Endurance (27 page)

“Centurons.” Reever deactivated the rifle and came to stand over me. “Remove this prisoner immediately.” He put the weapon aside and lifted me into his arms.

“OverMaster?”

Reever inhaled sharply. “I will deal with it.”

I was too dazed to do more than gape back up at him. Stare at his narrowed, glittering eyes. Lips thinned to a white slash. The muscles along cheekbones and jaw were taut and flagged with a dark red tinge. I couldn’t believe it. Unemotional, blank-faced Reever showed every physical indication of being completely enraged.

It didn’t surprise me. It dumbfounded me.

At the same time, one of the centurons hauled a semiconscious Shropana to his feet. “What shall we do with this one, OverMaster?”

Reever glanced down at me, then turned to reply. “Execute him.”

I admit, a part of me agreed. Another part wanted to watch them do it, too. But the physician within overruled both. “No. Don’t. I’m okay. Jenner’s still alive.”

Reever’s color returned to something resembling normal. His tone remained the same—as chilling as it had been after the Drift Nine incident. “I didn’t ask for your approval, Doctor.”

The guards dragged Shropana out of my chamber. Reever carried me over to my berth and sat down, still holding me in his arms. He ran his hands over my abdomen, and I winced as he found the two places the League commander had driven his foot into. “I’ll take you to the infirmary.”

“Good idea, but wait.” I eased Jenner into my lap and checked him over with shaking hands. “I think he’ll be all right, but I need to scan him and … then … I should check …”

The shock set in at last, and my teeth began to chatter. I didn’t remember much after that. Reever evidently carried me and Jenner to the infirmary and left us with Vlaav. My physical reaction was of short duration, and once I re-emerged, I insisted on performing the scans on my beloved pet personally. Only when I’d verified he had little more than a sore throat did I let the resident run an abdominal series on me.

Reever signaled me later from Command. “You will be reassigned two guards at all times,” he said.

Guilt made me snap at him. “Why? Shropana’s dead. I’ll hear Devrak coming a mile away.”

“The Colonel has escaped. Report to my chamber at once.”

I reported. The support braces around my bruised ribs dug into my skin as I walked through the door panel and confronted Reever. “Well? Did you find him yet?”

“No.” Reever rose from his console and came around toward me. Before I could stop him, he took hold of my right arm and tugged up my sleeve. “Why do you keep removing it?”

“I don’t.” I wasn’t going to look at my arm. I already knew the slave code was gone. “It heals by itself. What are you doing?”

“You must bear the proper designation.”

This was the same man who’d ordered a prisoner executed, just for kicking me and trying to strangle my cat? “No. It won’t work.”

“Come with me.”

Instant, nerve-shredding fear clutched at me. My lungs strained for air. “No. I won’t let you do that to me again. It doesn’t work, Reever.” He was pushing me through the door panel and out into the corridor. “Damn you, don’t
keep doing this to me
!”

Nothing I said had any effect on him. Neither did the kicking or shrieking when he grabbed me and slung me over his shoulder. He deposited me on my feet in a chamber I hadn’t seen before (his?) and secured the door panel before going to a very familiar-looking console.

There was no way I could punch a hole through the plasteel panel between me and freedom. I ended up pounding on it anyway.

“Let me out of here!”

“Prepare the PIC application.”

My muscles locked. No. He wasn’t going to burn me, I wouldn’t let him. There were no handy-dandy floor clamps in here. He couldn’t burn what he couldn’t hold down.

Then something stole over me, like a gentle caress. His voice, inside my head.

Why are you afraid? I won’t harm you
. The familiar paralysis followed.

Oh yes, you will
. I fought, pushing Reever from my mind, groping for any amount of control over my body. Nothing worked. He filled my thoughts, prodding and poking at my walls, while he moved me from the door to the console and stretched out my unmarked right arm.
No. Don’t burn me, please, Reever, don’t, don’t
!

I won’t let you feel the pain
. An extensor clamp emerged from the console and encircled my right wrist. Reever’s mental command became imperative.
Stop fighting me
.

No no no no no no no
—

A laser activated. Deep inside myself, I found an untapped source of energy and tapped into it, hurling what I found at Reever. Whatever it was drove him from my mind, and restored partial command of my body. I jerked as the heat seared into my flesh, and screamed.

The concise pattern scrolling over my forearm became blurred as I fought to pull my hand free. The clamp tightened automatically, and something snapped in my wrist. More pain, deeper and harder, rolled up my arm and into my chest.

Can’t breathe
. Frenzied straining and pulling only made the constriction and torment worse.
Stop it, stop you’re killing me
!

A new voice hammered into my ears. “HalaVar. What is this?”

“End application program.” Reever caught me as I fell, and held me with one arm as he slapped me hard across the face.

My head fell back, but the sharp impact of his palm dispelled the attack, and I inhaled a huge, rasping gulp of air. It cleared my head enough for me to regain all my senses, and put my fists to good use. I hit him as
hard and fast as I could. I wasn’t landing any effective blows, but the pleasure of pounding on him felt too wonderful.

Eventually he caught both of my hands—and the flaring agony of what had to be a broken wrist made me groan and stop twisting. “Merely an exercise in obedience, OverLord.”

“You should conduct more of them.” The Hsktskt eyed me and snorted. “She bleeds.”

“Resisting PIC application. Again.” Reever hauled me over to a storage unit and sat me down beside it. “Remain there, Doctor, or I will sedate you.”

The audacity of the command held me suspended in disbelief. When he removed a medical case and began clumsily treating my burn, I snatched the topical applicator away from him. “I’ll do it myself.”

“I am pleased to find you here, Doctor.” TssVar lumbered over to watch as I cleaned the burn and temporarily splinted my broken wrist. “News has been relayed that will be of personal interest to you.”

“Oh?” I clamped down on my strained emotions and gave him an uninterested glance. “The Hsktskt are giving up on the slave-trading business?”

“Perhaps we will,” he said, and bared his teeth at my visible start. “I believe our main resources will be required by the war effort.”

I stopped strapping my wrist. “War? With who?”

“A signal was received by our border stations from Fendagal XI. It was sent by the Terran who experimented on you. He indicated the Allied League of Worlds will soon initiate an invasion of Faction held territories.”

“The
League
is attacking the Hsktskt?” How could that many world leaders descend into simultaneous lunacy?
Sent by the Terran who experimented on you
. “Joseph Grey Veil gave you this information?”

TssVar would have been blind to miss my expression. “I, too, was surprised by his actions. Until our intelligence sources on Fendagal XI reported that it was Grey Veil’s speech before the Ruling Council that convinced the League to declare war.”

Joseph, playing both sides of the war. Hedging his bets, or something worse? “Why are you telling me this, OverLord?”

“Your knowledge of this Terran and the League may prove valuable to me in the future.”

How fast could I forget everything I knew about the League? “I’m not a military advisor,” I said. “Nor do I want to be one. Remember what happened the last time I got in the middle, on Aksel Drift Nine?”

“You will not be given a chance to blow anything up this time, Doctor.”

Reever released me to return to the infirmary, and I left him discussing the new threat with TssVar. My creator had instigated a war with the Hsktskt, then had warned them about it. None of it made any sense. What was he trying to do? Play both sides of the game? I knew my creator had no scruples, but this was bizarre, even for him.

“There she is.”

GothVar and several other centurons blocked the corridor ahead of me. Since I had a fresh, if somewhat hard-to-read PIC on my arm, I wasn’t too worried about him. “What do you want?”

FlatHead tossed a syrinpress to me, which I caught reflexively. “That was brought to me. It contains trace amounts of adrenlatyne. Explain.”

Who had turned me in? Vlaav? Zella? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Five dead Aksellans were removed from the infirmary. Yet none of the chamber monitors show them being transported to the disposal units. Where are they?”

“Like I said, I haven’t a clue.” I maintained my bland expression.

It didn’t work. “Take her to SrrokVar.”

P
ART
T
HREE

Inquisition

Crying Chambers

If I’d known then to whom and where I was being taken, I wouldn’t have played the cooperative prisoner. But ignorance is temporary bliss, and all I felt as the centurons marched me through the corridors was a sort of numb relief. Whoever SrrokVar was, I thought, he wouldn’t let FlatHead do anything out of line to me.

Not all the Hsktskt were pitiless sadists.

We walked past the slave tiers and through a connecting passage to another, remote structure—the one the trustees said was guarded around the clock. The two lizards posted at the entrance panel never permitted prisoners past that point, or so I’d been told.

A gesture from GothVar made one of the guards open the panel.

Inside was an area filled with strange-looking equipment. Some I recognized—examination and dissection tables. Electroniscopic scanners. A full forensic analyzer array. Was this the Hsktskt version of a morgue?

I had the feeling I wasn’t here to perform an autopsy.

The main enclosure branched off into smaller, closed-panel corridors. Since the panels were closed and locked down, I couldn’t tell what lay behind them. Odd stains patterned the transparent floor, due to the conspicuous absence of the efficient Lok-Teel blobs. Never a mold around when you needed one. They’d have scrubbed every surface to a pristine clarity. The faint odor of urine, feces, and blood reached my nose, and made an internal alarm go off.

Cherijo, this is not going to be fun
.

Standing in the center of the consoles and rigging was the strange Hsktskt who’d been with FlatHead when he’d branded me with the hand-laser. He was dressed in a fluid-proof garment that vaguely reminded me of surgical gear.

“Dr. Torin.” The Hsktskt’s tail appendage curled up, then down. Probably what he thought of as a bow. Or he needed to use the lavatory. “I am Lord SrrokVar.”

Which meant he was only a step below TssVar in the ranks. “Hello.” I made a show of gazing around me. “Nice place you have here.”

“I am pleased you think so.” To the guards, he said, “You may leave us now.”

FlatHead gave me a pointed snarl, then ushered the centurons out of the chamber. Why I wanted to yell for them to come back baffled me.

“I’m gratified we will have the opportunity to become better acquainted.”

Maybe it was the way SrrokVar was studying me. Like I was a small, tasty hors d’oeuvre. Or maybe it was that for a Hsktskt, he was extremely erudite. The whole package gave me the creeps.

“Does OverMaster HalaVar know about this … visit?” It didn’t hurt to throw Reever’s name in the ring. Just in case Mr. Erudite intended more than a getting-to-know-you session.

“If he knew you were helping slaves escape, HalaVar would have you placed in permanent solitary confinement.”

There was that. “I didn’t help anyone escape, Lord SrrokVar. I tried to explain that to the OverCenturon, but”—I lifted my shoulders and rolled my eyes—“GothVar is not exactly fond of Terrans.”