Challenge met, p.14
Challenge Met, page 14
Jack hooked his old helmet onto his belt and hefted the white armor in his arms. “It will be destroyed as soon as we can retrieve the data.”
The Thraks turned her attention to him again. “Data?”
“This armor was with St. Colin when he disappeared. It’s a good assumption that our in-suit cameras will have some recording of the incident.”
“Ahhh.” She waved a signal to Guthul. “I am pleased that we have salvaged it for you, then. Your quarters have been made ready. Then we shall talk.”
Amber entered his quarters on his heels and knocked his gauntlets away as he set the collapsed armor down in a corner. She’d shed her suit and was still breathless with the effort as she knelt down by Bogie.
“What are you doing?”
She didn’t look up at him but her voice was filled with scorn. “I’m powering your armor.” With deft hands and a few small probes and tools she had secreted about a jumpsuit he could have sworn was skintight, she rigged a plug-in for the armor. When she was done, she swiveled on her heels. “You wouldn’t want to lose all your precious data.”
*Boss.* Bogie’s voice, its basso prof undo tone a mere shadow of itself. *You have found me. And Amber is angry.*
Amber is indeed angry, but don’t let her know we’ve talked.
The war suit shifted. Amber made a pleased sound and stroked it as if the Flexalinks could feel her touch. With Bogie hooked up inside it, it could.
*I am a signpost,* the being told him. *Colin said for me to point the way.*
Jack felt a thrill go through him. “We’ll check it out later,” he said aloud. “The systems look pretty drained.”
Amber got to her feet then. “Don’t let anybody else at this suit. It knows too much.”
He met her level gaze. “Why did you threaten me?”
“I had no other way to stop you from harming… Bogie.”
“It’s a parasitic infestation.”
Amber tossed her head. “It’s alive, Jack and at least it knows who it is!”
He blocked her from leaving the tiny cabin cubicle. “Maybe you should tell me who I am.”
Her hands worked. “You’re a back-assed farm boy who just fell off the shuttle and wouldn’t amount to slag if it hadn’t been—hadn’t been for me.”
He couldn’t take the pain in her voice and eyes any longer. He made a decision he hoped he wouldn’t regret and answered, “I thought I was your White Knight.”
Her mouth made a tiny “o.” Then she kicked the door shut behind her and ran at Jack. He opened his arms to take her in, saying, “Quietly, quietly, we’re not out of harm’s way yet.”
But instead of hugging him, she pommeled the chest of the armor until her hands were red with pain and he finally got hold of her.
“Son of a bitch,” she cried and put her face to the Flexalinks. He could feel her shoulders heave with emotion. “What you’ve put me through.”
“I know,” he said softly, leaning down and putting his mouth to her ear. Mixed with the soft perfume that was uniquely hers, he could smell the plastic and metallic flavor of the armor she’d been wearing. “They tampered with my imprinting. For days I had no current memory. Now it slips and slides. Pepys has all but told me it was Vandover and to watch my back.”
She snuffled. “Pepys is no angel either.”
“I know. Amber… I know what you’ve done.”
She pulled back. She looked up at him. She shook her head slowly. “No, I don’t think so.”
“I know about Pepys.”
Something shadowed her golden-brown eyes. Then she shook her head again. “I couldn’t help it. Are you going to turn me in?”
“No. Whether they’ve declared it or not, this is war, and,” he smiled, “I need you on my side.”
“Always.”
“It’s going to be painful. Until we’re in the clear, until I’ve got a vessel and what I need to go after Colin, I have to keep you at arm’s length.”
She took a deep breath and answered, “I think I can make it that far.”
He released her then. She gained the door and stopped. “What about Bogie? What happened to you just now?”
“I thought I was back on Milos… the evacuation… I’m not always here.”
“And when you’re not here… you’re there?”
“Yes.” He did not need to explain further. His torment reflected in her eyes.
“Still fighting the Sand Wars.”
“Always.”
She left him then, the tiny cabin growing darker as if she alone had kept it illuminated. Jack shook himself as he realized it was only Bogie, draining power. He went to the suit. “Now show me,” he said, “what you know of Colin.” Whatever he thought had happened, he was not prepared for what did happen—for the scream of fear and anguish Bogie had recorded.
Chapter 24
There is a fine line between guests and prisoners, your majesty,” Vandover said smoothly. “The slightest interruption in the power supply of my emperor’s medical care unit can place him at risk. Intelligence tells me that our troops have resecured the palace grounds and the city-state known familiarly as Upper Malthen. I urge you to return us there, before we stage any further talks.” Baadluster held the center of attention in the hangar as they gathered for a conference. The queen’s dais had been moved into the loading dock as had Pepys’ crèche. Amber hung behind Jack and watched them all intently, particularly K’rok, who now flanked his queen and general.
The queen hummed as the Minister of War spoke, her faceted eyes watching them all in turn with a placid, even benevolent expression on her mask. “Who is in charge if Pepys is weak?”
“I am his co-counsel, majesty, and let me assure you that Pepys is not weak, merely incapacitated for the moment. He speaks for himself and I do his will. As for the Triad Throne—”
“Shut up, Vandover,” Pepys said, face white.
“The Triad Throne is secure in all respects—”
“Shut up, Vandover,” the emperor repeated, his crèche fairly shaking with agitation. Rawlins moved toward it protectively, but Pepys waved him off.
Tricatada let out a trill which Jack interpreted as laughter. The Thrakian ruler bent down. “Let us discuss this incapacitation.”
“A stroke, your highness, an attack upon the brain.” Vandover smiled thinly.
Pepys glared at Vandover, but said nothing.
“Pepys, do you expect to return to your throne?”
“Yes,” he answered loudly, a spark of his old self apparent in his words. “I warn you, Tricatada, that any effort by you to go beyond those measures allowed by our convention of alliance will be construed by myself as an act of war.” His eyes flashed.
Amber murmured to Jack, “He doesn’t sound afraid that she might pull his plug.”
“He can’t,” Jack answered back carefully. “The Thraks don’t believe in wounded or infirm. They take no prisoners.”
“Unless they’re stocking the larder.” She shifted her weight. “What’s K’rok up to?”
“I’m not sure.” Jack watched the Milot. He got the impression the commander was aiding with the finer nuances of translation, but he had no real confirmation of that. Did Guthul or Tricatada know how close K’rok had come to throwing away his allegiance altogether? Had the Walker forces been smaller or less adamant, K’rok would not be standing with them now. He listened to Tricatada giving Pepys assurances of their actions. It was impossible to tell if the Thraks had a patronizing tone.
When Tricatada finished her speech, she turned to Jack. “What news do you have of your missing man?”
Her directness took him aback. “I report to my superiors, majesty, and the information you ask me to divulge is privileged. The power drain on my armor was severe and the recordings damaged, but I do know Colin was in search of the Ash-Farel, hoping to make peaceful contact. How he predicted that they would come to Claron, I don’t know. But he was right and he left enough data for me to follow.”
“Follow the Ash-Farel,” the queen repeated. “With what purpose? He had been named envoy by you, Pepys? What could he have had in mind?”
Jack’s gaze flicked to the emperor.
“Come now, Storm,” Guthul said. “Your emperor and minister ask us for a vessel and outfitting for your mission. There must be a price paid for everything.” He rattled his chitin in emphasis, like an irritated beetle. “And the armor is a gift from my queen.”
Jack frowned at him. “I’d like to ask just how you acquired it, if we’re trading information.”
“Jack,” Vandover soothed, as Guthul drew himself upward.
The Thrakian general sputtered as his queen rearranged her mask. “This is a fitting question,” she answered. “We were investigating Ash-Farel intrusion in the quadrant which contains the rehabilitating planet Claron. This intrusion was most unique. It appeared to be a reconnoitering flight… something our ancient enemy rarely does. We found a rescue pod, a tiny vessel, from a larger Walker cruiser. It was empty except for the armor. It tried to defend the vessel, but its resources were too drained. Why, Minister Baadluster, would a Walker be this far out? We have had several encounters with those of the Walker persuasion. We seem to have similar interests in norcite deposits.”
“I’m afraid the norcite veins are coincidental to the archaeological sites which are also near. The Walkers, while in need of funding, are not interested in mining norcite. It has a very limited market. They will mine gold and platinum deposits if located, but they are most interested in the archaeological finds.” Baadluster put his hands behind his back and took a stance. Oddly, it mirrored Guthul’s position near his queen.
Tricatada leaned close to K’rok and a slender but muscular, lean-bodied drone all but hidden by the Milot’s bulk. She trilled and chirped with the two of them for a few moments. Hearing K’rok imitate Thrakian speech was a different experience, Jack decided. After a moment, the queen looked up. Her blue carapaces shimmered as she gestured.
“If the Walkers have no use for norcite as we do, yet we find them disputing our mining claims so often, who is to say they do not seek to negotiate those claims with our enemy? And if this is so, why should we aid those who might be the friends of our enemy?”
“One might ask us the same of you,” Jack said tightly.
Guthul swung on him. “You are a warrior,” he spat out in Thrakian agitation. “You presume to answer for your emperor? You presume to have your speech inflicted upon my queen? I will not tolerate your insults. I have heard far too much from you already.”
Vandover apologized, but General Guthul was alive with quivering movement. Jack’s lips drew into a fine line as he recognized the Thrakian battle rage. He gave a hand signal to Rawlins. The shock-haired officer took it in and answered with a grave nod. He was prepared to die protecting Pepys’ crèche.
Jack looked to Pepys. “A Thraks’ concept of a ruler is different from ours, your highness. As the only fertile egg-layer, a Thrakian queen is solely responsible for the continuation of their race. She approaches godhood in status. Your responsibility, Pepys, is far exceeded by hers. However, failure in any ruler is not tolerated by those ruled,” he ended deliberately, shifting the Thraks’ attention from his emperor to himself.
There was a snap in the air as the queen’s wings thrashed out, a canopy spanning those two or three near her as well as herself. Amber made a sound of awe at Jack’s back.
“I didn’t know she had those.”
The awesome spectacle of the queen’s wingspan took him by surprise as well. “I didn’t either,” he answered, as he took a step backward, taking Amber with him. It was his fault the queen had taken umbrage over a remark he had meant for Pepys. He had forgotten for a moment her inability to lay another queen. At the opening snap, Guthul had gone prone where he knelt still, head down, at his monarch’s feet.
Vandover looked toward Jack, his blotchy face ashen. “Someone,” he said in an undertone, “must pay for this.”
Jack nodded. “It was my insult. Let Guthul take it out of my hide.”
K’rok moved forward as Guthul raised upward, his mask frozen in hideous Thrakian fury. Amber held onto Jack’s arm. “Don’t.”
“I have to. They’ll only outfit us if they think we’re strong enough to take what we want anyway. How do you think K’rok’s stayed in her graces this long? She knows he’s never really capitulated to her. The Thraks don’t respect the weak.”
“You can’t fight him unarmored,” Pepys husked from his crèche. His spark had gone and he seemed shrunken, weary.
Rawlins seconded him. “It’s suicide, Commander.”
K’rok interrupted. “My queen has taken offense from your remark, friend Jack. My commander is bringing challenge to you.”
“And I accept, K’rok.”
The hairy Milot bent closer. “You have hit home. She fears that you know her innermost shame. Guthul will not rest until you’re dead, but I don’t think she will be allowing that.”
“Tell her I fight for Pepys’ honor as well as my own. She thinks him too weak to rule… she’s toying with all of us now.”
The Milot inclined his shaggy head. “You be knowing her well, Jack.” He stepped back and spoke rapidly to the Thraks.
Guthul snarled back. K’rok gestured and humped his shoulders. Amber’s hands tightened on Jack’s arm. “What’s happening? Are we going to get out of here?”
“We’re as good as prisoners if the queen doesn’t respect our ability to assert ourselves. Vandover can spread as many honeyed words as he wants—it won’t get us a ship to go after Colin, or get Pepys back to Malthen.”
Vandover had moved to the other side of Pepys’ medical crèche, standing over him like a storm cloud. “They wouldn’t dare harm us.”
Jack let out a humorless laugh. It drew Guthul’s attention and the two stared at each other across the hangar floor. “You see,” Jack said quietly. “He wonders what we’re laughing about. He wonders how we can be so brazen as to laugh now, in the midst of crisis. The only way to get respect out of a Thraks is to beat it out of him.”
Guthul dropped his hard stare and chattered rapidly at K’rok. The Milot officer made a motion with his pawlike hands. The Thraks gestured abruptly.
K’rok turned around. “The challenge is agreed to. Guthul has asked for personal combat.”
Amber thrust herself forward, her hair flying with her movement. “Not under those terms. Jack is bare-handed.” Jack pulled her back, but the Milot stared at her for a few instants.
K’rok showed his teeth. “A moment, little missy.” He turned back and argued briefly with the Thraks. Then he came around again. “Jack, as befits a Knight, in armor. Guthul will be wearing Thrakian bracers.”
Jack thought rapidly. His new armor was still being powered. The only armor he had that was fit to wear was his old armor. He shuddered as his memories warred with one another, and the Sand Wars won. He had no desire to wear an infested battle suit. K’rok drew close. His rumbling voice lowered. “You must be wearing your old suit, Jack. It is the only way. I know the secret of norcite. The Thraks eat it powdered to strengthen their body armor. Your old suit has been enameled with it. Guthul will not be seeing you so easily… he will be thinking it another Thraks.”
The Milot looked at him intently. Jack nodded, momentarily confused. Who was he? He got a grip on himself as he considered the importance of what the Milot had told him, and whether K’rok could be trusted. Norcite… eaten by the Thraks? He watched K’rok rejoin the queen, Guthul, and her drone. The difference between the drone and the warrior Thraks was astounding—but the Thraks bred for that difference. And had begun to ingest norcite to augment it. Eaten a tremendous amount of it, if their avid search for new norcite deposits was any indication.
How had the Milot known? Jack only knew of one man beyond the Thrakian League who might have known that secret—and Mierdan was safely hidden among the Green Shirts’ ranks. The little xenobiologist had spent more than twenty years among the Thraks and since Jack had brought him home, Tricatada had searched tirelessly for him. It was Mierdan who had told Jack why the Thraks swarmed so militantly, because of their sterility, in a desperate attempt to prolong their existence.
He gently shook Amber off and stepped forward. Tricatada still extended her wingspan, colors shimmering in the hangar’s lighting. “I welcome the opportunity to prove my bravery,” he said, watching her. He was careful not to let his interior battle show… old Jack and young Jack, as he’d grown to think of himselves. Young Jack was thrilled to fight Guthul but feared his own armor. Old Jack was dismayed to fight yet again but trusted Bogie. As both identities tried to possess him, he eyed the Thrakian queen. Her body was full and pulsing—did she swell with eggs yet again?
Was Malthen destined to become the next sand world if they failed here and now to convince the Thraks of their ability to hold the Triad Throne? Pepys had taken a grave chance in allying with this enemy. The queen’s throat leather swelled. “And if you win, Pepys’ champion, we will abide by our alliance and will return Malthen to its rightful ruler, and you will be given our fastest ship to go after St. Colin. If you lose… we must talk long and hard about our futures.”
“How are you doing?”
Sweat sprang up on his brow as he closed the inner seams and the chamois that was Bogie settled about his shoulders and down his bare back. “I’m fine.”
Amber looked at him. “You don’t look fine.”
He fought the impulse to tear the armor from him as his mind warred against itself. “I’m losing it,” he said.
She mopped the perspiration from his brow with the palm of her hand, and combed his hair away from his face with gentle fingers. “Try to hang on.”
He nodded and busied himself clipping leads on his torso before putting his arms into his sleeves.
*Boss,* rumbled Bogie comfortingly. For a moment, their emotions intertwined, and he felt the jubilant warrior spirit that was the other. What was Bogie, anyway, if not a Milot berserker? *I am a signpost* the other answered him.
