Empire: Book 2, The Chronicles of the Invaders (The Chronicles of the Invaders Trilogy) (35 page)

CHAPTER 64

T
hey were not escorted directly to Illyr, which caused Paul some dismay when he heard the news coming over the communications system. Instead the
Nomad
was brought to the massive Military base known as Melos Station, close to the mouth of the wormhole.

“It’s good news,” Peris assured him. “We’re safer with the Military than we are at one of the shared docking stations closer to Illyr.”

It didn’t sound like good news to Paul. He could be of no help to Syl trapped at the edge of the Illyri system.

“But what about Syl?” he asked bluntly. “How am I supposed to get to her from here?”

Peris looked at him in amusement.

“If there is to be a wedding,” he said, “then it can’t be held on the Marque, for obvious reasons—”

“I know that,” interrupted Paul. “No males on the Marque. They probably have a sign to let everyone know.”

Peris sighed, the way the old will when the young don’t want to wait to learn.

“But it won’t be held on Illyr either,” he finished.

“Why?”

“Call it bad memories. The Sisterhood isn’t one great mass of females, all in agreement with one another, all thinking the same thoughts. As far as I know, the majority of the younger ones, led by Syrene, are actively intent on forging links with the Corps—and now clearly the Military—through marriage. Syrene leads those among the senior Sisters who serve as advisers to the Corps, both openly and more secretly. But the bulk of the older Sisters prefer to keep their
distance from Illyr, physically as well as emotionally, because they’ve studied their history books, and they remember the reasons why the Sisterhood was forced to flee to the Marque to begin with.”

“They’re afraid of another conflict,” said Paul.

“And with good reason, perhaps, if this ship we’re on is anything to go by. But it’s even simpler than that. Back on Illyr the Sisterhood was once persecuted, and most of its adherents murdered, and the scars have never healed. But Syrene is clever—too clever to risk alienating some of the most influential voices on the Marque by excluding them from the ceremony. No, if my guess is right, the wedding will take place at Erebos.”

The name was unfamiliar to Paul. It wasn’t any planet or moon that he knew of in the Illyri system.

“What’s Erebos?”

“Erebos was the favorite palace of Meus, the Unifier of Worlds. It’s said to be the most beautiful building in the known universe—if you like that kind of thing. It’s used on only the greatest civic occasions: the truce to end the Civil War was signed there, and it’s where presidents are inaugurated. If the Military and the Sisterhood are to form their most important bond in Illyri history, then they will do so at Erebos.”

“And where’s Erebos?”

Peris leaned across Paul and pointed through one of the portside windows, where a small blue-gray world was spinning in the void, three tiny moons of descending size set against it like a row of pearls. It looked close enough to touch.

“
There
is Erebos.”

•  •  •

Now the Military station loomed before them. It reminded Paul of a Christmas bauble stripped from a great tree. It was shaped like a cut diamond, but one of silver, with a central ring from which protruded numerous needlelike docking ports, most of which were currently occupied by vessels, varying in size from massive carriers and destroyers to small patrol ships like their escorts. Paul assumed that the station was heavily defended, although he could see no obvious weapons ports.

Together they had agreed on a story to present to the inevitable Military inquiry into the destruction of the
Envion
, and the loss of everyone else on board. It was mostly true, detailing everything from the events on Torma, and the species of silicon-based life discovered there, which was no minor matter; the escape in the shuttle from the drilling platform; the discovery of the
Envion
, already crippled; the fight on board; the capture of the Nomad vessel; and the voyage to the Illyr system. What they left out were their suspicions about the possible identity and motives of the attackers; the advanced nature of the captured ship; and any mention at all of their visit to Archaeon. The delay in returning to Illyr could be explained by their fear of further pursuit and their desire to protect Tiray, which led to their decision to use unmonitored wormholes, although Paul had been careful to check with Alis that the ship’s flight recorder remained inoperative, and no record existed of their actual routing.

Once that was decided, it was time to address their immediate plans upon arrival at the base.

“Councillor,” said Peris, “it would be my advice to announce that this is now your personal ship, and any attempt by the Military to seize it would be viewed as a criminal act. As far as the Military is concerned, you’re arriving in a rattling old Nomad craft. The conclusion of the authorities will probably be that you’ve lost your senses if you want to retain it for your personal use, but I can’t see them objecting.”

Tiray agreed. He knew that they all remained at risk because of what they had seen and done on Archaeon, and he might well be glad of an escape route if the Military station proved more hostile than they might have hoped.

“I’ll request a routine exterior maintenance check to address the weaknesses in the hull,” Peris continued. “It should just be a matter of strengthening the panels and securing the seals. I’ll also advise that, under your orders, the ship’s ordnance should be resupplied: that means torpedoes and mines. Alis, you’ll supervise the operation, assisted by Rizzo.”

“Not Thula?”

She sounded disappointed.

“Missing me already?” asked Thula.

“Only your strength,” said Alis. “Not your personality.”

If Paul didn’t know better, he might have suspected that Alis’s attraction to human males extended further than his brother. He also experienced a twinge of annoyance that Peris was now the one giving orders. Paul’s time in charge was over. He was now just another Brigade lieutenant, and on a Military station it was Illyri officers, even ones at the instructor level like Peris, who were in command.

“No, I want Thula and Paul to stay with Councillor Tiray as his personal security, with his approval.”

To Paul’s surprise, Tiray raised no objection. The politician guessed the reason for Paul’s change of expression.

“I am aware, Lieutenant, that you may not like or trust me, but I am a realist,” said Tiray. “There is a conspiracy infecting my society, and I now have more knowledge of it than is appropriate for my continued good health. If a move is made against me, it will come from within the Illyri, and perhaps even from someone close to me, for I have to admit that I am no longer certain of the loyalties of even some of those whom I have called colleagues and friends. Under these circumstances, I will accept the protection of humans above Illyri.”

He shifted his attention back to Peris.

“And I am aware of the nature of the weapons seized at Torma,” he said. “For now, it suits me to pretend that I know nothing of them. Please don’t give me cause to lament it.”

For a moment, Paul regretted not finding a way to lock Tiray up in a closet from the first moment they’d found him. The politician had sharp ears and eyes, far sharper than Paul had believed. But he, like Peris, understood what was being offered here. A deal was being made. Paul and Thula would not be permitted to carry weapons that could be used against Illyri, even on a Military base like Melos Station. They were soldiers of the Brigades, and though the Illyri were content to use them as troops, they had the same feelings toward them that Paul had toward Tiray: no affection, and no trust, so there was no question of their arming themselves with pistols and shotguns. They
could, though, carry Illyri weaponry, because it would be assumed that such armaments were DNA locked to prevent them from being used against their makers. To anyone looking on, the humans would be armed with pulse weapons only for show, like small boys playing with toy guns.

“I will have safe quarters assigned to Councillor Tiray, and you will escort him to them,” said Peris. “Nobody is to enter unless they are with me. If I approach with others, and I am being forced to do so against my will, I will use your first name, Paul, not your rank. You will then have my full permission to turn your weapons on those with me. Keep them set on a low level, though. I don’t want people killed on that station if I can avoid it.”

They were almost at their docking port now. Their escorts split away, leaving Steven to keep pace with the slow revolution of the station until he brought them safely against the buffers, and the station locked on to them.

“How long will we need to keep the councillor secure?” asked Paul.

“Until the wedding,” said Peris. He looked for confirmation to Tiray, who nodded.

“Through Peris, I can arrange to have messages sent to those whom I still trust. They will all be attending the ceremony at Erebos. But so too will senior members of the Corps and the Securitats, and we will be surrounded by enemies.”

Tiray left them and headed for the bathroom to make himself look somewhat respectable for his arrival at Melos Station.

“And there’s one other problem,” said Peris, when Tiray was gone.

“I think we have enough already,” said Thula, “but thank you for offering.”

Peris ignored him.

“No weapons of any kind are permitted on Erebos,” he said. “Not for anyone. Once you get there, you’re going to be completely unarmed.”

CHAPTER 65

O
n their arrival, they were met by the base commander, Hadix, and a platoon of the station’s own security force. Their surprise at finding four Brigade soldiers on board what appeared to be a captured Nomad ship, along with one previously missing councillor and his aide, was lessened somewhat by Peris’s presence. It was immediately clear that he and Hadix went back a long way, and their relationship was good. Peris’s request that Councillor Tiray be given private quarters, and that the Brigade should act as his personal security detail for the duration of his visit, was instantly accepted, although first Paul and Thula had to consent to a body search in case they were carrying unapproved weapons. Their pulse rifles were given only a casual glance, for Peris had been correct: it was simply assumed that the humans were wearing them out of habit and not usefulness.

Paul and Thula accompanied Tiray to his quarters, where he washed and then lay down to rest, informing Paul that he did not wish to be disturbed for a few hours. Paul joined Thula on guard outside. Now that they were away from the cramped interior of the
Nomad
, Paul realized how badly he and Thula smelled, and how tattered and filthy their uniforms were.

“You need a shower,” he told Thula.

“I do,” Thula admitted. “You, on the other hand, smell like a fresh flower. How do you manage to stay so neat and clean when I am a filthy embarrassment to the Brigades?”

“That’s sarcasm, right?”

“Yes, that
is
sarcasm.”

They leaned against the wall, their hands hovering near their pulse
weapons. Although he had slept fitfully on the trip back to Illyr, Paul was still teetering on the edge of exhaustion. Then again, he was a soldier, and all soldiers learned to eat and sleep when they could, and tolerated the fact that, by and large, they would never eat or sleep quite as well as they would have liked.

After two long hours, Peris appeared. He wore a fresh uniform, and bore the look of a man who had recently enjoyed a long shower and a hot meal.

“Is he settled?” he asked Paul.

“Seems to be. He left orders that he wasn’t to be disturbed for a while. He wants to bathe and sleep, and he’ll eat later.”

“I’m sure you’d like to do the same,” said Peris. “Unfortunately, I can only offer you the chance to shower and take some nourishment. Sleep will have to wait.”

Peris joined Paul on guard while Thula was allowed to go to the showers and the mess. Paul and Peris exchanged some small talk, but that was all, as Peris had warned them to watch what they said while on the base, for they did not know who might be listening.

Thula was gone for only a short time. When he came back, Paul took his turn in the shower, requisitioned a set of Illyri Military overalls that were slightly too large for him, and ate a meal of Illyri food at the officers’ mess, where the quality was a little better than that served to the lower ranks. It still contained too many unidentifiable elements for Paul’s liking, but he was hungry enough not to care. They had spent the last week living on coffee, oatmeal, ready-to-eat dinners, and pale, noodlelike carbohydrates that tasted like salty boot laces. Whatever he was now eating, it was fresh and, given the Illyri concerns about good health, probably not actively bad for him.

“Well, look at you,” said Thula, when Paul returned. “How pretty you are!”

Peris gave him an odd look, but said nothing.

“Shut up,” said Paul.

“Yes, sir.”

Peris left them, but not before he found two chairs for them.

“Try not to fall asleep,” he warned, “or at least not at the same time,” and then he was gone.

Thula magicked up a coin from somewhere on his person.

“Toss you for it,” he said.

“Heads.”

“It’s tails.”

“Damn.”

Thula sat, rested his head against the wall behind him, and closed his eyes. Within seconds, he was fast asleep.

•  •  •

Paul allowed Thula an hour, and then they switched positions. Paul was woken by the intercom beside his ear. Tiray’s voice emerged from it, requesting that food be brought to him.

“What if they poison it?” whispered Thula.

“You have eaten the food here, right?” said Paul. “It tastes like it’s been poisoned already.”

Peris subsequently arrived with a tray, and he stayed taking instructions from Tiray for almost an hour, getting details of those whom the politician wished to contact. When Peris eventually emerged, he did not speak to Paul or Thula and they did not disturb his thoughts, for he had a lot of names to remember, and a lot of messages to transmit via a secure channel.

•  •  •

Some time later, Steven and Rizzo arrived to relieve them so that they could get some proper rest.

“Who’s minding the ship?” asked Thula.

“Alis,” said Steven. “It’s secure.”

“And how is your girlfriend?” Thula inquired.

Steven tried to ignore him, but Thula persisted.

“You’re a little young for her, aren’t you?”

Steven kept his gaze fixed on the wall ahead, refusing even to look at Thula, but he managed to force the word
no
through gritted teeth.

“I think she would be better off with a man like me,” said Thula.
“I’m more mature and”—he reached into the pack on his belt, and produced a small plastic bottle—“I will always carry oil, just in case she gets rusty.”

That was too much for Steven. He made a leap at Thula, swinging his fists wildly, but Thula kept him at bay with his long arms, laughing. It was left to Paul to drag his brother away, Steven still swearing at Thula.

“Let it go!” Paul told him. “Can’t you see he’s just trying to get a rise out of you?”

Steven managed to calm himself, but his face was very red. Thula apologized, though he didn’t look as though he meant it. His grin was too wide for that. Paul gave him a shove to send him on his way before following.

“Did you really have to bait him like that?” he asked Thula, once they were out of earshot.

“I was just having fun with him.”

“He’s still young, and not just in years. Last time he thought he was in love, it wasn’t reciprocated. This is all new for him. And it’s hard. The first time is always rough.”

“Spoken like a man who’s had his heart broken.”

“Me? No, not really. But you don’t actually fancy Alis, do you?”

“No! I prefer mine—”

Thula stopped himself. He was about to say “human” but he was conscious both of Peris’s warning that their conversations might be monitored, and of Paul’s own tenderness for a nonhuman, for Syl. Paul had told Thula of her when they were going through basic training together, and for a long time he had been one of the few who knew of the depth of Paul’s feelings for the young Illyri female. Since then Paul had taken Rizzo and Alis into his confidence too, but nobody else needed to know, and certainly no one on board a secure Military base in the Illyri home system.

“I prefer mine a little older-looking,” Thula concluded instead.

Paul knew what he had done, and was grateful for it, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t bait Thula in turn.

“How old?” he asked. “Like, grandmother old?”

“No,” said Thula, with great dignity. “That isn’t what I said.”

“You said old.”

“I said
older
.”

“What, older than grandmothers? You mean
great
-grandmothers? My god, what’s wrong with you?”

“You’re deliberately misunderstanding me.”

“No, I’m not. I heard it.”

“That is not what you heard.”

“You said it. You can’t take it back now.”

Thula aimed a boot at Paul’s rear end, but Paul was too quick for him.

“Attempting to strike a superior officer!” Paul shouted, but he was laughing as he said it. “I could have you court-martialed!”

A pair of passing Illyri soldiers regarded them curiously, unsure of what was going on.

“If you stay still long enough,” said Thula, “I’ll give you a reason to have me shot.”

They were both still smiling as they reached the quarters assigned to them. The room contained two bunks, two lockers, two chairs, and not much else. The packs containing their personal belongings were already there, probably left by Peris. Paul searched in his pack until he found a notepad and pen. He wrote on the first sheet of paper, and showed it to Thula.

I think Syl will be at the wedding ceremony tomorrow. I’m going to try to find her and take her away from the Sisterhood.

Thula wrote his reply in turn.

How?

The
Nomad.
If I can get us on board, I can make a jump through the Melos Wormhole. Four ways out.

Who else knows?

Steven. Peris knows that I want to help Syl escape, but not how. Maybe he suspects, though.

Dangerous.

I’m not asking for your help.

Paul made it clear by his expression that he didn’t mean the words harshly. He was only trying to protect Thula.

Yes, you are.

Okay, maybe I am, but I don’t expect you to risk your life for this.

I’m in. Rizzo too,
Thula added.
She’ll follow you, especially if it means she can shoot things.

Paul felt his eyes well up with gratitude. He did not really believe that he could attempt a rescue without Thula standing by him, and he had hoped that his friend would agree to help, but he could not be certain. He gripped Thula’s left arm in thanks.

Get your hand off me
, Thula wrote.

And Paul thumped him.