovered another in the back of one thigh. He was running a pocket scanner over Wallis, trying to decide whether to give her a stimulant, too, when she opened her eyes and managed a weak smile.

“Hi, there,” she whispered. “Will I live?”

“Afraid so,” he answered with a grin. He glanced up and half turned as Deller and a medical team entered the room. “We need some oxygen over here right away, Deller—and an IV started, as soon as you can manage it. She's lost a lot of blood.”

Deller came over immediately with a technician and equipment and bent to check Mather's scanner readings.

“Let's type and cross-match for a couple of units of whole blood, too,” he ordered, as the technician knelt on Wallis's other side and started setting up. “Commodore, are you all right?”

Mather nodded. “Yes, and if type and cross-match are going to take too long, you can set up for a direct transfusion from me. We've exchanged blood before, so I know we're compatible.”

“See to it, Jacy, while I check on some of the others,” Deller said to the technician, moving on.

Mather helped break out the oxygen unit, but Wallis raised her hand long enough to give Mather's a slight squeeze, then she took the oxygen mask and held it to her face. After a few deep breaths, she looked up at Mather again.

“You might see if someone can manage a vasoconstrictor, too,” she murmured. “I can tell that my pressure is 'way down.”

The technician starting the IV gave Mather a nod, and Mather echoed it as he smoothed a lock of red hair from her face.

“It's being taken care of,” he murmured. “How do you feel?”

“Woozy. What did you do to Reynal?”

Mather smiled a devilish grin. “You aren't going to believe me when I tell you.”

“Try me.
You
didn't watch him and Wing drain Lutobo dry.”

“No, but I thought I was going to have to watch him do it to you. Anyway, do you remember how we discussed the possibility that we were dealing with a vampire, and we talked about some of the classic defenses against same?”

Wallis took another deep breath of oxygen and waved off the technician to see to other patients.

“So you branded him with silver, exposed him to sunlight, and threw holy water on him, eh?” she murmured, her voice sounding hollow inside the mask. “You cultural anthropologists are all alike.”

“Well, as I recall, it was you who pointed out to Doctor Shannon that most superstitions and legends have some basis in truth.”

She took away the mask to stare at him incredulously. “Are you joking? You're not, are you? Mather Seton, if you tell me that the analytical, Academy-educated darling of the Imperial Service reverted to superstitious—

“Are you going to talk or are you going to listen?” Mather said simply.

Wallis studied him for a moment, taking another few breaths of oxygen, then thrust out a petulant lower lip. “I don't believe a word you're going to say, but go ahead. This should be very interesting.”

“Oh, I assure you, it is. Now, we know that Reynal wore a microbe defense shield, right?”

“Well it was a little more than that, after Wing got through with it. You do know that he was the one working with Reynal, don't you?”

Mather snorted. “I should. I took a couple of his darts. In any case, despite what Wing did to the shield, it wasn't as perfect as they might have wished. I spotted a potential weakness before I even saw Reynal use it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you were busy doing other things, so you weren't aware of it, but there was another attack after you and the captain left the hold—two little boys down on Level Four.” He skipped over her expression of dismay. “One of the boys was killed in the usual manner, though Reynal didn't stop to slash him up, for some reason; but Reynal let the other one go—rather suddenly, it appears. It seems the boy was wearing this chain and ident tag around his neck.” He pulled it out of his pocket to show her. “Shannon found it when she was called to the scene to treat the surviving boy, and she brought it to me. It's very high-grade silver.”

“Silver!” Wallis exclaimed, stifling a giggle. “Oh, Mather, does it have a cross on it?”

“No, but it's an excellent conductor,” he replied, ignoring her jibe, “and Reynal's shields generated a high-voltage electrical field around him, rather like a walking stun bolt. He probably came close to shorting out his shields right then. That, plus the legends, was what gave me my idea.”

“So you threw the chain at Reynal and his shields exploded?”