The IX (40 page)

Mark zoomed in, transfixed, as the
Tarion Star
lifted into the air. The Controller paused, and could clearly be seen staring upward. Its eyes suddenly blazed.

What was that? The only other thing in the air was the
Promulus
. What was it doing?

A thrill trickled its way along Mark’s spine. He turned back to the people gathered about him.

“Do you see why we wanted you to take a look?” Bob asked.

“I do. Bob, get me Rhomane on the line. I’m sure they’ve already seen this, but we have to make sure they understand what they’re looking at.”

*

Saul Cameron was in seventh heaven. He knew he should try to keep his feet firmly on the ground, but a party mood had seized everyone in its clutches and he couldn’t help but join in.

Not only had the operation to retrieve the starships gone well, but the first shipment from the Shilette Abyss had arrived exactly on time, just an hour ago.
This entire mission was planned around the convoy’s progress, and while I knew the presence of so much iron ore would act as a huge deterrent, I couldn’t take any chances. Talk about working like a dream. This heist was the ultimate distraction.

As he wound his way through the crowd in the marshaling yard, Saul studied the latest report from the mining site.

I can’t believe how well things are going lately. Just look at what Marcus has managed to achieve.
Saul flicked down through the précis.
His base of operations seems nigh on impregnable. There are further deposits ready for exploitation. We have a prepared schedule for regular shuttle runs to implement. And a divided bunch of misfits have been molded together into a productive team. Jesus! Even Smith and his cronies are pulling their weight and making friends.

Saul stopped to scratch his head in wonderment. Several people following closely behind were taken by surprise, and walked into him.

“Huh? Oh, sorry,” he mumbled.
Tiberius and Lucius will have a tough act to follow if they want to keep things running the way they are. And look at this. In a few days we’ll have a live-time link into the encampment itself. Now
that
will prove to be a godsend . . .

He paused again, peering through the press toward the icing on the cake.
Especially with the latest chicks we’ve gathered into the fold.

The starliner
Promulus
and freighter
Tarion Star
took pride of place on the city’s launch pad. Both ships looked as if they were brand-new and open for inspection, thanks to the energies of their recently activated exo-webs, which had burnt away all traces of years of accumulated detritus.

A huge mob of technicians and sightseers crowded around each craft, and the atmosphere had escalated into one of near jubilation.

Saul caught sight of Marcus himself, talking to several Caledonians.

I’ve got to get him on the command team. His achievements are . . .
Then he realized who one of those clansmen was.
Cathal MacNoimhin. Oh shit!

Marcus’s expression suddenly hardened. Even at this distance, Saul could see the man’s whole posture tense as his face flushed dark red.

“Marcus,” Saul called across the heads of the throng, “Marcus Brutus!”

It was no use. The crowd was simply making too much noise.

Ah hell. I told Cathal I wanted to be the one to break the news.

Saul watched as a heated exchange took place between the two men. The outburst was brief. Within moments, the Legion commander had composed himself and appeared to be apologizing to the Iceni leader and his followers. His offer was readily accepted by the highlanders, who took it in turns to share handclasps with him.

One of them noticed Saul approaching through the crush. Nudges were exchanged, along with words of warning. Ignoring the concerned looks of those about him, Marcus immediately spun away, made eye contact with Saul, and drew himself up to his full height. Thunder congealed on his brow. Without a moment’s hesitation, Marcus ploughed through the intervening press as if they didn’t exist. His gaze never wavered from his target, and he didn’t blink once.

Saul decided to wait and let the man come to him.

It didn’t take long. More and more people looked toward them as they noticed a change in the ambient mood.

“Saul.” Marcus extended his arm in greeting.

“Marcus,” Saul replied, accepting the embrace. “We need to talk. Somewhere private would be best.” It wasn’t an invitation.

“That, I can appreciate.”

Although Marcus didn’t look away, Saul noticed the other man’s eyes glaze over as he allowed his peripheral vision to take in details of their surroundings, and the reaction this confrontation was causing amongst onlookers.

“Please lead on,” the legionnaire invited, “I am keen to discover the circumstances of my compatriot’s death, and what progress you have made in determining the identity of his killer.”

Turning on his heel, Saul surprised Marcus by heading toward the
Promulus
instead of the main building. The soldier fell in behind. As they worked their way through the crowd, both men exchanged pleasantries with passersby.

All about them, people relaxed again.

Saul was impressed.
Just look at the effect his example has on others. They can see he’s upset. And who wouldn’t be? He’s just got back from an overwhelmingly successful mission to discover a close friend has died under the most suspicious circumstances. It’s enough to sour the best of men. But instead of causing a scene, which he knows would be bad for morale, he’s managed to strangle his personal feelings down, and keep his opinion to himself until we’re away from flapping ears.

Taking a crafty peek at the man next to him, Saul came to a decision.
Yes, I’ll have a word with Mohammed and the others tonight. The sooner we get this man on the command team, the better.

*

“No! You don’t understand,” a troubled voice yelled. “Keep away from the damned things. Stay away, I tell you. Don’t you realize what . . . Don’t you . . . Aaargh!”

Everyone started as a metallic tray and its contents bounced off the triple layered, poly-resin screen. Several burly orderlies rushed into the room to restrain its highly emotional occupant.

“Do you see why I paged you?” Louise Smart, the duty nurse hissed. “One moment he was absolutely fine, asking all sorts of weird questions about life in our era and what it involved — of all things, how we prepared food in the twenty-third century and what it tasted like — and then we came in here to do his weekly blood work, as usual. He’s used to the routine now, and collects the hypo-syringe and swab patch for us. Anyway, he sauntered over to the equipment locker, which as you see is over by the window. And when he glanced out, he totally freaked. I mean . . . look at him.”

Ayria gawped through the observation port. A distraught James Houston was pressed against the external pane. Tears streamed down his face as he stared in wide-eyed horror at something outside. He tried to claw his way through the glass, frustration clearly mounting by the second.

He’s working himself into a frenzy.

The porters closed on him. Houston saw them at the last moment and screamed in panic.

“Why won’t you listen to me? Don’t you . . . The danger. It’s . . . 
oof
!”

The charge-hands pounced and hustled him to the floor, knocking the wind from his sails. He kicked and thrashed wildly, as if the devil himself were tormenting him.

Ayria dithered, appalled. She had been on her way to Mohammed’s office with Heaven’s-Claw when she received the call to attend the medical wing. Responding immediately, Ayria had completely forgotten to return the tomahawk to her mentor. Glancing at the axe, she thought,
what the hell shall I do with this?

“Wait!” she yelled. “Be as gentle as you can. Try not to hurt him.”

Tossing the weapon to one side, Ayria rushed into the room and knelt beside her stricken patient. “James?” she crooned. “James? It’s me, Ayria. Ayria Solram.”

As she spoke, Ayria stroked his forehead with her fingers and brushed the hair from his eyes.
My God. He’s sweating like the proverbial pig.
“James, I’m here. I’m listening. Tell me what’s wrong. What’s trying to hurt us?”

Houston didn’t appear to hear. His gaze penetrated her and seemed to focus elsewhere, far off in the distance.

“Help me,” she said softly, “how can I protect myself from something I don’t know about? You’ve been making such good progress. Don’t stop now.”

Houston’s disjointed comprehension appeared to gel. He wriggled an arm free and reached out to seize her by her wrist. “That’s what I’m trying to . . . I’m trying . . .”

He’s losing it again
. Ayria came to an instant decision.

“Let him go!” she commanded the orderlies.

They complied reluctantly, and stood away.

Houston eyed them suspiciously, as if he was certain they’d cut his throat given half a chance. Ayria tried to recapture his attention. Holding his face between her hands, she shouted, “James!”

He jumped and glowered into her eyes.

Calmly, she added, “Thank you. Now, where’s the danger?”

“Outside!” he gasped. His focus had clearly returned. “Can’t you see? Can’t you sense it?”

“No, I can’t. Why don’t you show me?”

Scrabbling to his hands and knees, Houston skittered across the floor to bunch himself into a ball beneath the exterior window. He glared back at her and gesticulated wildly. “Be careful, Ayria,” he hissed. “Don’t relax your guard for one moment. We can’t . . . don’t let them . . . It’s awful. The isolation. The . . .”

Houston’s voice trailed off as his concentration faltered yet again. His jaw flapped uselessly, and he appeared to forget what it was he wanted to say.

C’mon, James. Stay with me. For God’s sake, don’t make me have to recommit you. “
Shall I take a look? I’ll let you know what’s out there, and you tell me if we have to be careful. Okay?”

Ayria stood and crept forward. As she neared the sill, Houston began rocking back and forth, mumbling to himself. Ignoring him, she braced herself against the frame and surveyed the scene below.
Okay, here goes nothing.

“James? I’m looking down into the marshaling yard. A huge crowd has gathered to welcome Marcus and his team back from the Shilette Abyss. There are four skidders down there full of iron, so we’re very well protected . . .”

Houston continued to sway, and started to giggle, as if at a private joke.

Okay, so it’s not that, then.
“A lot of people are helping them unload.
Cathal MacNoimhin and his Caledonians. Some of the Sioux and Apache braves. Oh, Mac’s there too, with the rest of his squad. They did a marvelous job, bringing back those ships intact. Just look at them. We’ll —”

Screaming in terror, Houston leapt up from the floor. Taken by surprise, the porters froze, allowing him to shoulder his way past their position. Ayria felt as if time slowed about her.

He teetered through the door and collided with Louise, who had remained standing in the entrance. They tumbled heavily to the floor. Somehow, Houston managed to roll forward and his momentum propelled him, headfirst, into a trolley full of medical supplies.

The resultant
crash
brought everything back into perspective.

Louise screamed.

The charge-hands sprang into action.

Too late.

Clawing his way across the littered tiles, Houston fumbled about for support. Reaching up onto an examination bed, his fingers closed around something hard and smooth.

Ayria’s hand leapt to her mouth.
Oh no!

Houston surged to his feet. His scrutiny fell upon the object in his grasp. The discarded tomahawk.

The transformation was as shocking as it was immediate.

Whirling on the spot, Houston’s face became a mask of adoration and awe. His chest heaved and for the first time in an age, he appeared to be in full control of his faculties.

Ayria remained stock still. “James? You’re making everyone anxious. Please put the axe down.”

The orderlies eyed each other nervously and continued edging forward.

Louise backed away and scrambled for the main door.

Ayria finally managed to get her feet moving.

“James,” she called again, “don’t do anything rash. We’re here to help you.”

Houston focused his gaze directly on her. Brandishing Heaven’s-Claw, he raised it toward her and in a tone laced with relief and victory, shouted, “Yes!”

Everyone pounced at once.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Online

 
“Initiate command override on my mark,” Ephraim Miller directed, “three; two; one; mark.”

An abrupt whine announced the moment the power reserves died. The lights went out. Every screen went dark. A pregnant pause followed. Someone coughed nervously and people began to fidget. Then the drone of rebooting computers and generators filled the air, heralding the restoration of services throughout the city. One after another, monitors and equipment around the control center burst back to life.

Ephraim’s gaze remained fixed on Brent Wyatt and Asa Montgomery as they completed their analysis of the reformatted systems. Both men were hunched over their terminals, transfixed in the glare of new information now downloading from the restored astrometric facility, and a multitude of other sources around the planet. In the dulled illumination of the room, their features bore the wide-eyed stare of mad scientists, and Ephraim couldn’t help but chuckle.

He couldn’t restrain himself any longer. “Well? Did it work?”

Brent glanced at Asa. Asa nodded, pressed a few buttons and stood back from his console, a satisfied look on his face.

Brent surveyed the raw data, pursed his lips, and grinned. Straightening up, he flipped a switch. “All systems are now meshed. I’m transferring the information to your terminal. Get a load of this.”