Catch the Lightning (35 page)

A shimmering curtain fell from the ceiling, a membrane tuned to hold a human being. It draped over Althor, molding to his body and pinning his limbs. His momentum still carried him forward, so that he knocked the minister down. Then Althor’s hand ripped through the membrane, his arm shooting up like the periscope on a submarine. As Iquar scrambled to his feet, Althor tore the membrane off his body. He grabbed Iquar’s arm and swung him around to face the officer and oncoming waroids. Locking his arm around Iquar’s neck, he shouted in Eubian, words with the sound of threats.

Iquar should have been worried, having his neck cranked back that way by a man he knew hated him. His calmness worried me far more than the officer or oncoming waroids.

“Tina, run!” Althor hissed. “Get in transport.”

I ran for the car. The glassplex wall that separated the passage from the platform reflected the scene behind me: the officer was aiming his gun at Althor, but he co.uldn’t fire with Iquar in the way. Althor gave the minister a shove, then took off after me as Iquar stumbled forward and fell to his knees. I ran to the car and spun around. Iquar was between Althor and the other Traders for only a few seconds, but it was long enough for Althor, with enhanced speed, to reach me. He banged a panel on the car and the door whisked open. As we scrambled inside, Althor yelled and the car surged forward even as its door closed.

It sped down its rail—taking us away from our rendezvous with the Jag.

“Why did you let Iquar go?” I gasped, trying to catch my breath. “He was the perfect hostage.”

“Too perfect.” Althor gulped in air. “He read me too well. It was a trap.” He held out his arm, the one that had been around Iquar’s neck. “His skin was doped with a sedative keyed to my DNA. On him, it does nothing. On me, it becomes active.”

“It didn’t work,” I said. “You haven’t passed out.”

“Not yet. I realized the trap before I got a full dose. But it won’t be long before it takes effect.”

An alarm sounded. Althor strode to the console and studied the displays. “We’re approaching the zone where the explosion broke the magrails. We have to get out.”

I have moved to compensate for your new situation
, the Jag thought.
Go to docking bay 412-Q
The ghost schematic around us changed to show a close-up of the area damaged by the explosion. In one section of the broken region, a square glowed green.

We can’t go through there
, Althor thought.
You have to come closer
.

I can’t risk it
, the Jag thought.
I won’t survive another hit. This is a good site: security in this sector is gutted and it’s close to your location. Althor, you only have five minutes before your mode failures become so wide-spread you can’t function. In six minutes the sedative will have spread enough to knock you out
.

A beep came from the controls. The car stopped and opened its door.

We stepped out into chaos. Crowds massed on the platform, pushing into cars as fast as they arrived. Voices over a speaker system gave what sounded like instructions alternating with words of reassurance. Uniformed officers directed the evacuation, shouting to be heard over the rumble of voices.

An officer pushed his way over to us. He spoke harshly to Althor, and for one blood-freezing instant I thought we had been caught. Then I realized it was only the rough sound of the language that made him sound threatening. He hadn’t recognized us. The officer motioned for us to return to the car and frowned when Althor shook his head. But he didn’t push it; in the turmoil, his attention was needed in too many other places.

Leaving the terminal was a struggle; we had to push our way against a dense flow of human traffic. More people crammed the octagonal corridor outside. The crowd was poised on the edge of panic, but it didn’t go over; instead, the evacuees followed an obviously well-practiced evacuation drill. Officers stood on raised platforms, directing traffic and reinforcing the reassurances from the speakers. We pushed our way against the flow toward one of the octagonal arches. The schematic came with us, showing the route to the Jag’s bay. It wasn’t far, but to make it there we had to get through a packed mass of humanity.

You have four minutes to reach me, the Jag thought.

We passed under an arch—and an alarm screamed. As the arch turned an all too familiar red, Althor swore, then grabbed my arm and tried to run. We made little headway, barely managing to reach the next arch, and its alarm went off as well, adding its clangor to the noise. People surged around us, order threatening to explode into panic.

An officer was trying to reach us, shouting in Eubian, and another appeared at the mouth of a cross-passage only a few yards away. The crowd grew more agitated and dragged us with them, back toward the terminal, taking away what little ground we had gained. If it hadn’t been for Althor’s holding me up, I would have fallen and been trampled. Officers were converging on the area, shoving their way through the turbulent throng.

You have three minutes left
, the Jag thought.

The loudspeaker kept talking, trying to calm the people. Then the disembodied voice changed, its tone firm, carefully calculated, like a wronged friend seeking help from loyal companions. A familiar string jumped out of the harsh words: Althor Vyan Selei Skolia.

I stiffened.
Althor, what is it saying?

His face paled.
A description of me
.

A woman shouted and pointed toward us. Another person took up the cry, then a third and a fourth. The crowd surged, shoving us against the wall. It was terrifying, like being trampled against a wall rather than underfoot.

Suddenly, they drew away, leaving us in a pocket circled by a wall of people. And they stood, staring at us, the prospect of seeing a captive Rhon heir overcoming even the razor edge of mass panic.

That calm lasted only a moment. The crowd surged toward the terminal again, and a gaunt woman stumbled into the open space around us. She laid her hand against Althor’s chest, as if to verify he was real. Then the crowd caught her and swept her away.

You have two minutes
, the Jag thought.

More people pressed in on us. No one offered help. Not a single person. They all wanted to touch Althor, put their hands on him, feel him as if he were a talisman, but no one even tried to help. He struggled to shove them away, his efforts growing more and more disjointed. Even if his biomech hadn’t been failing, he couldn’t have pushed them all off; hundreds of people filled the corridor now, with even more shoving from behind.

Then I saw it: a line of four waroids was making its way forward with the crowd, a moving wall of mirrored armor stretched across the passage. They were coming from the direction Althor and I needed to go to reach the Jag.

You have one minute
, the Jag thought.

Jag, we can’t!
I thought.
We can’t get through
.

With dizzying speed, my perspective changed: I was above the corridor, looking down on the scene. I saw Althor and myself shoved against the wall while people moved past us. It looked like I had passed out; Althor was struggling to hold me up and stay on his own feet as well.

Odd mechanical thoughts came into my mind. Humans come in frangible casings. The Pilot and his Mate. Vulnerable. Fragile. Easily disrupted configurations. Difficult to repair. Erratic. Emotional.

Priceless.

Jag?
I thought.
Is that you?

I’m running your brain on my web
, it answered.
Right now you’re in an observation unit above the corridor
.

Below, the line of waroids reached us. They formed a break against the crowd, protecting us in a hollow, like a bay sheltered from the ocean. Althor sagged to his knees, his arms wrapped around my body. He pulled me into his lap and sat on his heels, bending his body over me with his head bowed. At the terminal platform, a phalanx of officers jutted into the corridor, like a boat pushing through a sea so viscous it could barely make headway. They were pointed at us, slowly advancing against the tide of humanity. In the corridor, both Althor and I were unconscious now, slumped on the floor.

How can I be seeing this?
I asked.

Since we first linked, back at Earth
, the Jag thought,
I have been mapping your brain cells and replicating theirjunction andfiring patterns in one of my simulation moods. I just now used the Kyle Afferent Body in your brain to upload your consciousness into that simulator.

Why?

I will transfer you into Althor’s web. It needs a conscious mind to direct it. If I load myself into it, that will worsen his brain damage. You are human and already part of him. You also have a sympathetic resonance with the neurological mappings of his brain activity
.

I didn’t understand that last one
, I thought.

The two of you have compatible personalities
. Then:
Transfer initiated
.

Suddenly I was kneeling in the corridor. It was disorienting to look at what I perceived as my own body and see Althor’s bulky form. My real body lay in his arms, eyes closed, black hair streaming over the floor. I saw everything through the gold sheen of his inner eyelids. As I stood, holding my/Tina’s limp body, the waroids turned their helmets. Their surprise at seeing me get up made sparks in the air.

Tina
, the Jag thought.
I’m going to cut the corridor with a laser
.

No! You’ll start a panic. We’ll be trampled
.

Panic, yes
, the Jag answered.
Trampled, no. We’re close enough to the inner hull for the laser to breach it. The passage you’re in won’t lose enough air to cause suffocation, but the resulting chaos will aid your escape
.

You better be right, Jag
.

I didn’t see the beams, but I heard the screams, both of people and alarms. The stampede started back in the corridor. Within seconds it reached us, the crowd bursting forward in a tidal wave of humanity. In that instant a brilliant flash made me clamp my eyes closed. I opened them to see three of the four waroids who had been guarding us fused to each other and the deck, their armor melted into mirrored pools that were already solidifying. I swallowed, struggling against a sudden nausea. The fourth waroid backed away, its arm fused off at the elbow, and the panicked crowd swept it down the hall. The only reason the two of us weren’t trampled was because the fused remains of the other waroids made a break'against the tide of humans.

Run
, the Jag thought.
Run to me
.

The shot had blown out the wall in a ragged hole. Holding my/Tina’s body, I stepped through it into a small corridor.
Jag, what weapons do you have left?

Lasers and Annihilators are exhausted, Impactors are destroyed, and I’ve used my store of small missiles. I have four tau missiles, but I can’t launch them inside the Cylinder. You must make it the rest of the way on your own.

I ran. It was easy carrying my body; it hardly weighed anything. The sheer physical power of Althor’s body was exhilarating. How could he take it for granted?

The schematic of the Cylinder, which I could see even more clearly now, highlighted the path to the Jag in blue. Follow, I thought. The biomech web took over, directing my legs. The few people we passed were running in the opposite direction, some holding masks over their faces. We followed a twisting route through side passages—and came out into a large octagonal chamber fed by passages from seven directions. The eighth side consisted of two large doors with 412-Qwritten in bold print.

Jag!
I ran to the doors.
We’re here! Open up!

I cannot
, the Jag thought.

I laughed and was startled to hear Althor’s voice instead of my own.
We made it! Open the doors.

I cannot. The Cylinder has reestablished control over this section.

I stopped smiling.
What?

I’ve been purged from the Cylinder web.

Then how do we open these doors?

With explosives or lasers
.

But you don’t have any more
.

This is correct.
Its thought sounded subdued.

A man ran out of a cross-passage—and froze. His emotions were a battering ram; he recognized Althor. He slapped his hand against a band on his wrist and spoke into it, words I neither understood nor knew how to translate.

Jag
, I thought.
We have to get in that docking bay
.

I’m trying to override the Cylinder protocols
.

A voice came out of the man’s wristband, cold and harsh, either asking questions or giving orders.

Jag! We can’t go back to Iquar. You know what he’ll do to us. Open those doors!

I cannot
. Then, quietly:
I have four tau missiles remaining
.

My hope leapt. Can you use them?

Tina, one tau missile could destroy half the station.

For a second I couldn’t absorb what it was saying. Then I understood: it offered us suicide. And vengeance.

A woman, ran into the area, a Trader officer with a sedative gun. She nodded to the man, then spoke into her wristband, her attention fixed on me. I watched from across the octagon, my feet planted wide, my/Tina’s body limp in my arms.

If we destroy the Cylinder
, the Jag thought,
the Traders will no longer have access to a Jag or Jagernaut. They will no longer have a Key. Kryx Iquar will die
. It paused.
But we will also kill the only known Rhon woman with no genetic tie to the Ruby Dynasty
.

I don’t want us to die
.

The Jag’s thought was calm.
As long as the two of you live, the chance exists that you might someday escape again. And as long as you live, Tina, so does the hope that Althor’s family won’t become extinct
.

The Traders watched us, waiting for reinforcements, knowing they were soon to reap the glory of making the capture. They stared as if we were beautiful animals escaped from a zoo arid then trapped, waiting to be caged.