The IX (46 page)

As swiftly as he could, Saul made his way from the gallery and into the soothing gloom of the transitory corridor.

As he stalked toward his office, he promised himself,
Now it’s my turn to put a dent in that decanter.

*

Ayria Solram entered the counseling suite, nodded to the duty nurse, and made her way toward the private unit at the back of the ward. At her request, this was the only area in the entire city where the televised discourse by Saul Cameron hadn’t been broadcast. James Houston’s temperament was fragile at best, volatile at worst, and she hadn’t wanted to take the risk of him flipping out over anything the commander might say.

Just as well, really. Since the arrival of the
Promulus
and
Tarion Star
, he’s become more and more unstable. It’s such a shame I had to recommit him, but he detests the thought of anyone going near those darn ships. God only knows what would have happened if he’d been allowed to listen in to the announcement on his own.

Grudgingly, she admitted,
Of course, I can guess how he’s going to react now, when I inform him of the result. Still, the news will be better coming from me than anyone else.

Rapping smartly on the door, Ayria fortified her resolve with a deep breath and entered the room. Houston was sitting on the bed, hugging his knees and rocking backward and forward. He appeared quite calm, and was obviously fixated upon a feature playing on a wall mounted TV. As she approached him, a snippet from the clip intruded on the threshold of her perception.

“. . . Appearing from rip-space only seventy decans from the city wall, its pilots were helpless to prevent the inevitable catastrophe . . .”

“Hi there,” she said. “It didn’t go well, I’m afraid. But then again, I didn’t expect it to. I know Commander Cameron has to balance the needs of . . . James, can you hear me?”
He hasn’t even registered my presence.

With infinite slowness, Houston reached to one side and picked up a remote control. Pressing a button, he allowed whatever he was watching to air again. Viewing it from the beginning, Ayria recognized the bulletin immediately.

“That was the awful moment when the Shivan-Estre met her end. For reasons as yet unknown, her navigational beacon malfunctioned. Appearing from rip-space only seventy decans from the city wall, her pilots were helpless to prevent the inevitable catastrophe.

As with all such vessels, the Shivan-Estre was constructed of super-dense lydium. If not for the fact that Rhomane’s own precincts are made of that same fermionic matter, the results would have been far worse than the death of the two crewmen on board and a bright light in the sky. We are going live now to . . .”

“James?” she repeated. “Why are you watching something so sad? You know it’ll only upset you.”

“Can you hear it?” he drawled, turning toward her at last. “There’s something profoundly wrong with . . . the scale and pitch. They’re not right. It . . .”

She noticed his pupils were unusually dilated, and he appeared to be dribbling uncontrollably from one corner of his mouth.
This can’t be right?

Annoyed, she snatched his chart from the counter and checked his medication.

“We’re being warned, you know,” Houston continued to mumble. “It . . . 
This
is a portent of what will happen if we . . . if I don’t . . .”

For goodness’ sake! No wonder he’s away with the fairies. That’s double the amount of prozetapan I prescribed.

Sitting beside him on the bed, Ayria removed the control from his grasp and cupped his hand within her own. Speaking softly, she said, “Now don’t you go getting yourself all worked up. It’ll all be over soon. I’ve come to tell you that we’re getting away from here. We’ll be leaving the Horde and the city behind, and all our worries along with it.”

Something she said hooked his attention. “Really?” He gasped in relief. “Good. Excellent. It’s the only way we can be . . . safe.”

“Yes, I know. Commander Cameron said that over the next month, we’re going to pack our bags, and—”

“How?” The sudden tension in Houston’s voice was a stark contrast to his relaxed nature only moments before.

“I’m sorry?” Ayria sat back in shock. Then she noticed the piercing lucidity blazing in his eyes.

“How
exactly
does the commander expect us to flee? Where on this planet does he think it’s going to be safe?”

“We’re not staying on the planet,” she replied, edging further from him, “we’ve discovered a huge cruiser in orbit, the
Arch of Winter
. It’s free of infestation and we’re going to use her to travel to—”

“No! No! No!”

Aghast, Ayria backed away toward the door and scrabbled for the emergency button. The change in Houston was frightening. His eyes bulged. The veins on his temples protruded alarmingly. His entire face turned red and the cords on his neck stood out like they would snap at any moment.

Squeezing his temples, he groaned, “You can’t. For the love of God, Ayria, you’ve got to stop them. I’d rather die than be trapped again.”

Again?
Baffled, she froze on the spot. “James? What are you talking about?”

“Please. You can’t . . . aaargh!”

Gripped by a violent seizure, Houston doubled over and thrashed about on the bed. To Ayria, it appeared as if he were fighting off invisible assailants. After a few moments, the mad spasms stopped. Sitting bolt upright, he screamed, “Doctor! Help me. Quickly. It’s got me . . . I’m trapped in my own . . . nnngh!”

Houston caught his breath and experienced another fit. This time, his entire body went rigid, arching up as if he were being electrocuted. Just as she thought his spine might snap, he let out a huge whoosh of air and slumped back down on the bed, exhausted.

“Do you need a hand here?”

Ayria jumped, startled by the unexpected voice behind her. Spinning, she discovered Lieutenant McDonald standing in the doorway.

“Mac,” she gushed, “thank goodness.”

“What’s the problem?”

Ayria turned to assess Houston’s condition. Although bathed in sweat, he now appeared completely relaxed again, and under the influence of his medication.

What on earth is going on inside his head?
Aloud, she replied, “Just another day in the personal hell that is James Houston’s sanity, it would appear.” Shrugging, she went to physically check on her patient. “I didn’t hear you come in. But thanks for backing me up. It got scary there for a moment.”

“I’m sorry I surprised you. But I must confess, I didn’t know you were here. I came for another reason. Now our proposals have been officially kicked into touch, I didn’t think it would do any harm to take a look at Stained-With-Blood’s tomahawk. Mohammed only mentioned it to me yesterday, and well, in view of the weird experiences I had with the Horde Master, I thought I’d check it out. Is it true it’s made of meteor metal? Pure iron?”

“Yes. Evidently, it’s supposed to play a vital role in our future here.” She snorted. “As was I, until . . . .”

“I know how you feel. Even though it was a bit of a long shot, it was still a kick in the teeth to have our convictions so utterly squashed, eh? Still, we tried. That’s all we could do. The thing is, I totally appreciate where Saul is coming from. He was caught on a knife’s edge and had to err on the side of caution.” He chuckled. “Doesn’t make it any easier though, does it?”

Houston moaned forlornly. Looking toward him, they watched as he lethargically repositioned himself on the bed before turning the recording back on.

“Sorry, Mac,” Ayria announced, “it’s not here.”

“Eh?”

“The tomahawk, Heaven’s-Claw. I left it with Saul at the beginning of the week when Stained-With-Blood and I went to see him regarding the visions we’d been having. I’m glad you mentioned it though because I’ve been meaning to get it back.” She gestured toward Houston. “Do you know, it’s the only thing I can find that seems to bring him any relief. For some reason, as soon as he holds it, he becomes utterly docile.”

“Pity it doesn’t have that effect on the Horde,” Mac replied, lightheartedly. “Mind you, whatever he’s watching now appears to do the trick.”

“Oh that. Hmm. Just another past tragedy that highlights why I won’t miss this place when we leave.” Guiding Mac by the elbow, she said, “C’mon. Let’s go hassle Mohammed. If he gives us a hard time about seeing Saul, I’m sure I can pull the doctor’s privilege card. After all, the welfare of my patients comes first, and that axe will serve a much better purpose here than just sitting on his desk as a paperweight.”

Ayria closed the door quietly behind her. As they walked away, she could just make out a woman’s voice as the clip played again.

“. . . That was the awful moment when the Shivan-Estre met her end. For reasons as yet unknown, her navigational beacon malfunctioned . . .”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

An Accepted Gambit

Lieutenant Jake Rixton raised his arm into the air and reined 1
^st
Platoon in behind him. He waited for the dust to clear before cupping his hand over his eyes to cut out the glare of the midday sun. He spent a full minute scanning the arrivals terminal of the starport before beckoning his officers forward.

“Sergeant Williams. Divide your section into squads and have them check out the vicinity of the underpass. Not too close, mind. Just enough to draw the attention of any spooks that might be hiding. Stagger your approach so the men can lay down overlapping fields of fire in the event you have to hightail it out of there.”

“Will do, Sir. Do you want us to plug any of the bastards if our presence doesn’t entice them to show their ugly faces?”

“Good idea. Only one or two, though. Get them riled enough to follow you. We won’t be much of a diversion unless we actually make a nuisance of ourselves, eh?”

The men laughed. In the month Jake had worked with them as their lieutenant, he had felt himself grow in confidence and stature. He knew his sense of humor had always been a source of constant refreshment, and he was determined to keep it that way.

Jake turned to his new corporal. “Nick. Would you and your men please do the same along the western perimeter? Go as far as the rear of the hangar pens, then turn back. If you can’t flush anybody out, rendezvous with me back here and we’ll go for a little jaunt around the refueling stations. Remember. Be obvious, and make as much noise as possible. You know what to do if you’re pursued. Holes have been burned into the fencing at regular intervals, so you can either cut across the airfield and regroup at Boleni Mount, or swing back toward Rhomane.”

“No problem, Sir.”

Both groups galloped off, leaving Jake alone to reflect on the objective of the day’s mission.
So it’s up to us to keep the Horde distracted, and occupied in this area. Should be simple enough.

On a whim, he took out a pair of adapted binoculars. Activating the rotational frequency module fitted over the lenses, he studied the area again.
Damn, but it’s quiet. Let’s hope the boys can change that.

*

Flavius Velerianus glanced at the modern timepiece on his wrist, then gazed off into the distance. The convoy from the Shilette Abyss was expected to meet up with his mounted equitata at any time, and he was keen to get into the last phase of the operation.

Life had been quite boring for him since his arrival on Arden. His promotion aside, the Ninth had been employed on defensive duties more often than not. As such, even when things got interesting, his squadron of horsemen always seemed reduced to a subsidiary role while others got to test their mettle. Finally, he’d received his first proper assignment, and he was sure it was due to his friend’s recent promotion.

Thank you, Marcus
.

Standing in his stirrups, Flavius tried to assess the route ahead. It was no use. The shimmering heat waves radiating up off the ground made it look as if the topaz-blue canopy of the sky had melted and spilled over onto the asphalt canvas below. The more he looked, the more frustrated he became as the line of the road streaked into rivulets of silver and gray contrasts. They confused the eye, confounding his ability to judge distance.

Why couldn’t the forest have extended this far and saved us the trouble?

He checked behind. Mount Caglioso dominated the skyline, looking exactly as it had an hour ago. Huge, overwhelming, and of no use at all.

Bloody temperature extremes.

He turned to his optio, Claudius Vergilius. “Claudius. Assign archers to the roving pickets and dispatch a stick of riders along the highway until they make contact with Tiberius and his contingent. I know they’re heavily laden with as much ore and equipment as they can carry, but this is getting ridiculous. We’ll be sitting ducks out here if anything happens, and won’t have the option of making a run for it.”

“Right away, Sir.”

As Claudius set about organizing the men, Flavius recapped the different phases of the day’s exercise. Doing so made him appreciate how essential it was for everyone to play their part and be on time. Casting his eyes heavenward, he noted the milk-white disc of Se’ochan, Arden’s moon, riding high in the sky.

That’s so odd. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing the moon during the day. But I keep forgetting, conditions are perfect here for that.

His reflection reminded him of another important phase currently underway. He glanced at the moon again.
I wonder if they’re having more fun than I am?

*

Ephraim Miller kept a careful eye on Asa Montgomery and Angela Brogan’s vital signs. The AI mind-mesh interface they were hooked into was an extremely sophisticated piece of kit. Unlike the training simulators they had used, or the simplified models fitted aboard the
Promulus
or
Tarion Star
, these were designed to operate a five hundred thousand long ton deep space cruiser.