The Thrones of Kronos (81 page)

The comm officer started as if from sleep, slapping at his
console. The music softened but was still discernible.

“It’s too strong, Kyvernat,” the officer said
apologetically. “If I damp it any more, we will start losing data from the
fleet.”

Juvaszt glanced sideways at the heir—no, the Avatar now—but
he could read no reaction in his profile. Anaris Eusabian watched the tactical
screens intently, apparently unaffected by the depravity issuing from the
Panarchist hyperwave.

“Very well,” he said, watching the crew bend to their tasks.

He sat back in his pod, breathing slowly and rotating his
head to ease his neck. Some of his own tension leached away. He scanned the
screens: the battle was going well for them, their weapons very powerful.

The viewscreen flickered to a close-up of the Rifter
destroyer as the shuttle eased through its e-lock. Juvaszt had issued no orders
for Hreem. Anaris was in command now. After the reports he’d received from the
Tarkans of the new Avatar’s feats on the Suneater, he was loath to cross him in
even the smallest particular.

But do the karra obey
him away from the Suneater?
A little shocked by the thought, the kyvernat
put it firmly aside. Anaris didn’t need TK to enforce his will anymore; any who
wished to find out whether or not he still possessed it would likely die in the
process.

He turned to the Avatar. “Lord, your orders for the
Lith
?”

Anaris smiled faintly. “Regardless of what you send, Hreem
will pursue the
Telvarna
. Give him
the last coordinates you have and let him hunt. The
Telvarna
will want to rendezvous with the
Grozniy
. We will follow and put an end to them both.”

“It will be done, Lord.”

Juvaszt issued the orders and returned to his task of
tactical coordination, his mood apprehensive as he considered the nature of
this new Avatar, and his unexpected penchant for what had to be humor.
Twisted by the Panarchists or not, he is now
the Lord of Vengeance.

Juvaszt wondered where Anaris would lead them.

o0o

Marim breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief when the hatch
of the Dol’jharian shuttle swung open to reveal the landing bay of the
Flower of Lith
. She hadn’t really
expected Anaris to let them go after the
Fist
of Dol’jhar
caught up with the two corvettes, hurled away from the Suneater
on similar courses by whatever Urian tech the asteroids had triggered.
Especially since two of Hreem’s Ogres on the ship had killed several Tarkans
trying to board the corvette during the firefight that followed his attempt to
kill Vi’ya.

Hreem pushed past her and stomped down the ramp, not looking
to see if she would follow. The shuttle lock slammed shut and the little ship
eased out through the e-lock in a spray of iridescence, dwindling rapidly
toward the huge battlecruiser looming only kilometers away, the growing light
of the supernova flaring from its silvery hull.

A thin, long-nosed man hurried toward them. “What happened
on the Suneater, Cap’n? Did the Ogres work like you said they would? Did you
get any vids from them?”

Hreem’s grip on his jac tightened, then he lunged out and
hammered the smaller man to the deck with the weapon. He stood over the
cringing figure, absently scratching at his other, bandaged hand with the
jac-butt. “You see any chatzing Ogres, Dyasil?”

Dyasil shook his head, terrified. Hreem turned away, jerking
his head at Marim. A waft of stench from him made her eyes water, a mixture of
old blood, spoiled food, and sweat. “C’mon, yellowhead,” he said. “You did
pretty good on the corvette. Now we’ll go hunting in a real ship.”

Marim hid her sigh of relief. Hreem seemed to have calmed
down from the peak of fury that had possessed him when the two Ogres lapsed
into quiescence once the lock closed and he’d been unable to command them
further. When she’d commented that at least the chatzing machines weren’t going
on the rampage against them, he’d backhanded her into a bulkhead.

She shuddered slightly; she hadn’t even seen the blow
coming. No wonder he’d managed to shoot Jaim down despite the explosion of his
compad. And Markham never had a chance—

She fought that memory away as the trans-tube carried them
toward the bridge. What was the use? That part of her life was over. Trying to
steady herself, she started whistling a tune.

“What’s that chatzing noise you’re making?” Hreem demanded.

“Oh, just something Ma—” Appalled, she stopped herself.
Something Markham used to play.
Telos!
Get away, memories!
“Nothing, just something I picked up somewhere.”

Hreem eyed her, his expression ugly. “Well, shut up.”

She did, but the tune kept running through her head,
sparking other memories of music from her days on the
Telvarna
. She grimaced and kept her mouth slightly open so she
wouldn’t forget and start whistling them.

When they reached the bridge, the sounds of dataflow on many
consoles and the hush of the tianqi greeted them. A bulky man hastily jumped
out of the command pod. “Juvaszt’s orders just came through, Captain,” he said.
“I set them up on Nav for you.”

“Flush em, Pili,” Hreem snarled. “We’re goin’ after the
Telvarna
.”

Pili’s eyes widened. “But that’s what his orders are. Says
he expects you’ll find it with the
Grozniy
.
He sent coordinates.”

Hreem laughed, settling himself in the command pod. “Right.
Carcason, take us out. Blondie, you take his secondary console, and give me
tactical feedback on that black-eyed killer.”

The
Lith
shuddered
into skip as Marim settled down at the console and familiarized herself with
it. Around her the spacious bridge of the destroyer sang a subtle song of
power, and she wondered why Markham, and later Vi’ya, had not chosen to obtain
one, despite the fact that after their best runs they could have afforded an
Alpha.
She didn’t want to be rich hard
enough. And so I wasted all those years on that little Columbiad.

Well, not anymore. She watched covertly as Hreem issued more
orders, feeling a growing excitement. Hadn’t somebody once said that power was
the strongest aphrodisiac? Well, she had power, too, and she knew how to
exercise it. The kind of take Hreem could deliver was worth a few blows now and
then.

o0o

“Emergence in ten seconds,” said Vi’ya, her voice even.
“Jaim, ready a missile strike, these coordinates.”

Lokri watched Jaim’s steady hands on the fire-control
console, his calm profile. The drivetech was clad only in his bloodstained
trousers, a makeshift bandage around his bruised, burn-splashed torso. Jaim’s
face gleamed with sweat, highlighting the tightness of his muscles as he fought
to stay upright. As the music streamed through the bridge, Lokri could feel the
effort Jaim made.

Abruptly they emerged from skip. The
Flower of Lith
was only kilometers away as Vi’ya said, “Fire.”

The missiles flashed away, then the
Telvarna
dropped right back into skip.
Montrose, I hope your painkillers outlast this battle,
Lokri
thought soberly as Jaim readied another strike.

o0o

The swelling tide of music from the hyperwave seemed to
energize Margot Ng’s primary crew. In spite of the many long hours they’d been
on the bridge, their movements became crisper, quicker, taking up the rhythm of
the complex melodies. The
Grozniy
had
never before been conned so efficiently; it was as if they read one another’s
minds, so attuned were their movements from one console to another. But who was
playing the music? She knew the youth Ivard had stayed behind, in the part of
the Suneater devoted to the hyperwave, but never had she heard that he had such
a talent. And if not him, then who? Or what?

But despite the efficiency of the crew, and the great power
of the
Grozniy’s
computers, the ship
always found itself several light-seconds behind the
Telvarna
, watching events already past. Even had that not been the
case, there was nothing they could do: the little Columbiad emerged so close to
the
Lith
each time it struck that a
ruptor barrage would destroy both of them, and Ng was wary of risking her ship
against the now-irresistible power of the Rifter destroyer’s skipmissiles.

So they followed, and watched as Vi’ya taught Hreem that
skipmissiles are no good against a stinging gnat—the
Lith
couldn’t turn fast enough to bring its launch tube to bear on
the
Telvarna
.

Ng could see a sheen of perspiration on Rom-Sanchez’
forehead as he worked his console, setting up complex tenno systems to try and
anticipate the
Lith’s
movements. In
effect, he was conning the ship—Ng could do no better, and she could not
abandon her tactical coordination of the ongoing battle, as badly as it was
going.

“Missile strike against
Lith
,
minor damage aft port bay,” Wychyrski reported. And, again, “
Telvarna
skipped.
Lith
skipped.”

Ng thumbed her aching eye sockets, realized what she was
doing, and forced her hands to relax on her pod arms as she sat up straight.
Memory nagged at her, something about that music.

“Emergence,” Navigation sang out.

And Wychyrski reported, “
Lith
emergence pulse,” then, a few seconds later, “
Telvarna
emergence, missiles away,
Telvarna
skipped. Missile impacts on aft port side, minor damage to
Lith
.”

Again, despite the fact that the Columbiad’s navcomp was a
fraction of the size of the cruiser’s,
Telvarna
had managed to pinpoint precisely where the destroyer would emerge.

The music, damped but still audible, changed again. Ng’s
mind pitched back to the concert hall on Ares. KetzenLach, she thought—no, not
quite, but something very much like his music. There were other styles and
themes, evoking other emotions. But the influence of KetzenLach was
unmistakable. Why was that important?

“Emergence pulse! Cruiser!” Wychyrski’s voice sharpened.
“177 mark 32, 28 light-seconds.”

“Tactical skip, now,” Ng ordered.

As the fiveskip burred, Siglnt continued, “Signature ID’d:
Fist of Dol’jhar
.”

So Anaris is using the
Lith
as a tracking drone
. Ng
turned to Brandon, who stood beside her pod, hands behind his back.

Well, if the
Grozniy
was lagging the
Telvarna
, the
Fist
was lagging the
Lith
even worse. That pulse had been two
skips behind them. She’d have to be on guard—it was very unlikely that Juvaszt
could get a solution on them, the way they were jumping around.
And we’d lag if Vi’ya didn’t send those
updates.

Emergence pinged again and the ship came about to a new
heading, then skipped once more. The screen flickered as the
Telvarna
stung the Rifter destroyer yet
again, this time striking square at the radiants, the weakest spot, the
fire-lance wakes of the missiles forming a visual counterpoint to a merry
cadenza from the hyperwave as the strange music built toward a climax.

o0o

The link to the
Telvarna
never wavered, remaining clear to Ivard as the Columbiad slipped in and out of
fourspace. But the link to the
Flower of Lith
through Marim was different, slippery.

Finding the ship each time it skipped was easy, for he would
never forget Marim’s theme. He marveled that he had never seen the darkness in
her, now so clearly to be heard. He could feel Marim’s response more strongly
each emergence as the music evoked memories in her that beaconed out.

Each time, he wove the destroyer’s position into the music
and harmonized it with Vi’ya’s theme; but he found another link there, along
which flowed the power from the Suneater, and this he could not trace back from
the ship to where it joined his keyboard before the
Lith
skipped out again and he lost the thread.

Ivard knew that he could shut down all the ships dependent
on the hyper-relay, and the hyperwave as well, for now he understood that it
was only his presence in the beam of light that energized those functions of
the Suneater. The Presence had withdrawn, readying itself for long-awaited
freedom. He wished he could do it, remembering the coins of light he’d seen,
but to do so would trap the Presence here, and that would be the greater crime.
So, patiently as he played, he traced the thread again and yet again,
unraveling it toward the Suneater that powered it.

And finally, as once more the
Lith
emerged from fivespace and he heard Marim again, the link lay
in his hand, complete from end to end, and Ivard remembered the Kelly trinity
on Rifthaven, Atropos-Clotho-Lakisas. He’d looked up the meaning of their names
long after: one who spins, one who measures, and one who cuts.

He knew which one he was. Tears gathered in his eyes as he
touched the Tetradrachm and the ribbon in its pouch.
Goodbye, Marim.

o0o

The music was just barely audible on the bridge of the
Lith
. Hreem would have liked to cut it
totally, except they might miss something important from either side. But it
itched at him internally, worse than the damned itch of his logos-chatzing
clothes, and when he saw Marim’s small hand tapping out one of the musical
rhythms, he restrained himself from leaping up and smashing her to the deck.

“Emergence,” Carcason’s voice was reedy with tension.

“No traces,” Erbee reported, his fingers rasping his face in
time to the music.

“Where the chatzing hell is that—”

“Emergence pulse!” shouted Erbee, fists hitting his console.

Hreem slapped the skip pad, but not before the ship jolted
to a missile strike. The harsh thrum of skip rumbled through the deck, and
Hreem sat back again.