Empire & Ecolitan (38 page)

Again the blackness relieved the pressure of the blocked pain, but even in null-time, Jimjoy did not relax the blocs, just waited.

“Jump complete.”

With another effort, he began to reprogram the entry curve to Thalos, that airless moon off Permana, the Accord system's fourth planet, trying to ensure that the final deceleration would occur with Permana's bulk between the courier and Accord orbit control.

As a last effort, he also programmed the Mayday message for transmission on the Institute's scrambled frequency—but only after deceleration halted.

His fingers touched the controls, and the ship began its inward curve, a curve that he hoped would bring him back. He'd done what he promised to Sam; and Thelina would never talk to him again. Why did he worry?

From that point, events took on a gauzy texture…

…did he actually adjust the curve to compensate for dust…?

…or boost the decel power to cut closer to the Institute base…?

…or tell the needleboat standing off the courier to just go ahead and wait until he was dead…?

…or did the grayness roll in over him at the moment the courier entered the system?

T
HE
A
DMIRAL TOOK
a deep breath, then glanced up at the holo view portraying New Augusta from the air. His fingers drummed on the bare wood as he pursed his lips.

After a time, he looked back at the hidden screen, recessed into the wooden table and displaying its message only to someone sitting in the Admiral's chair.

“Haversol SysCon—Status Report.

“Facility: OMEGA

“Survivors: 87 known (10.1 percent of estimated POB/E)

“Ships: HMS PIKE (cc)—OMEGA

He skipped to the analysis, picking out phrases.

“…simultaneous use of ANT (accelerated nerve toxin), fusactor bottle effect, tachead explosions, and wide-scale EMP effects point to a well-orchestrated military operation, rather than an accident or a terrorist attack…”

“Brilliant, just brilliant,” muttered the Admiral. “Of course it was military. But whose military?”

“…the Haversol SysCon ‘incident' bears no identifiable modus operandi associated with past or present efforts of either the Halstani or the Fuard Special Operations teams…”

“…knew that…” The Admiral rubbed his forehead and returned his study to the screen.

“…the statistical comparator found the greatest similarity between the Haversol SysCon ‘incident' and Imperial Special Operative techniques…correlation level of fifty percent plus…”

The Admiral shook his head before touching several recessed keys in quick succession. The screen displayed a second document.

 

“JIMJOY EARLE WRIGHT III
DECEASED…”

 

He skimmed through the file, again mentally noting key elements.

“…use of EMP as a detonating mechanism during HUMBLEPIE (see Halston ‘accident')…

“…ability to infiltrate and destroy installation warned against him was highlighted by his presumed destruction of the New Kansaw facility through the use of the Masada safeguards…

“…piracy of HMS
D'Armetier
was attributed to Major Wright, after diversion of a planetary shuttle into the New Kansaw orbit control…”

The Admiral frowned, again all too aware of the pounding in his temples. He jabbed at the controls.

“Profile of Major Wright (DECEASED) achieves 78.4 percent correlation with assumed and reconstructed modus operandi for destruction of Haversol SysCon.”

The senior officer glanced at the holo view of the capital once more before touching the console controls and rereading the words displayed on the screen for at least the fourth time.

“…wreckage of the HMS
D'Armetier
discovered on the surface of Timor II (see catalog Red 3-C). Remains of four bodies were on board. Two were positively identified by physical remnants, Imperial tag trace, and absolute DNA match. Two were tentatively identified as New Kansaw rebels—one male and one female.

“The two positive identifications were:

 

J
IMJOY
E
ARLE
W
RIGHT
III

M
AJOR
, I.S.S./S.O./B-941 366

H
ELGRAN
F
ORSTE
M
ITTRE

L
IEUTENANT
, I.S.S./A-371 741.”

 

Finally, the Admiral blanked the screen.

“The only one, and he's dead.” He reached for the hypnospray, hoping that this time the medicine would relieve the headache.

O
VERHEAD WAS GRAY
. Swirling, spinning gray. He could not move, his chest bound by an invisible band that made each breath an effort. Fire gnawed at his right shoulder, but he could see no flames, feel no heat on his face.

Closing his eyes replaced the gray with featureless black, but his eyelids wanted to remain closed.

“Acchhh…” His cough sounded strangled in his own ears as he forced his eyes back open.

The gray overhead was gray—solid gray rock. The fire in his shoulder ebbed, until he tried to shift his weight off his aching buttocks. Then it seared all the way down his arm and back through his chest. Down his arm?

Jimjoy wanted to shake his head, but knew he should pull at his chin. He couldn't, not with the padded cuffs around his wrists. Where was he? Not on Accord, not with the dark rock overhead. Thalos, where he had ended up after his first escape from the Empire?

“…thought you were awake, but you really shouldn't be, Professor Whaler.” The woman's voice was low but pleasant.

“Accccchhhhaaa…” Clearing his throat didn't make breathing any easier, but the dryness subsided. “Where…?”

“Thalos,” answered the green-clad woman as she adjusted something in the apparatus behind his right shoulder. The fires in his arm and shoulder eased. “You've been under for a while. That's hard on your lungs, but the first stages are critical, and any jerky motions damp retakes.”

“Gibberish,” he mumbled, because none of what she said made any sense.

“You really overstressed your system, but we've got it all under control. I'm going to put you back under for a little bit. We need another day to ensure everything takes, but you're doing just fine. Just fine.

“Now, try to relax….”

Even as she spoke, he could feel his muscles begin to loosen.

“…any…choice…?”

“No, Professor, you don't. We can talk about the reasons later.”

As the grayness dissolved into black, he understood she was talking to keep him calm while whatever she pumped into his system took effect.

When his eyes blinked open again, the overhead gray was clearer. The gumminess around his eyelids remained. His right shoulder and upper arm throbbed with a dull ache, and the padded cuffs were still in place around his wrists. A fractionally deeper breath indicated that the invisible band still encircled his chest.

He'd clearly been rescued, if rescue were the correct term, by the Institute. In what light his return was regarded remained another question. That all depended on Sam; on what he had been able to do. The dimness of the lights signaled local night, or the equivalent.

Shifting his weight did not bring the agony he recalled from his previous awakening, only a slight intensification of the throbbing in his arm.

“How do you feel?” asked the low-voiced woman from behind his shoulder.

“Better…” His throat was dry and he swallowed once, twice, in an effort to moisten it.

“I'd like you to try and rest quietly. I'm going to loosen the cuff on the left arm, but you'll still have to stay on your back. I know it's sore, but regrowth doesn't take in null-gee, and trying to handle partial field generation isn't possible within a field.”

“Regrowth…” he croaked.

“Partial regrowth,” she corrected. “The bone cells were mainly all right, but you lost all the nerves along the upper arm and most of the musculature. That's why the pain was so great, why you've been under sedation for so long. But don't worry. The arm regrowth took just fine. It's going to be painful sometimes, especially since the nerve confusion will take time to settle out.

“You've got some fluids in your lungs, but they're within limits. Tomorrow we'll move you into postural drainage for a bit, before letting you sit up.”

“How…about…arm…”

“Your arm will be fine. You will need a great deal of therapy before it's normal again. How fast is up to you.” She frowned as she bent over to loosen the cuff. “No, you can't start now. You'll need another few days in solution at least.”

He managed to turn his head to see the molded tank attached to his shoulder and in which his right arm lay.

“I'll be back in a moment. You can wiggle your fingers on the good arm and move it
gently
. Don't touch anything on your right side.”

“All…right.”

He focused on the overhead. Would they take all this trouble if he were destined for disaster? He did not shake his head, although he felt like it.

Another set of footsteps echoed on the stone.

He glanced toward the doorway, taking in the blond-haired new arrival. The second woman eased over to his bed. Why was Meryl here? At least he thought it was Thelina's quarter mate.

“Are you awake?”

“Barely.” He tried to force a smile.

“Thelina will be here in a few minutes. She's angry. Don't let her blame you.” Meryl's lips pursed. “Just remember. She's mad. She needs someone to blame. Besides herself.”

Jimjoy squinted up at her, trying to hold her fading image in view, at the words that seemed to come from so far away. “Angry…because…Haversol…?” Each of his words took a separate breath against the invisible band encircling his chest.

“No. Because—My God! You don't even know. How could you? They called it an accident. It wasn't—”

“Ecolitan,” intruded a second voice. “He's not to have visitors yet.”

“Just a moment. He needs to know.” Meryl bent closer to Jimjoy. Her face was damp, pale, and a wisp of hair brushed his cheek. “The Empire—Special Operations—someone—murdered the Prime. Sam and Gavin Thorson. An accident, but we know better. Thelina wants to blame you. Don't let her.”

Her hand squeezed the fingertips of his left hand, the one that he still seemed to have, and he blinked.

When his eyes reopened, she was gone. Another slow blink, and a woman in green was adjusting the apparatus attached to his right shoulder.

“You're doing fine, Professor. Just fine.”

Another blink, and she was gone. Just the gray overhead above him. Solid gray. Solid, unlike the swirling gray of winter on White Mountain. Solid, unlike the black-and-gray bolts of the storms of Accord. Solid dull gray.

He could hear the footsteps on the polished rock floor.

Tap…tap…tap
…

“Hello, Thelina.” He managed to keep his throat from rasping.

“Hello, Professor.” Her voice was low, almost ragged.

“Sorry…to keep meeting you like this…”

She edged up to the left side of the bed, looking down at him. Even in the dim light he could see her eyes were bloodshot. She looked from one end of the bed to the other, slowly shaking her head.

“That bad?”

“Always a flip comment, Professor?”

He sighed—almost. His breath caught with the pain in his chest.

“No…you bring out…the best…in me.”

She studied him for a long time, not speaking.

He lay there, unwilling to say anything.

“Meryl was here.”

“Yes.”

“She told you about Sam.”

“A little…an accident…not an accident…killed Sam and Gavin Thorson. That…was it. Said you were upset. Said you might blame me…”

“I found your package.”

“And…”

“You're a bastard—a cold, unfeeling bastard. You're effective. Sam knew it. He knew we needed you. He knew you might be his death. He's the hero.”

Jimjoy waited, watching the tears stream down her cheeks, understanding, he hoped, at least a small fraction of what she felt, knowing that the only man who had supported him and believed in him was dead.

“…know…you even feel it…a little…”

Jimjoy nodded, not wanting to speak.

For a time, the room was silent, except for the background hiss of ventilators and two sets of ragged breathing.

“I need to go…”

“I know…”

Did her hand touch his, ever so lightly, as she stepped away? Or had he imagined it?

“Take care, Professor…”

“You…too…Ecolitan Andruz…”

His cheeks felt damp. But it had to be from his gummy eyes. It had to be.

12 Duo 3646
Lansdale Station