Slave Empire III - The Shrike (6 page)

Tarke glared at
the smug image on the space line screen, longing to reach into the
crystal wafer and twist the Atlantean high commander’s head off.
Triumph filled Tallyn’s black eyes, and Tarke was glad the mask hid
his fury. With his high caste black and white hair, golden skin and
stiff, gold-trimmed indigo uniform, Tallyn represented Atlan’s
finest. He was now supreme commander of the fleet, a rank he had
earned for finding the Golden Child. Tarke had been informed of
Rayne’s abduction only a few minutes ago, and his first impulse had
been to call his old enemy.

“Shrike, you’re
looking well,” Tallyn quipped. “You have a healthy glitter. Been
polishing yourself lately?”

Tarke ignored
the jibe. “You’ve overstepped this time, Tallyn. I’ll give you one
chance to consider your stupidity and return my wife to me, then I
start blowing up planets. Do I make myself clear?”

Tallyn smiled.
“Well, now. From my information, all your ships are at least four
hours from any Atlantean planets. Your wife will be returned to you
before that time is up. Fair enough?”

“No. I have two
cruisers in orbit around Darmon, an ally of yours, I believe. I’ll
start with that if she’s not returned to her ship within the next
few minutes.”

Tallyn shook
his head. “The Yasmarians will be most upset if you attack them,
and I have seven ships en-route to help defend them. All you’ll do
is kill a lot of innocent Yasmarians, and lose your ships.”

“They know
you’ve caused this conflict by kidnapping my wife.”

“But they’re
not going to help you get her back. In fact, I heard that you
snatched her from Arraman and mind-wiped her to be your particular
toy. So, we’ve rescued her, and, considering her religious
importance to so many people, they’ll be delighted that we
did.”

Tarke gritted
his teeth, biting back hot words. Getting into a slanging match
would achieve nothing, but he knew he had lost the round, and
changed tactics. “You can’t set a telepath on her. You must not. If
you care about her at all, don’t try to delve into her mind.”

“Why not?”

“She was hurt
on the Crystal Ship. The Envoy did some terrible things inside her
head. If you try to pry into her mind, you could push her over the
edge. You could kill her.”

Tallyn’s brows
rose in patent disbelief. “That’s a good story. I saw her after she
returned from the Crystal Ship, and she was perfectly normal, apart
from being an empath.”

“She’s not
anymore. Listen to me, damn you. The Ship healed her before she
left it, but when she was exposed to your uncaring society and took
drugs to numb her empathy, she undid a lot of that. She won’t
survive a telepath’s probe. She’ll try to fight him, which will be
extremely dangerous for her.”

“Even if I
believed you, which I don’t,” Tallyn said, “I’m not in a position
to bargain with you. The Council has decided to take this
opportunity, and lying about her mental health won’t save you. Next
you’ll expect me to believe she hasn’t seen your face.”

Tarke sat back,
staring at Tallyn’s mocking image. He had not been in such a
dangerous predicament before, and found his lack of options
frustrating. This was the situation he had always dreaded. All his
people who had been captured had killed themselves before they
could be interrogated, even though none of them had seen his face,
and their names were inscribed on a wall of remembrance on Ironia.
Their deaths had grieved him, but their sacrifice had made him even
more determined to save others who suffered as they had.

The decoys who
had been executed in his place would also have killed themselves
before a telepath probed them. The Atlanteans had not bothered,
since they had believed they had captured him. The fact that they
had been ex-slaves had surprised the Atlanteans, and for those few
hours before the execution, everyone had known the Shrike had once
been a slave. The executions had always been rushed through to
avoid reprisals or rescue attempts, since the Shrike’s empire had
the potential to destroy Atlan’s if it chose. As soon as Tarke had
been safe, he had informed the Atlanteans of their mistake, but
they had executed the prisoner anyway, since receiving assurances
that they had imprisoned the wrong masked man from another masked
man did not convince them that the one they had captured was, in
fact, the wrong one. It all got extremely confusing, and
frustrating for the Atlanteans, he was sure.

Afterwards,
when they had realised that they had been duped, it had made
perfect sense to his rivals, and the Atlanteans, that he would
sacrifice a slave in his place. There was no way for the Atlanteans
to know whether their prisoner’s collar was active or not, and most
abused slaves were suicidal, so their willingness to die in his
stead had not raised suspicions, either. Now his secrets were in
danger of being revealed, and common sense dictated that Rayne must
die like all the others.

For the sake of
the Empire, the millions of slaves he would save and tonnes of
drugs he would destroy. Rayne’s death would keep him safe, as so
many had done before, but he could not allow it.

Tarke dragged
himself from his thoughts, aware that he had been silent for
several moments, and Tallyn looked a little impatient. Tarke said,
“If you guarantee that she hasn’t been probed and send her back to
her ship unharmed, I’ll give myself up.”

Tallyn’s brows
shot up. “You expect me to believe that? You’re just going to hand
yourself over, to save a human girl?”

“She’s my
wife.”

“She’s no use
to you when you’re dead.”

“I wouldn’t
expect you to understand, but that’s the deal. Are you going to
take it?”

Tallyn leant
forward, his eyes narrowed. “So you can give me another decoy? What
kind of fool do you take me for? I have to know I’m getting the
real thing, not another phony.”

“Do you accept
that I’m the real thing? If I take off the mask, right now, will
you release her?”

Tallyn
considered. “You sound like him, but that can be faked. No, I think
the only image of the Shrike I’ll trust is the one we find in that
girl’s head.”

Tarke spoke in
a soft, dangerous tone. “If you kill her, you’ll start a war with
me that you will regret. That, I promise.”

“We’re not
going to harm her. No one ever died from having their head read.
It’s done all the time. And you don’t really expect me to believe
that threat, do you? I’m not stupid, Shrike, so don’t treat me like
an idiot. Once we have your image, you’ll have to stay on your
best-defended base, behind a fleet of ships, and even then, we’ll
find a way to catch you.”

“You’re too
clever by far. You’ve even outsmarted yourself.” Tarke looked down
at his hands, then raised his head. “
Erenar niel rellorash
perzin trackesh, erenar nel toth muran, azin. Erenar nel eskareth
vrin lemarr, pretar. Erenar nel retorath trevesh rellin nar, merrin
weleth. Roth erenar nel shevin, renda mien esavesh, terrin sorral
orn, raazin.”
He broke the connection.

Tallyn turned
to Marcon, who sat at his station as usual, monitoring the ship’s
functions. Vengeance was en-route to Darmon, two hours from its
destination.

“Have that last
thing he said translated.”

“Yes, sir.”
Marcon touched the crystals on his console, and the holograms
scrolled until one came up with the answer. He read it with a
frown, then said, “It’s an ancient Antian oath, sir, quite
complicated. The sort they used to swear on the battlefield, back
in their primitive days. It might give us a clue as to his family,
since they each had their own particular code. I can look -”

“I don’t care
about his family, its dead. Just tell me what he said.”

Marcon cleared
his throat. “Well sir, in Antian it’s fairly brief, but translated
into Atlantean, it’s quite a speech.”

“Don’t bore me
with the details, Marcon, just tell me, or must I read it
myself?”

“It’s what’s
known as a blood oath, or vow of vengeance. It means ‘for the blood
of my servant, I shall reap a like payment, as I shall for the
blood of my warrior who dies in battle. For the blood of my noble,
I shall reap a fourfold payment, and for my friend, then shall it
be tenfold. For the blood of my king, I shall spill the blood of
thousands to repay the debt. But for the blood of my family, your
land shall run red with the blood of all your kinsmen, and the
killing shall not end until my blood has mingled with the earth and
my last breath has passed from my lips’.” Marcon cleared his throat
again in the ensuing silence, and added, “But he substituted the
word ‘family’ with ‘wife’.”

Tallyn stared
across the gloomy bridge, stunned. “He’s serious.”

“I would say
so, sir. An Antian blood oath is binding on the speaker. From what
we know, they’d rather die than break it,” Marcon said. “Shall I
contact him again?”

“No. It still
doesn’t mean the man I spoke to is really him. It just means we’d
better make damned sure Rayne doesn’t die.”

“From being
read by a telepath, sir?”

“He seems to
think it’s likely. Contact the people on Darmon and warn them to be
extra careful. Make sure she’s sedated and monitored.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tarke stared at
the fire-sheathed screens, wishing the ship could go faster. He was
still an hour from Darmon, and cursed the fact that he had not left
Ironia sooner in pursuit. The helplessness ate at him, making him
curse all the fates that had conspired to bring this situation
about. Even with all his power, his empire of ships and men, even
by offering himself in exchange, he could not save her. Too many
decoys had died in his place. No one would trust him to give
himself up now.

The payment for
his lies would be the life of the only person who truly mattered to
him. He would reap the legacy of the deceit he had sown, and it
would be more painful than he had ever imagined possible. His oath
bound him, and he meant every word. Atlan would fall if she died,
and, even after his death, the killing would not stop until the
last of his ships had been destroyed or Atlan was no more. His
people would avenge his death just as he would avenge hers, and,
once set upon their path, nothing would turn them from it.

“A message from
Shadowen,” Scimarin said, interrupting his thoughts. “Rayne ordered
him to destroy the facility in which she’s housed. When he refused,
she ordered him to tell her escort do it.”

Tarke unclipped
the mask and rubbed his face with a groan, sitting back. His
commanders would never obey that order, but the message dumped a
mountain of shame on him. She would die for him. Despite the fact
that he had not revealed his feelings, and had not intended to.
Despite his refusal to tell her the reason for his coldness, which
had hurt her. Guilt suffused him, and he brought his fist down on
the arm of his chair with enough force to send a shaft of pain up
his arm.

“Scimarin, send
a message to all my ships. They are to set course for Atlantean
planets, and at least three hundred must go to Atlan itself. They
must wait for the signal, which will be... if Shadowen
self-destructs. If that happens, they’re to attack the planets.
Send the message on an open frequency. If the Golden Child dies,
there will be war between my empire and that of the
Atlanteans.”

“It’s
done.”

Tarke rubbed
his aching hand. “I hope Tallyn takes me seriously now, because
only he can stop this.”

Tallyn stared
at Marcon, trying to ignore the tension that crackled around the
bridge. Several officers turned to look at him, all wearing worried
expressions. He paced in circle, then stopped beside Marcon’s
console again.

“He’s bluffing.
It’s insane.”

“It was
transmitted to all his ships, sir, preceded by the personal codes
he uses when he issues direct orders. I don’t think he’s joking.”
Marcon’s mien was grim. “Perhaps you should cancel the Golden
Child’s memory probe. It lacks the support of the masses, or at
least it would if they knew about it. It certainly lacks the
support of the crew.”

Several
officers nodded, and Tallyn’s scowl deepened. “She’s not going to
die! How can she? He’s just trying to intimidate us. He’ll do
anything to prevent his capture. It’s a ruse, nothing more. How can
anyone die from having their mind read? Tell me that.”

Marcon shook
his head. “I don’t know, sir. Perhaps she has a suicide implant,
like some of the others we’ve captured.”

“They’ve
scanned her. They’re not idiots. The only implant she has is the
one we gave her, and that can’t be tampered with.”

“He offered to
give himself up, sir,” the navigation officer pointed out.

Tallyn snorted.
“Give us another decoy, you mean. He won’t sacrifice himself. That
would be pointless, since he’s trying to prevent us from capturing
him.”

“Unless he
really does believe she’ll die.” The officer glanced at his
colleagues, who nodded.

“If she did, it
would only serve to protect him, so why would he offer himself in
return for her safety? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe he knows
something we don’t,” Marcon said. “He must have a good reason to
make such threats. It could almost be a codicil to the prophecy. If
the Golden Child dies, Atlan will be destroyed. Sounds like a
prophecy.”

“Marcon, cut it
out. No one’s going to die, and there isn’t going to be a war.
We’re going to get an image of that bastard, and then we’re going
to catch him, that’s all.” Tallyn gestured. “Anyway, it’s not up to
me. It’s the Council’s decision. They’re the ones who have to
decide what to do. I’m just the commander of the fleet.”

“You could stop
it,” Marcon said.