Flinx Transcendent (40 page)

In accordance with and proportionate to their crimes and sentences, detainees had certain rights and privileges. Absolute freedom of movement was not among these. Those who claimed membership in the Order of Null and who had been committed to confinement until the Church order that bound them into custody could be reviewed were not allowed to stray outside carefully marked and fenced boundaries. The majority of the facility's inmates would have happily traded places with those belonging to the Order, knowing that the representatives of the newly arrived group were likely to be released uncharged within a day or two.

It was that same modest time frame, however, that was driving the Order members to distraction. Unless they could quickly regain their freedom to act, the main reason to do so would surely be on his way offworld.

No one imagined that the legal representative who came to converse with the speaker and the Elder would attempt to smuggle weapons into the facility itself. In addition to subjecting him to much more serious criminal prosecution, doing so would automatically and permanently void that individual's professional certification. What the designers of Nur's law enforcement system could not foresee was the utter dedication of the members of the Order of Null to their beliefs, and the fact that their legal agent might subscribe to them with as much fervor as those he sought to defend. The members of any organization dedicated to advancing death have little fear of prosecution, and are quite content to utilize the existing legal system to advance their own extremist ends.

So it was that the visiting counselor managed to slip a handful of shift weapons to half a dozen of his colleagues and lead them out of the facility as their unarmed brethren sacrificed themselves to delay pursuit and facilitate the flight of the seven. Considering how hastily the escape had been organized, it was carried off with considerable expertise. It was greatly aided by the fact that no police officer claiming even marginal insight into criminal behavior would have anticipated a violent jailbreak by inmates incarcerated for only two or three days. Who in
their right mind would chance being sentenced to a year's imprisonment or more in order to avoid a couple of harmless nights in stir?

Where authority failed was in assuming that the members of the Order of Null were in their right mind.

While word went out from a dazed constabulary that six hitherto harmless-appearing short-term detainees and their legal defender had shot their way out of the detention facility, the escapees had utilized the counselor's skimmer to plunge deep into the heart of Sphene. Though the city was not a center of heavy industry, there were still commercial districts where those in flight could lose themselves. The escapees proceeded to do so, but only briefly. Having likely sacrificed a considerable amount of future freedom for the opportunity to act fleetingly now, they had no intention of wasting the little time that was available to them.

Their counselor had not acted alone. In addition to those who had helped him with the actual jailbreak, others were waiting attentively at the old warehouse that swallowed the skimmer.

Once safely inside and out of sight, the speaker, the Elder, and the other four high-ranking members of the Order who had fled the detention facility moved fast.

“You have something for us, I believe, Companion Delahare?”

The somewhat frumpy middle-aged woman the speaker queried had the look and demeanor of a contented homemaker whose days were filled with raising teenage progeny, swapping otherworld recipes with neighborhood friends, and ensuring the cleanliness and welcoming appearance of her household. In fact, she did all of this and more. Notable among the “more” was a penchant and a talent for working with explosives. The package she passed to the speaker was barely big enough to hold a pair of shoes.

“I worked through the night and all through this morning, ever since the request came down through channels, and managed to put this together.” Her voice indicated unmistakable pride in her accomplishment. She might as well have been discussing the preparing of a favorite recipe. In a manner of speaking, she was. “I hope it will fulfill the needs of the Order.”

The speaker took the package gingerly. “Will it destroy a shuttlecraft?”

The woman was apologetic. “There was no time for moderation. It will destroy a good part of the entire shuttleport.”

Neither the speaker nor the Elder standing nearby voiced any objection to the potential overkill. Why worry about collateral damage that might run into the hundreds or even the thousands when everyone and everything, blessed be the coming cleansing, was going to die anyway? Studying the package, the speaker knew that whoever delivered the device to its intended target would perish along with it. It would be an honor. Nothing mattered so long as it put paid to the one potential threat to the coming Purity. Like his cohorts, he had no fear of death.

“I will come, too,” the Elder informed him solemnly, “as long as I can keep up.”

“My overweight will cancel the effects of your age, honored sir.” The speaker smiled. The Order's objective was noble, and he had always been ready to perish on behalf of the noble cause.

No one objected when the counselor who had arranged their escape chose to remain behind. It was necessary that he survive so that his skills could be utilized in the future. Though with the one called Flinx eradicated, the Order would be able to relax, melt back into the smug, self-satisfied culture of New Riviera, and placidly await the coming destruction. The speaker was mildly disappointed that he would not have the opportunity to participate in that forthcoming repose. But what did it matter, when martyrdom awaited?

As for the many innocents who would perish at the shuttleport when the package performed its own humble, localized cleansing, they would simply die a little sooner than otherwise. In the eyes of the Order, time was nothing more than a variant that served at its whim.

No police vehicle shadowed the counselor's skimmer as it rose from the warehouse exit and headed for the city's main shuttleport. No official craft fell in behind as it wended its way cautiously between as many shielding structures as possible. The skimmer arrived at the shuttleport undetected.

The most dangerous time was behind them now, a thankful Elder pointed out to the attending acolytes. If their colleague's work was as scrupulous as she had claimed, their lingering irritant would be removed very soon indeed.

One of their number politely queried a port worker, who proceeded to check the register she carried with her. Yes, a shuttlecraft of the type described was parked on the tarmac and had been for a number of days. Monitors in its vicinity had recorded little or no activity since its arrival. It was registered as private transport. Might there be an image or physical description of the owner/operator? the Order member inquired courteously. It was a matter of some urgency. Much was at stake.

The worker apologetically avowed that she could not give out such information to those who were not cleared to receive it. Closing in discreetly around her, two of the other escapees resolved the standoff by wrenching the register from her hand. When she objected and tried to take it back, one of them quietly shot her in the back.

A minute's work with the register was sufficient to tell them everything they needed to know. By the time Port Security was made aware that a murder had been committed within its jurisdiction, the group of six was already hurrying down the appropriate corridor.

Since the pedestrian passageway accessed that portion of the port tarmac that served private craft, security was minimal. Having participated in a ferocious firefight in a similar corridor many months ago, the Elder and the speaker each experienced a profound sense of déjà vu as they huffed and puffed to keep up with their associates. Unlike on that previous occasion, this time there was no skillful senior soldier to surprise him and his colleagues, no many-limbed thranx to unleash multiple hand weapons in their direction.

This time there would be no mistake, even if their talented bomb maker had overstated the explosive potential of the contents of the package being carried by the Order's speaker. If their quarry was already aboard his shuttle, they would set it off beneath the craft, or close enough nearby. If he had not yet arrived at the port, they would conceal themselves close to his craft and wait. If Port Security interfered, several of their number would stage a noisy diversion. He, for one, would readily participate in any attack necessary to divert attention from whoever took final possession of the cleansing package.

“We're here!” the man who had shot the unsuspecting port worker announced.

Designed to handle small cargo as well as passengers, the lift carried the six of them from the depths of the subterranean corridor up to
the surface. Stepping out onto the tarmac and into the warm, pleasant sunshine of New Riviera, the Elder looked to his right toward the nearest shuttle. Somewhere below, armed security teams were now racing down the corridor in pursuit of those who had violated and murdered. From different directions a pair of Port Security skimmers could be seen speeding toward the line of parked shuttles. Several other shuttlecraft, whose origin and ownership were of no consequence, gleamed nearby.

The pad where, according to the stolen port register, the shuttle belonging to the young man known as Philip Lynx had been parked was now empty.

As the others drew their weapons and crowded in behind him, an increasingly agitated speaker turned to the Elder for advice. “It's not here!” He looked around wildly. “Could we have taken the wrong access corridor?”

The man holding the stolen register performed a hurried recheck. “No, not a chance. PA-Fourteen—this is the right place!” He turned a hasty circle. “It should be
here.”

The two approaching security craft were slowing, dropping surface-ward as they neared the place where the Order members had emerged from the belowground service corridor. Confused, angry, and resigned, the speaker fondled the lethal package. Three contact switches protruded from the bottom and a fourth from the top. His fingers hovered in the vicinity of the underside.

“Honored Elder, should I proceed with … ?”

“No.” The Elder's decision was firm. “Our lives may be needed yet. Put the device down.” Turning, he regarded his loyal colleagues. “All of you, set your weapons aside. Dying is inevitable, but it should not be wasteful.”

“But what of the anomaly, the one who would try to interfere?” one of the others wondered dejectedly. “What went wrong? How did we come to the wrong place?”

“We did not come to the wrong place.” After the marathon run through the access corridor the Elder was feeling the full weight of his years. His weariness was compounded by failure. “Despite our haste, despite our best efforts, it appears that we just got here a little late.”

Turning away from them he tilted his head back. Using one hand to shield his eyes from the bright afternoon sun he gazed skyward. The
telltale trail of a shuttle heading hell-bent for the Rim of space drew his full attention. It might be the shuttlecraft belonging to the anomaly, or the young man's craft might have departed even earlier. It did not really matter. Not now. The fading track was a marker that mocked their best efforts.

Weapons drawn and leveled, Port Security was closing in around him and his associates. If he gave the word, the speaker would trigger the package and obliterate them all, members of the Order and security personnel alike. While undeniably dramatic, such a gesture would be useless, futile, and worst of all would focus attention on the surviving members of the Order. That would be counterproductive, the Elder recognized. If nothing else, a peaceful surrender might at least preserve some anonymity and deflect attention from those who would remain free to continue the necessary work.

Moments later, as he was being placed in restraints, he reflected that his life would soon be over anyway, albeit long before the coming cleansing arrived from the far reaches of the intergalactic void. His only regret was that he was not going to live long enough to experience that great day. That gratification would be bequeathed to others. The Order would go on, until its watchfulness was no longer needed. As he and his colleagues were taken away he consoled himself with the knowledge that the efforts to eliminate the singular impeder were probably unnecessary anyway. Nothing could stop, or slow, or hinder the inexorable arrival of the Purity. Nothing!

It bothered him, though, that he could not stop himself from occasionally glancing skyward in the direction taken by the recently departed shuttlecraft.

“It's a beautiful world.”

Clarity expressed her feelings as the shuttlecraft began the long drop surfaceward. Her reaction upon glimpsing the view on the shuttle's monitor was identical to Flinx's upon his first sight of Booster so many years ago.

“It is.” Reaching over from the pilot's drop seat, he took her hand and squeezed it gently. “Mostly ocean, and the one big continent where we're headed. A nice place to live—if you're a Tar-Aiym. They're built a lot heavier and more solid than we are.”