Fire in the Sky

6

I’m getting good at blind firing. Gods curse them for giving me the practice. Shadith eased up to a window slit, jerked quickly back as a cutter beam struck through it. Good eyes, damn him. Behind her the beam melted gouges in the ceiling, brought down spatters of melted stone which were too far back to touch her. She shut her eyes, felt about for him, lifted the stunner and touched the sensor. The beam dancing up and down the slit blinked out and the lifefire dimmed, so she knew she’d got another. Trouble is, there’s too many of them… She held the charge plate near her eyes, swore softly. The stunner was one issued by University to field studies and had a large reservoir, but getting in here had drawn that reservoir down, which meant sooner than she wanted, she’d have to start using the cutters.

She heard the pellet gun from the room on the other side of the tower, the sound coming oddly doubled through the window and the room’s open door. So they were trying to slip by on the cliffs and Maorgan spotted them. For a moment she wished she could split in three. Getting inside here had saved them for the moment, but they were two defenders facing an attacking force of at least twenty. She thought about the price the Chav spy had put on her head and fought down a surge of anger that blanked out the mindtouch for a moment.

She knelt with eyes closed, brow pressed against the cold stone, calming herself, transmuting the anger into resolve. It wasn’t just the spy, he was only a tool, it was the Chave sitting in their enclave across the sea decreeing her death, stealing the last few years left to her. For an instant the thought amused her, after twenty thousand, getting so het up about a hundred or so. Then she sobered. Well, it was the reason she’d begged Aleytys to find her a body. Now that her ending was always before her, the days, even the hours, were jewels beyond price. Brighter and more glowing. Or they were supposed to be. She considered this moment, sighed. “I’m only alive when I’m about to be dead. Gods, what a… Digby, it looks like you’ve got yourself an agent. If I live through this.”

She set the stunner on the floor and lifted one of the cutters she’d taken from the choreks she’d stunned. Danor had begged for one of them, but there were some things she still wouldn’t do; arming a crazy man with an energy weapon was one of them. Not from exactly altruistic motives, but she was going to have to testify under verifier and she didn’t want that sort of thing popping up.

Slave trading and arms dealing. She closed her eyes, felt four life fires creeping toward the tower. With a soft curse, she dropped the cutter, snatched up the stunner and swept the beam across the line of creepers. She dropped back and felt around with the mind-touch. And swore again. Three-were out, she must have only grazed the fourth because he was crawling away; the tic in the body heat told her that she hadn’t completely missed, got him in a hand or foot, not enough to put him out; but enough to keep him worried for a while. Foot. She giggled, stopped when she heard the strain in the sound. Not so long ago she’d stunned her own foot trying to get away from someone. I hope you feel as weird as I did.

She sighed and gathered, strength for another sweep. She was so tired it was hard to keep-the concentration she needed. The touch would soften, spread out so she couldn’t pinpoint anything, and twice it’d gone dead on her.

At least a dozen still on their feet. If they got close enough that the thickness of the tower walls would protect them as much as it did her and the others, the iron door would keep them out about two minutes, then she and Maorgan would have to try and hold the stairs and the floors weren’t thick enough to stop the cutter beams, not that close…

A loud whine broke through her concentration. She popped her head up for a quick look through the window.

A flikit plunged from the clouds, swept in an arc across the pass and out of sight.

She dropped back onto her knees, leaned her head against the cool stone and pulled together the mind touch for what she hoped would be the last time in a long while. Every life source she touched had the dimmed down dark red glow characteristic of stunning. She shifted, sought out the flikit-and nearly melted with relief. Aslan and Marrin.

She collected the cutters, slipped the stunner into its holdall, and got to her feet. Her whole body aching as if someone had been beating her with wet towels, she crossed the floor, stepping carefully over the still hot spatters of stone melted from the ceiling, stood in the doorway leaning against the jamb. “Maorgan, Danor. It’s over. We’re in the process of being rescued.”

Maorgan came to the door, the pellet gun tucked under his arm. “That flier?”

“Cha oy, the Scholar and her Aide. She must’ve gotten worried when the handcom broke and I couldn’t report.”

“Took her long enough.”

“Probably because she had to talk the Goлs into going against the strictures of the Eolt and giving her the flikit.” She yawned. “Ihoi! I’m tired. Open the door for them, will you?”

“You’re sure?”

“Have I been wrong yet?” There was weary exasperation in her voice and he looked affronted. Too bad.

She yawned again. The light from the oil lantern sitting in the middle of the floor shivered like stirred water. Behind her she could hear the scuff of his boots as he fidgeted, then the series of clumps as he went down the wooden stairs. She lowered herself to the floor, sat leaning against the wall, trying to stay awake until Aslan arrived.

15. Choices

Bean lay in the dark, listening to the rain beat against the roof and walls of the garden shed. First stormy night, the harp said. Kitsek will float over the mesuch fort and drop the weighted sack. He didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to deal with what it meant. Instead, he played over the dinner scene, savoring the simmering resentments among the Chave leaders. The Ykkuval Hunnar, the MedTech First Muhaseb, the Memur Tryben, the Bursar Genree, the ComTech First Chozmek. All of them scratching at each other like jealous cats.

Most of the day clouds hung thick and low over the Kushayt; the air was still and stickily humid. Sundown brought rain, a few flurries with huge drops splatting down, then a steady fall that pounded on the Kushayt’s roof, a ceaseless hammering that brought a deep melancholy to the Chave dining at the Ykkuval’s table. In his corner Beam played sprightly dance tunes (Hunnar’s orders), but put a subtle drag on the beat that he hoped would amplify that wet weather gloom and the pall that the failures and deaths in the experiments had cast over them.

One way or another, scratching at each other’s nerves. Hunnar digging at Genree, lifting his lip in a smile that had nothing to do with humor and everything to do with exposing his threat-teeth. Genree digging at Hunnar for wasting money on fool’s games, wasting lives and equipment. Digging at Tryben for laziness, letting a bunch of grubbers who hadn’t even gotten to electricity run rings around him and his guards. Digging at Muhaseb, questioning his competence.

It was an uncomfortable meal and Ilaцrn enjoyed it very much.

Hunnar dismissed him early for once, confirming what Ilaцrn had long suspected. The Ykkuval liked music about as much as he liked meditation. He had a Dushanne Garden and a tame musician as outward signs of his status, no more. It amused him to keep Ilaцrn about as long as the music didn’t interfere with what he was doing.

The rain was coming down hard when he ran from the main building to the garden shed, beating on his head and shoulders, soaking him. The harp was in her carry sack of c’hau cloth and dry when he took her out, but he wiped her down carefully with an oil rag, loosened the strings and wrapped her in a blanket, then stripped, rubbed himself dry and stretched out in the bed, his second blanket wrapped about him.

We’re hurting them. We’re really hurting them. We haven’t gotten them out yet, but I begin to think we will. He cut off that thought before it went further, began running children’s songs through his head, the simple repetitive rhythm thumping along with his heart. He matched his breathing to the beat, closed his eyes and concentrated on the song… caцpa caцpa where do you graze? Upland and downland wherever grass stays. Caцpa caцpa how do you run? Clippaclop clippaclop under the sun. Caцpa caцpa when do you play? Dawnlight and noon bright and all the long day…

A deep organ note broke through his disciplined reverie. He squeezed his eyes shut and huddled the blanket closer about him, then sighed and sat up.

When he stepped into the rain, the downpour had slackened a little, the beat of the drops against his head and shoulders not so painful. He shielded his eyes and looked up.

To his relief there were no light lines lacing the clouds. These dead-eared Chave must have thought it was only thunder.

A small dark blob fell from the clouds, slanting in its plunge as the wind caught it. He could see that it was weighted, otherwise the wind would have carried it away; even so, it was only the top branches of the kerre tree that stopped it from going over the wall. He swore and ran toward the tree, caught the packet as the swaying branches let it drop.

Back in the shed, he dried off again, lit a candle and sat crosslegged on the bed to open his prize.

Nested in a springy mass of thread lichen he found half a dozen smaller packets, neatly labeled and sealed with wax. At the bottom of the packet there was a brief letter. He held it close to the candle flame, scowled as he struggled to make out the writing.

Ard Ilaцrn, we greet you and bless you for the great service you have done the people of Bйluchad. We call upon you now for even more sacrifice and devotion. Place the packets of reka spores inside the air intake in the Ykkuval’s office; we believe this will carry them into the basement where the head machine lies. We hope the reka will take root in there and kill the machine. Since the attacks on the crawlers, the water taken into the fort passes through a series of filters in order to keep spores from entering the system. It is refiltered and reused several times, but the inner filters are less efficient and will let some things pass. Find a way of delivering the packet of powder marked ederedda into the drinking water. It won’t kill them, but they would prefer death over the way they feel for a few hours_ There are two ederedda packets. If possible, slip them into the system around five hours apart. In the packet marked dok you will find two airgun darts. The tips are coated with fresh minik so be very careful of them. If you have a chance, set those darts in the Ykkuval’s hide. We have tested minik on Chave. They die even faster than Bйluchar. This will be difficult because the Chav skin is too thick for the darts except in a few places. If the Ykkuval will let you get behind him, the area where his ears attach to the skull is vulnerable. Also the palms of his hands and the inside of his elbow. His eyes if you can get them before the inner lids come down; these look fragile, but they aren’t. The inside of his mouth. The inside of his ear. Unless you think you can get at one of these areas, it would be best not to try. The minik will stay potent for seven days. Do not try to use the darts after that much time has passed. In the packet marked tugh, you will find two wax covered pills. There is liquid amikta inside. One is for you, the other can be dropped into any drink at less than boiling temperature. If it is a cold drink, crush the pill between your fingers. You should know that it’s quite likely the amikta will kill you also if you touch it with your bare fingers. There is apparently no smell or taste, at least none the Chave can detect. This too we have tested on captives. Chel Dй bless you, Ard Ilaцrn, and give you peace.

The Council of Bйluchad in Peril

He rubbed the tip of his forefinger across the signature, sighed and shook his head; whatever happened the world he knew was gone forever. He twisted the note into a spill, put the end in the candle flame until it caught fire, then sat holding the paper and watching it burn.

The thought of actually doing the things they wanted him to do started his belly churning and his hand shaking so much the fire went out and he had to rekindle it from the candle. It wasn’t that they were difficult. He knew Hunnar’s office as well as he knew the strings of his harp.

What they were asking was suicide.

Even if he didn’t try to kill Hunnar, once the damage was discovered, it couldn’t be anybody but him that did it.

“I can’t.” He shivered. He started crying. “I can’t. I can’t. I. Can’t…”

16. Plots and Deeds