The Thrones of Kronos (73 page)

And no one crossed him.

Vaulting over a couple of stiffening corpses in an
intersection, he strode faster. Now it was time to get rid of that black-eyed
woman and her pet killers. He reveled in the Ogres’ heavy whine-thump, triune
sounds of power. Would she beg?
No. And
I’d be a fool to give her time to chatz with my mind.

As they turned a corner, they were confronted by pair of
Ogres.

“Attend!” Hreem shouted, and relaxed as the jac-ports in the
machines’ heads snapped shut. He paused, considering. Three Ogres were
certainly enough to ensure his safety.

“Now we’ll see if that chatzing trog left my little surprise
in them,” he muttered, ignoring Marim’s questioning glance. “Ogres, confirm
programming Vi’ya.”

A green light glowed briefly among the sensory clusters of
all five machines.

“Confirm Jaim.” Again, the green light, and so on with
Montrose, Ivard, and Lokri, whose IDs Riolo had placed in the Ogres’
programming when Tallis had revealed his enemy’s presence here on the Suneater.
When he was done he laughed, then quickly issued instructions for two of the
machines to begin hunting for the
Telvarna’s
crew. They thumped off.

From time to time, as they made their way toward where he
expected to find Vi’ya, or her trace, they encountered more Ogres, which Hreem
reprogrammed in similar fashion. All that time Marim said nothing.

A doubt assailed him, and he turned to glare at the little
blonde trotting along between two of the Ogres. She glanced down at another
corpse, this one felled by jac-fire, and made a face. Squeamish—yet she’d
laughed when he wrote that warning to her captain with Riolo’s blood. And she
hadn’t said a thing when he sent the Ogres after her former crew members. Maybe
she was concocting some kind of crazy double cross. “What’s in your mind?”

First reactions were almost always real ones. Her blue eyes
lifted, and she looked startled, then confused, then wary. His finger caressed
the firing stud of his jac. If he’d seen the wariness first, it would have been
Marim’s turn to beg—maybe not now, but in front of her chatzing cold-face
captain.

“What d’you mean?” she demanded. “I don’t like lookin’ at
these deaders. So?”

“You want to see me duff your captain?”

“No,” Marim said frankly. “I don’t care about the others.
Especially the brain-burners. I love the thought of them tryin’ to pull that on
your Ogres! I hope Vi’ya skips free, but that’s between you an’ her—heyo!
What’s that thing?” She stopped.

Hreem whirled around as a weird little machine, like an
animated spider, scuttled around a corner, followed by two others. Before he
could react they sprang at the lead Ogre, spinning a shining web around it that
sliced into its armor and swiftly disabled it. Hreem cursed and jumped back as
the Ogre’s jac discharged wildly, igniting the cuff of one trouser. He slapped
the flames out while triggering his jac. Marim fired, too, and the other two
little devices exploded into fragments.

“What are those things?” He scanned the corridors for more.

“I dunno,” Marim said. “But I’ll bet they’re from the
Marines. Sanctus Hicura! I smell smoke. Fight’s gettin’ closer.”

Hreem cursed, trying to overcome his shock. He’d thought the
Ogres were invincible.
If Vi’ya sees
these things—

He was going to kill her. Nothing would stop that. But if he
had to do it from one of those Dol’jharian corvettes, fine. He just had to get
to the landing bay first, before she could get to her ship. If they found more
Ogres on the way, he’d keep them.

o0o

Jaim saw the others recoil from the rec room, and he knew
it was not empty as the Bori mess hall had been. Lar and Lokri both whirled to
shield the room from Dem’s and Ivard’s eyes.

Montrose growled, deep in his massive chest, then came the
sonorous roll of curses, nearly drowning the whisper of prayers from Sedry
Thetris. Jaim felt compelled to go in, to see if anyone yet lived. Shock rang
in his skull, followed by the sick, numbing ache of disbelief that anyone could
perpetrate such savagery. He had not felt this kind of reaction since—”Let us
get away from here quickly. There’s nothing we can do.”

Montrose said, “Where, then? What’s another place likely to
have a lot of people holed up?”

Tat mumbled, “Not the array room. No one will want to go by
the mess outside of it.”

“Communications,” Sedry murmured.

Montrose snapped his fingers. “Hyperwave. Who knows? Maybe
we can even do a little mayhem.” He turned to Sedry. “Unless you’ve taken care
of that already, my dear.”

Thetris smiled slightly, but her eyes looked bruised, and
not long after they began walking, she stumbled and began to fall. Montrose
lunged, the tendons in his hands standing out but his grip tender. She sagged
against him, eyes closing in relief.

In silence they progressed up several corridors,
occasionally passing the remains of people—mostly Bori—who had been shot. Then
they reached an intersection where lay several dead Catennach. The rank smell
of cooked meat singed Jaim’s nostrils. He held his breath as he stooped over
the nearest body, reaching for the jac still lying in the loose fingers. A
short exclamation from Lokri brought the new weapon up, and ready—

—to face not an enemy, but a fresh horror around the curved
wall. There lay the pulped remains of someone Jaim did not recognize. The
others did not look at that, but at the wall, where a scrawled message in a red
smear dealt Jaim another shock, this time propelling him inexorably back to the
discovery aboard the
Sunflame
.

VIYA! FIRST MARKHAM. NOW YOU.

For weeks he had dreamed of Reth Silverknife’s tortured
body, and finally the nightmares, and the pain, had subsided to a dull ache and
a sense of purposelessness. Now the grief was back, tenfold, but with it came
intent. “Hreem,” he said.

Lokri’s head snapped round. “He’ll try an ambush if he can.”

“One thing at a time.” Montrose turned his back on the
bloody message and rooted among the dead Catennach for a weapon. “Let’s get to
that hyperwave chamber, then we’ll see.”

Sedry was not the only one weakened by the extended sessions
with brainsuck so dangerously close together. Tat Ombric never complained, but
quite suddenly her steps faltered, and then—before anyone could move—she
crumpled to the floor. Jaim and Lar lunged toward her, but it was Lokri who
jammed his jac into his trousers and scooped her up in his arms. He carried her
the rest of the way, his step never slowing; when Jaim offered to take his
burden, he shook his head. “Masses no more than a child.”

Lar led them to the hyperwave chamber. Twice they heard the
amplified whine-thump of Ogres. No one spoke. They stopped, pressed together,
with Dem and Tat in front. Evidently the pass tags still worked. The machines
paused only long enough to scan them, then moved on, their double faces
eternally alert.

They encountered no one, though twice they heard the far-off
echoes of heavy fire, and the smell of smoke got stronger.

Then they reached the hyperwave chamber, and Jaim stared in
amazement. It was a vast space, floored with stars, with organic curves of quantum-plast
sweeping down from the ceiling to weird stalagmitic protrusions capped with
complex structures of flickering, holographic light. In the center of the room
a beam of light, coruscant and moiré-patterned, struck down from a gland in the
ceiling, dwindling into vanishing perspective among the stars below. As his
gaze followed it, he saw a coin of light bloom among the stars, and a fragment
of a song returned—so strong was the impression of Markham’s voice that he
almost looked for him:
“Bright coins in
which our lives are paid.”

People in the room stood still and staring, as if they had
frozen in the midst of motion when he and his crewmates appeared.

A wispy man of indeterminate age in a rumpled lab coat took
a tentative step. His pockets bulged. As he took another tentative step,
something fell out of one. A data chip.

“Tatriman?” He clutched a compad as though it were a shield.

Montrose spoke first. “We’re a rescue mission. Anyone wants
off of this Telos-forsaken hellhole come with us. We make it free, we’ll take
you to Rifthaven. Or Arthelion.”

“Or anywhere but Dol’jhar,” Lokri drawled.

The Bori techs in the room whispered. Lar cleared his throat
and said, “Ogres are killing our kind all over the station. The Avatar isn’t
going to make accommodation for us. You know it, I know it. Come if you like.
Tat and I are joining up with these Rifters.” He turned to Jaim. “That man is Duveel
Lysanter. He’s the head scientist.”

Lysanter looked around, a vein beating in his throat. “The
Suneater is beyond our control.” As Lokri advanced into the room, Lysanter
added in a sharp voice, “Don’t go near that beam!”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps some form of communications
interface.”

Ivard’s chin lifted.

“Whatever it is,” Lysanter continued, “it overloads the nervous
system into total catatonia.” He pointed to a figure curled into a fetal ball.

“Let’s get out of here,” Montrose said. “The longer we wait,
the better the chances of Eusabian remembering you long enough to order someone
to finish you off.”

Jaim watched as the techs sorted themselves out, pairing the
uninjured with the wounded to help them along. Two Bori carefully rolled the
catatonic one onto a makeshift stretcher, taking either end themselves.

Ivard drifted around the perimeter of the room, awe rounding
his eyes. Jaim wondered what he saw, sensed, felt, but before he could ask,
Lysanter gave a short sigh and hefted his compad. “I guess that’s it.” He
looked around.

“Can you brief us on the situation?” Montrose asked.

“As much as I am able,” Lysanter said as they moved out into
the corridor. “Eusabian has fled the station in one of the Urian ships.” He
paused, grimacing with an odd expression that seemed to mix awe, wistfulness,
and amazement. “I don’t know where the heir is. The Tarkans still hold the
landing bay, but the Marines are pressing them hard.”

“
Telvarna
is still
intact?” Jaim asked.

“Yes. Good thing, too,” Lysanter said as they reached a
corridor nexus. “My instruments report changes in the companion star’s spectrum
that indicate higher element ignition—an increase in density. The core is
shrinking.”

“What’s that mean?” Montrose asked impatiently.

“It means the Suneater is preparing to fulfill its function:
creating a new black hole. When that happens, we will find ourselves about a
quarter light-hour from a supernova.”

Jaim saw the impact of this news on the others. “How long?”

Lysanter shook his head. “No way to tell.”

They rounded one of the endless curves and came face-to-face
with a formation of Catennach Bori. Armed Bori.

“Halt.” The leader motioned with her jac. “You Bori will
return to your duties.” To the Rifters, “You will come with us.”

“Where to?” Lokri drawled.

“That’s our concern,” the second Catennach said, his tone
nasty. “Do not try our patience. Your deaths, here and now, would only merit
indifference.”

“And ours?” Lar’s voice was so light it was almost
inaudible. The Catennach ignored him, but he visibly gathered himself together
and said louder, “And our lives, Delmantias?”

“Are forfeit if you disobey.”

“Aren’t they, anyway?” Lar demanded. “Lysanter said the
Suneater is beyond our control, and the Avatar is evacuating. Are there any
orders for saving us? Or . . .” He stepped forward. “What about you? Are you
about to evacuate?”

None of the Catennach moved, then the two leaders exchanged
quick, furtive looks, and both yanked up their jacs to take aim.

Jaim shot them both before they could squeeze the firing
studs. The other Catennach began raising their weapons, but then everyone was
taken by surprise when Lar flung himself at them. Not alone. First one, then
five, then all of the Bori gave screams of rage, of long-repressed, fierce,
angry, fear-driven rage, and charged forward. The others threw down compads and
chips and equipment and surged in a mass.

The shocked Catennach got off five or six shots, killing
three and wounding one, but the Bori did not falter. They leapt over their
fallen comrades, and in moments the Catennach were hidden from view. Jaim
thrust his jac into his waistband.

The sounds of rage slowly diminished as the Bori withdrew,
some blood-spattered, talking in sharp voices with angry little jerks of the
head. On the ground lay the Catennach, all dead.

“Get their weapons,” Montrose said. “Anyone who knows how to
shoot. Now we might have a chance of making it.”

Half a dozen Bori stripped the bodies of jacs and
communicators and pass tags, then Montrose scanned his little army. “Who knows
where there might be others needing a rescue?”

Jaim dropped back. Something was wrong. He, too, scanned the
crowd, and then he realized: Ivard and Luce were missing.

He turned around to retrace their steps and found Lokri in
his way. “In there,” the comtech said, jerking his chin back over his shoulder
as he shifted his grip on Tat. “Hyperwave chamber.”

“What?”

“Didn’t you see the way he looked at that damned beam of
light?” Lokri’s long silver eyes had lost their cynicism; his handsome face was
distraught. “Vi’ya said once that there is no emotional defense against music,
but I think there is no defense against regret.”

“Regret?” Jaim repeated. “Ivard?”

“No. Me.” Lokri grinned.

“I don’t understand. We’d better get Ivard and the cat
before the others get too far ahead and we’re lost.”

“He won’t come,” Lokri said. “And if he won’t come, the cat
won’t. I saw him hide, and at the last moment, he was watching that beam of
light. He’s left us. I think we lost him under the Palace, when his sister was
killed, and I congratulated myself on how I’d managed to eradicate regret from
my arsenal of reactions.”