Challenge met, p.13
Challenge Met, page 13
She frowned at him. “Unfortunately, I think you’ll live.”
“Do you?” He blinked. The bad eye was beginning to blur again. “I wish I had your faith.”
“Faith about what,” Vandover said, as he entered the care unit. “Pepys, you’re looking better.”
“What’s happening?”
The minister looked at Amber. There was an expression deep in those dark eyes that Pepys had never seen before and wasn’t sure he liked. “Can’t keep him down. K’rok has ordered a fallback to avoid a bloodbath. A good decision, I think—we don’t need to give them any more martyrs at this point than they already have.”
“What are you doing in the way of containment?”
Amber looked away. Pepys caught the expression of distance that had fallen across her features. If only he had not given over her destiny into Baadluster’s hands. If only he had thought more about the decision. Concern made him cough again, and this time, no one moved to his aid. By the time he had caught his breath, the corridor had filled with noise as battle armored soldiers filed in.
Chapter 22
They’ll fight for me,” Pepys said later, with confidence, his voice no longer a whisper, but thin and reedy for all that. The day had been long and the din from the armor in the hallways tumultuous. He felt weary unto death, but he clung to his wakeful state as if it were the only indicator that he still lived. All was quiet now.
Amber’s suit hung in the corner of the care unit, near the life monitors. She eyed it as she stabbed a piece of protein from her packaged dinner. “They’ll fight to survive. What’s important, your highness, is that the two objectives coincide.” She delicately picked the morsel from her fork and ate it.
Pepys stared at her. He debated about chiding her for the lack of respect in her tone of voice, but he knew Amber well… and knew that manners were like a suit of clothes to her, that she used them depending on whether or not she needed the disguise. He ended up sighing. She was right, of course. Wired to this crèche he was as helpless as a scraggly, thrown-away babe. He began to understand what Jack had seen in her, beyond her grace and beauty. She had an innate ability to filter the truth out, however fine, and retain its clarity. “I made a mistake with you,” he said, to his utter surprise.
She shot him a look then, with such hatred in her eyes that he shrank back. It faded as quickly as he recognized it and Pepys wondered if he had really seen it at all. “Tell me you tampered with Jack and I’ll unhook your crèche right now.”
His shallow breathing rose and fell only with the help of that unit. He would get better, but for now… she threatened his very life. Pepys waved a hand, a reflection of his old imperious self, unaware that he did so. “On the contrary, I did all I could to help him.”
“Then it was Vandover.”
He nodded, a feeble movement that merely dropped his chin to his chest and left it there.
Amber’s face twisted. “We’re all spiders in that web.” She polished off the last of her dinner, crumpled the packet as if it were an enemy, and tossed it away.
“But I left you to him,” Pepys said softly, so softly that he was not even sure she’d heard him as she stood and crossed the room to her armor. It was coated with norcite, which gave it a gleam over its blue-black enameling. He thought it was a dark and deadly color for a beautiful woman. Did she murmur something back, or was it an unconscious echo of his own mind? I made a mistake with you as well.
His eyes felt terribly heavy. She had already fed him and now his thoughts spun away as quickly as a cloud across the merciless Malthen sky. “I think… I’ll sleep now,” he said.
“Good.” Amber did not turn. The last thing he saw was a bleary image of her stretching out her hand and stroking the empty sleeve of the war suit.
He awoke to thunder. The corridors were filled with suits, running, and Amber came to his side, angling the crèche bed up so he could see better. Strain showed on her face.
“What is it?”
“They’ve fallen back. I’m not sure—”
One of the colossal armored bodies entered the care unit. Jack took off his helmet and hung it from his belt clip.
“Jack—” Amber blurted, then bit her lip as he gave her no notice.
He approached the emperor, had eyes for him alone. “We’ve been holding a defensive position.” Sweat slicked back his sandy hair. Pain faded the blue of his eyes. “We can’t hold it any longer, and I’ll tell you, sir, that none of us wants to stage a full-scale war against what we’re facing out there. And there’s a Thrakian mother ship overhead, threatening to come in as well. They won’t think twice about fighting.”
Pepys wet his lips. “Vandover,” he croaked, then took a sip of water from a glass Amber held for him. “Where is Vandover?”
“Monitoring Ash-Farel activity. Something is happening out there. I’ve got to get to Colin. We can’t wait any longer.”
Pepys licked his lips again. “Speaker,” he got out. “Hook me up to a speaker.”
Jack watched the curtain of night. Flames of light spouted upward, orange-red against the blackness, then sputtered out. He could hear the percussion of explosions and the high-pitched singing of laser fire. His helmet bumped the hip of the suit. Against the relative silence of muted battle came the weakened voice of the emperor.
“This is Emperor Pepys. People of the Triad Throne, you work to your own undoing. Lay down your arms. Give our mission safe passage to search for St. Colin. I call on you to come to the bargaining table, not the battlefield.”
The message repeated endlessly for nearly half an hour. Jack replaced his helmet and focused his cameras and sensors, searching for a response to the message being broadcast. None came. He had not expected any. He opened his com line.
“K’rok. They’re calling our bluff. Give the signal. Rawlins, prepare to move out. Lassaday—watch your nuts.” He fell back, anticipating renewed attack. Inside the suit, sweat dripped off his brow. He felt suffocated. His thoughts and memories tangled again. Where was he? When was he? He was a Knight, for god’s sake, fighting the “Pure” war. He held onto that tenet as if it were a lifeline and strode into the night.
K’rok swelled out of his suit neckline as he removed his helmet. “I am being sorry, Minister,” he said to Vandover. “We have done all we could, without a massacre.”
Vandover paced the length of Pepys’ care unit, his long black robes alive with the movement like a pair of immense wings at his back. He gave the Milot an ugly stare. “You don’t win battles by retreating.”
“No, sir.” The Milot met his look, baring yellow-ivory canines of immense length. “But there will be another fight.”
“Where’s Jack?” Amber asked quietly in the tense silence that followed K’rok’s statement.
“He be coming in last. There was a suit down, and the Dead Man circuit was triggered. The armor is lost, but our man might be injured. Jack be looking for our lost man.”
“What about the Thrakian contingent of the guard?”
K’rok gave an eloquent shrug which the Flexalinks copied, a wave of movement down the length of the battle armor. Whatever he might have said was lost in the commotion at the corridor’s end as the doors were opened up to the outside and Jack came in, bearing an injured man in his arms.
“Let’s get this man in a crèche.”
Fire and smoke framed him in the doorway. There was a moment of hesitation, then Rawlins leapt to his aid, his own suit gored and charred. Jack himself turned to secure the doors he’d come through. As they clanged shut, he removed his helmet and took deep gulps of air. Lassaday handed him a cold glass of beer. Jack took it and then grinned.
“Short rations, eh?”
The sergeant gave a bellowing laugh in response before trailing his men to the care unit where they swiftly installed the wounded Knight. Jack watched them go before sucking down a deep draught. Vandover met him in the corridor outside Pepys’ room.
“What now?”
“We don’t shield, at least, not yet. Can’t afford the power drain. This building can take an assault or two without damage.” Jack paused for another drink. He rested the cooling glass against his forehead. “We need time.” He saluted K’rok with his drink. “Commander.”
“Commander,” returned the Milot. He shouldered past Jack and for a moment the corridor was filled floor to ceiling with battle armor. The Milot growled, “I could use one of those.”
Jack let him by. He smiled at Amber and Pepys and said, “It’s going to be a long night.”
Vandover scowled heavily. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Well, Baadluster, we’re fighting the battle and right now, we’re taking a break while the other side regroups and does some thinking. You see, up until now, we’ve only been deflecting them. We’ve done some heavy damage without being on the offensive. Even though we’re dealing with fanatics here, some cooler heads are going to realize the kind of damage we can do if we take the offensive. Someone’s going to hesitate.” Jack paused for another drink. He lifted the empty glass in salute to Vandover. “You’ve got to remember that none of these people here have ever really seen us in combat. A demonstration or two in the stadium, but that’s it. Now they have. Now they know just what to be scared of.” He stifled a mild burp. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get some sleep.” He crossed the care unit and sat down, the Flexalink suit folding gracefully to lower him to the hard floor. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.
Amber knew Vandover shot an angry glare at her, but she refused to meet his expression. She took up her post, curling up on a countertop, bracing her shoulders where the cabinet met the wall.
Pepys was either chuckling to himself or snoring lightly as Vandover made a disgusted noise and left the care unit.
The clangor came just before dawn. Jack got to his feet quickly, heading toward the secured doors. Rawlins, Lassaday, and K’rok joined him immediately. Pepys made a mewling noise as Amber sat him up a little. He seemed disoriented, then grasped her sleeve as she said, “Watch Jack.”
“Open the doors,” he ordered.
“Commander, scanners show they’re—”
“I know what they are,” Jack snapped, interrupting. “Get those doors open.”
Lassaday pointed and two privates hurried to unshield and unbar the portal. It came open, the stink of smoke and ash flooding in.
Jack stepped forward. “General Guthul. How fortunate you’ve dropped in. We place ourselves at your mercy.”
Amber gasped in disbelief as Storm knelt at the feet of the Thrakian warrior.
“I wish,” Pepys said peevishly, “that someone had told me about all this.”
Wearing her own armor and shouldering her pack, Amber said, “You’re out of the loop, emperor. And so, apparently, am I.” She pointed at the Thraks rolling the crèche out into the loading dock. “Watch it, bugface.” She looked around the grounds, where landing ships had fused the landscape into a burnt, glassy surface. “Your gardeners are going to be real pissed.”
Pepys laughed in spite of himself. The rose obsidite walls of the palace stood with scarcely a scar, but the grounds surrounding it looked as if they’d been through a firestorm. The carnage had marked them deeply. He could only thank K’rok’s and Jack’s intuition that the Walkers would hesitate before a full-scale Thrakian attack. Letting the allies come in had begun a cease-fire. The bad news was that Guthul was taking them in hand. Queen Tricatada wanted to talk to Pepys very badly. He dared show no weakness before the Thrakian queen.
Amber patted Pepys on the shoulder as if knowing his hesitant thoughts. Vandover led the caravan, his hands filled with the valises he carried, his shoulders bowed under the weight. Jack and the small handful of Knights going with them took up the rear. “It’s going to be a rough trip,” she commented, looking at the shuttle docked in a makeshift berth as they approached it.
“I’ll make it,” Pepys said grimly.
“You don’t have much choice,” Amber returned. She looked at the Thraks flanking them. They were as much prisoners as allies. She twisted about to glance at Jack. He’d been strangely quiet since his capitulation to Guthul, his longtime nemesis. She could not fathom what was going on behind his pale, careful expression.
Jack watched the loading caravan approach the shuttle. His thoughts slipped and tumbled over one another. He was walking into the enemy’s jaws and none of them would make it out again if he couldn’t keep himself together. He fought to hold on, to stay in control just one moment longer. Fatigue and stress leeched his strength when he needed it most. He would have stumbled, but the suit held him up, kept him moving. He looked at K’rok and for a frightening instant, Milos and Malthen overlapped one another, time over time.
The Milot brushed against him lightly, the jarring clearing his mind again, and he ducked his head as they reached the loading bay. The Thraks ensconced them all in hammocklike seats, the bay closed, and the ship began to thrum as it powered up.
Jack closed his eyes against the hammering thrust of the takeoff. He could hear Pepys’ moaning over the roar of the engines. The little man might not survive the gs of the takeoff although the aneurysm was supposed to have been lasered off and cauterized, its damage already having been done. Would he care if Pepys died? He had time for no further wondering as the shuttle left its berth and the body-crushing punishment of leaving Malthen’s gravity began. His memories could take no more.
He awoke to find Thraks unwrapping his armor from takeoff netting. They chittered in derision at his weakness. Jack put his boots on the floor and straightened, standing head and shoulders taller than their own giant forms. He looked about and saw the other humans and knew his own actions were hostage to theirs. He had been defeated and why he was not dead, he did not know. Flanked by Thraks, he was marched out of the shuttle and into the belly of a much larger vessel, probably a mother ship.
As they crossed the hangar, he saw the dais and the honor guard flanking the brilliant iridescent blue body of a queen Thraks. She levered herself upward, her face plates settling into a mask of exotic beauty as she looked at him.
“Welcome, my valorous warrior,” she said to Guthul, speaking in the humans’ language for the prisoners’ sakes, then repeating it in her chirps and trills. The warrior Thraks made a deep obeisance to her.
The gorge rose in Jack’s throat. He could bring the queen down from where he stood, but that meant that all of the prisoners’ lives would be forfeit. He weighed the option as the queen turned to him.
“I bring you Commander Jack Storm,” Guthul said formally. “Of whom you have heard so much sung about.”
Sung? Caught off guard, he watched as a hangar door opened to her right. She indicated it.
“I have a surprise for you, Jack Storm, befitting your status as a warrior.”
As the portal opened, his breath caught in his chest. Pearly armor faced him, helmet set beside its boots, scarred from battle and gallant—his armor, lost to the ages. Now he knew what his captors intended for him—he would be fed to his own armor, and left to be consumed by the parasite infesting it. They knew, the Thraks did, of the horrors of the Sand Wars on Milos.
Jack lunged at the armor, intent upon destroying it, upon ripping out the bestial life-form inhabiting it.
Amber screamed. “Jack! Don’t! It’s Bogie!”
Chapter 23
Under the weight of Jack’s attack, the battle armor dropped to its knees, swaying. Amber lunged at him and hung on to his sleeve, crying, “Jack, don’t do this.”
He shook her off unthinkingly. Guthul moved to place himself between his queen and Jack, but Tricatada stopped him.
“It is his to deal with,” she said, intrigued.
Jack reached into the neck of the armor where a chamoislike thing pulsed, woven within and without the gadgetry of the war suit. It was alive and yet not—unformed, embryonic—and it controlled the armor. Its empty sleeves clawed beseechingly upon his own armor.
Amber got to her feet. “No,” she said. “I won’t let you. Don’t make me do this.”
His mind felt as though a whirlwind was blasting through it, tossing leaves of thought and memory to and fro, forward and backward, spinning around. Milos and Malthen, Dorman’s Stand and sand … he awoke to find himself with his gauntlet down Bogie’s gullet, with Amber’s voice ringing in his ears.
He turned to look at her. She stood defiantly, chin out, engulfed by her own war suit, only her face and tangled mane of hair visible. Bright color illuminated her fine cheekbones and he knew he had not imagined what he remembered her saying. Don’t make me hurt you. He could feel the edge of her mind now, like a blade against his neck. With great restraint, he kept himself from turning and looking at Pepys.
He knew now what she had done to protect herself and him when she thought she’d lost him. He knew now what had struck the emperor down. She had somehow gone and retrieved that dark part of herself they had worked so hard to purge—reimprinted herself, perhaps, just as he had done—and now she stood ready to protect Bogie as well.
He withdrew his hand, swallowing down a tightness in his aching throat. The near empty armor stopped clawing at him and slumped to its side. Jack kept himself from responding to Bogie’s weakness. He must have gone berserk when he’d seen it. Rawlins stood guard over Pepys, his visor shielding his youthful expression. Jack wondered what he must think of his erratic commander.
“I am curious,” Tricatada trilled, “as to what animates the armor.”
I’ll bet you are, Jack thought. “Robotics,” he said.
“Curious,” Guthul said, edging his body between them. “I thought robot arms were banned by your races.”
“They are,” Vandover Baadluster interjected smoothly. “This was an experimental model to re-test them. As you can see, it is a failure.”
