Skolian Empire: The Radiant Seas Part 53

After a pause, the controller said, "Skolia be d.a.m.ned, all the Kuraysia connections are gone too."

Skolia be d.a.m.ned? Althor scowled. What kind of oath is that?

"It's a mess," Basalt told the controller.

"People can survive without the web," the controller said.

"I suppose." Basalt sounded skeptical. "Seems primitive to me. I can't believe an entire planetary web could go this way."

"We don't know that the whole planet is down."

"If both Kuraysia and this continent are, there isn't much else left." Basalt paused. "Anyone know why the flaming thing collapsed?"

"I haven't heard." The operator's voice became clipped. "Arrow-Jay-Gee-Three, I've another craft coming in and we don't have any monitors on traffic control right now. Out."

"Out." Basalt cut the connection.

G.o.ds, Althor thought. How could the web of an entire planet collapse?

I don't know. But it helps us. And right now we need a great deal of help.

Elaborate.

You can't land this flier at the Vitrex airfield. It's obvious you aren't the true pilot.

Why?

You don't match his ID. You also have gold skin, the slave restraints of a war prisoner, and no clothes except s.e.xually suggestive black leather pants. You look like a cross between a Jagernaut and a s.e.x toy.

Althor blinked at the description. Any uniforms on board?

No. But it doesn't matter. The cuffs and collar will still give you away.

He considered. With no web, the air controllers have to depend on more primitive systems. Radar. Even visual sightings. If I come in low enough, maybe I can evade detection.

It's possible. Basalt paused. I calculate a 14 to 85 percent probability of success.

Dryly Althor thought, That's precise.

Too many variables exist to narrow the range.

Does the flier's computer have-what do you call it? A navigation macro?

Do you mean an automatic pilot?

No. It's a- Althor searched for words to describe what had once been second nature to him. A way to make the flier skim just above the terrain. We feed the computer a map of the area and it picks the best route. As pilot, I can compensate for unexpected changes in terrain.

A stealth function matching this description is available. I've uploaded your specifications to it.

The s.h.i.+p's computer spoke. "What is your destination?"

"The estate of Izar Vitrex," Althor said. "I need a site close to the house and big enough hide this craft."

The screen projected a holo of a mansion in front of Althor. A forest bordered it on the east, climbing into the mountains. Meadows stretched on the other three sides, rising to mountains in the north and west and sloping down toward the flatlands in the south.

"It looks like the forest is our best bet," Althor said.

Basalt sent a thought to the flier's computer. Magnify region and highlight possible hide sites.

The forest expanded to fill the holomap. Two hide sites glowed in red on it. One, about a kilometer from the mansion, was a sunken crevice with rock walls. The second was only twenty meters from the mansion, a clearing with no real protection from monitors.

I recommend the crevice, Basalt said.

A kilometer is too far, Althor thought.

With your speed, you can cover it in less than two minutes.

Althor's fist clenched on his knee. He no longer even knew his own capabilities. Isn't that a.s.suming level ground? And no load?

Yes. Load wouldn't be much problem, given your strength. But your weight does slow you down, particularly in these areas where the terrain is so uneven.

I don't know Cirrus's condition. He concentrated on the sense of her in his mind. All I can tell is that she's scared.

If she's frightened, she's probably conscious.

That doesn't mean she can run.

If you choose the closer site, you risk detection.

Be realistic, Althor thought. What chance do I have of getting in, getting Cirrus, and getting out without detection?

Not high, Basalt admitted.

We go with the closer site.

I've input the data. The map disappeared, replaced by a map of the ground below the craft. A ghost schematic overlaid it, giving a real-time view of the terrain. The two maps were almost identical, differing mainly in the size of plants.

Althor watched the ground pa.s.s underneath them. Basalt.

Yes?

I may have to make more kills at the mansion.

This is an accurate statement.

An outcropping jumped into view on the real-time map that wasn't on the older map. Althor pulled on the stick and the flier angled up to clear the rocks.

After a moment, he thought, Have I always been troubled by death?

Yes.

Althor wasn't sure why it relieved him to know he didn't like to kill. But it did.

He altered course, going farther south as they pa.s.sed the mansion. Although it added several minutes to their flight, time they couldn't really afford, it also allowed them to go lower, using the mountain itself to s.h.i.+eld the flier.

They settled into the clearing in a silent whirl of leaves. The exhaust billowed, but nothing burned, rumbled, shrieked, or otherwise drew attention. When he opened the hatch, he saw the lights of the mansion glowing through the trees.

Basalt? he thought.

I'm receiving you.

Relief flowed over him. Basalt must have made good use of the codes it had pirated from the flier; his interface with the node remained operational even without the flier's computer. Are you getting anything from the house? Web signals?

Some IR. Most of the mansion's web is off-line.

IR? Althor tensed. What about the leashes?

None so far. I've set your collar to "see" the correct leash no matter where you are, but we won't know if it works until the leashes come back on-line.

Althor left the flier and headed through the woods, moving like a silent shadow. He didn't recall learning how to walk without making twigs or leaves crackle, but his body knew what his conscious mind forgot. He paused at the edge of the forest, then sprinted to the house, a graceful structure made from wood, a far more extravagant building material than the usual synthetics.

Extending his awareness, he picked up many minds. Most were slaves, but a few had that sense of cavity he a.s.sociated with Aristos, an emptiness that made his skin crawl.

Then he found Cirrus. This close, the intensity of her fear wrenched at him. What had Vitrex done to so terrorize her? Althor slipped through shadows, picking his way around bushes. When the intensity of her emotions increased, he kept moving in that direction; when it decreased, he went the other way.

He ended up under a balcony. The wall offered neither an entrance nor any toeholds to climb on. He started toward the nearby corner of the house, then froze when he heard voices. Raising the pulse rifle at his side, he extended his awareness.

"... DNA s.h.i.+pment from Bunker," a man around the corner said. "The flier dropped off scan, but we don't know if it crashed."

"I don't like it," another man said. "I want extra guards on Minister Vitrex and the Sphinx delegation, and more people searching the grounds."

Althor almost snorted. I'm not after Hightons.

That you want his provider works to our advantage, Basalt thought. His police are unlikely to think of guarding a slave.

Althor tried to keep his senses extended, but his mind was tiring. His brain damage made it harder to use his Kyle senses, and the Aristo-like minds of the Razers were sandpaper against his. He turned and headed back the way he had come, searching for a less dangerous entrance.

Then he paused.

With enhanced speed, Althor whirled around to see a Razer standing at the corner of the house, raising a gun. Althor fired and the projectiles from his gun hit the Razer with such force, the man flew back several meters before dropping to the lawn. Althor was already running. Gritting his teeth against the mental backlash from the first Razer's death, he came around the corner of the house and fired again, focused on the second Razer standing there. His shot threw the guard against the crystal doors behind the patio, and they shattered, shards flying everywhere like an explosion of broken ice.

The shock of the man's death hammered at Althor as he ran through the broken doors, into the house. His enhanced ears registered sounds and his hydraulics threw him to the side just as the door across the room burst open. He hit the ground and rolled, shooting the Razers as they ran into the room. They had already fired, the projectiles from their guns hissing through the air where he had been an instant earlier. He finished his roll and was back on his feet, coming at the door from an angle now.

Four bodies lay on the floor. Althor ran past them and out into a broad corridor. At the end it widened into a foyer where a staircase swept up to the second story. He took the stairs three at a time. At the top, he found three antique-style doors. The first opened into a library and the second into a sitting room. Although starlight poured through the gla.s.s doors of the balcony, he didn't see Cirrus. Search the room or check the third door? He didn't have time to do both.

Althor ran to the third door. It opened into a foyer that he crossed in two steps. The next door refused to budge, so he threw his weight into it again and again, until finally it crashed open.

Cirrus's terror hit him like a tidal wave. The bedroom was dark, but his IR vision showed her bound spread-eagled to a bed. As he ran to her, her voice came out in a ragged sob. "Who's there?"

"It's Althor." He stopped at the bed, gulping in air, and freed her as fast as he could, at the same time blending his mind with hers. Fear swamped her thoughts. She had been lying here for hours with her limbs stretched tight, long enough that she probably couldn't walk right away.

As Althor helped her stand up, Basalt thought, Take the palmtop. Carefully. Don't activate any icon on it.

Holding Cirrus around the waist, he grabbed the palmtop and hooked it to his belt. Then he lifted Cirrus, sliding one arm under her knees and the other behind her back. When she put her arms around his neck, he felt better, competent after all, despite his brain damage.

As he strode to the windows, his augmented hearing caught a quiet footfall. Moving with blurred speed, he let Cirrus's feet drop to the floor, holding her at the waist as he simultaneously spun around, fired at the door, and lunged to the side. His IR vision picked out four Razers. He caught three in his sweep, but then his pulse rifle quit, out of ammunition. His lunge just barely managed to evade the blast from the Razer's rifle. Althor hurtled his rifle at him with enhanced force as projectiles from the Razer's rifle stabbed the wall behind him. The narrow snout of Althor's gun rammed into the guard's head, and his death scream reverberated in Althor's mind.

With a groan, Althor lurched backward. He knew ways existed to protect himself from empathic backlash during combat, but he remembered none of them. Fighting his nausea, he hefted Cirrus into his arms and stumbled to the window.

A needle-gun hissed behind him. His shocked systems didn't respond fast enough and the needle buried itself in his back. A relaxant immediately spread to his muscles. As his grip on Cirrus slipped, she slid into a crumpled heap on the floor. Swaying, Althor sank to his knees next to her.

Engaging hydraulics, Basalt thought. Play dead.

Althor forced himself to hold still. He wanted to recoil from what he felt in the doorway, that mental cavity that sought to consume him, to pull his mind into its depths and suck him dry. Vitrex strode across the room with the surety of IR-enhanced sight. The minister fired again, pumping more drugs into Althor, to make sure he was immobilized. Basalt sent commands to the meds in Althor's blood and they made him appear unconscious, slumped forward, his head hanging down.

After waiting yet another moment, to make doubly sure Althor was incapacitated, Vitrex knelt next to him. "G.o.ds," he muttered. "How did you get out of Bunker?"

Althor's hand shot up and clamped around Vitrex's neck. For one instant Vitrex froze. Had Althor been in top condition, that hesitation would have finished the minister. But Althor's hydraulics didn't kick in fast enough. Vitrex clawed at his hand, and Althor's grip slipped as Basalt and the relaxant vied for control in his body. With a choked sound, the minister yanked his head free.

In Althor's IR vision, Vitrex glowed red, like a fire demon. Althor's sense of time slowed. The minister's hand went to the pulse gun at his hip and Althor reached for his dagger. In slow motion, Vitrex grasped his gun while Althor's hand closed around the hilt of his weapon. As Althor drew the short sword, Vitrex drew the gun. Althor gritted his teeth, struggling to speed his hydraulic-driven motion. He had farther to go than Vitrex, having to thrust forward with the dagger where Vitrex needed only to fire. If he couldn't go faster, he would be dead before his blade found its target.

Despite their enhanced speed, every motion seemed to take ages. Vitrex raised the gun and Althor brought his dagger level with his chest. When Vitrex aimed, Althor could almost feel the projectiles tear through his body. He thrust forward with the dagger, watching its tip cross the chasm that separated him from the Highton.

As Vitrex's thumb descended on the firing stud, Althor's blade touched the minister's chest. Falling forward with the momentum of his thrust, Althor plunged his dagger into Vitrex's heart. His body plowed into the minister, knocking them to the side while Vitrex fired. With an eerie flare of IR light, projectiles exploded out from the gun and a honed edge sliced Althor's arm.

The shock of pain snapped Althor's time sense to normal. He sprawled across Vitrex, his knife embedded to the hilt in the Highton's chest. Vitrex died, not in trauma or horror-but with an abiding confusion, unable to believe a slave had ended his life.

Althor lurched to his feet. According to Basalt, the fight had taken only seconds and less than two minutes had pa.s.sed since he had landed the flier. With the smooth motions of hydraulic-driven responses, he gathered Cirrus up into his arms.

Her voice shook. "Who is that?"

"Althor." He went to the curtains and pushed them aside. The window had no latch, so he smashed it with his fist, running his cuff around the jagged edges to grind them smooth. Wind rushed into the room and threw Cirrus's hair around their bodies.

The click of a c.o.c.ked projectile rifle sounded behind them.

"Turn around," a voice said in Highton.

Althor froze. Then he turned slowly. A few meters away, a man held a rifle trained on Althor. He had the face of a Highton and uniform of a Razer, yet despite his obvious Aristo heritage, his mind had no sense of a cavity. He looked Highton, but he had a normal human mind.

He spoke with a gentleness that stunned Althor, until he realized it wasn't directed at him. "Cirrus?" the man asked. "Is this really what you want?"

"Ai, Xirson," Cirrus murmured. "Let me go. Please. I would rather die than keep providing for Hightons."

Xirson swallowed. Then he jerked his gun at Althor and spoke in a hard voice. "You have sixty seconds. Then I 'discover' what happened here."

Althor nodded. He turned to the window and spoke to Cirrus in a low voice, praying the love-struck Razer didn't hear. "I have to drop you out the window. I'm sorry. The bushes below will break your fall." Then he hefted her over the sill.

She made almost no sound, only a choked gasp, before her body hit the bushes. He hauled himself up on the sill and jumped after her. He landed in spiky foliage that tore the unprotected skin of his upper body. Cirrus wasn't moving, so he picked her up and ran for the forest. Shouts came from the house and someone gave an order to fire. His back itched as he antic.i.p.ated death by laser fire, pulse projectile, who knew what. Instead another voice cursed, d.a.m.ning the failed web.