Hellspark (36 page)

“

Waster

!” Kejesli spat the word, so angry he lapsed into Sheveschkem, “So you’d burn Veschke, would you, waster—”

Tocohl, who had never heard a Sheveschkemen use that strongest of all condemnations, started so violently that it brought her a stab of pain. She pressed her hand to her side; Maggy stiffened the 2nd skin against her.

Kejesli’s eyes widened. “My lady—” he began, still in Sheveschkem. Then he shook himself and splayed his fingers at his throat. In GalLing’, he said, more gently, “Get her to bed; let me see this tape.”

He seated himself once more before the console.

By the time John the Smith had eased Tocohl down onto her cot—Om im keeping close behind to assure himself the Smith would handle the task correctly—Kejesli was already concentrating on the tape.

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A lightning flash illuminated two shapes making toward the infirmary door, distorted beyond recognition by torrential rain. Buntec stamped across the room to peel back the membrane and peer into the downpour. She stiffened momentarily. Then, with an air of courtliness quite unlike her, she drew aside the membrane to allow the two newcomers entry and in a tone of astonishing sweetness she said, “Do come in, Timosie. We were just speaking about you.”

Maggy withdrew the arachne’s adaptor from the console, stepped it back. Kejesli rose to his feet.

Om im was halfway across the room, aimed like a thrown blade at the door. John the Smith stepped forward as well, blocking Tocohl’s view. She attempted to rise but layli-layli calulan pressed her firmly back onto the bed—and pushed John the Smith to one side so Tocohl might see from where she was.

Hitoshi Dan began, “Timosie here tells me—” He got no further. Taking in Kejesli, he took an instinctive step backward, and then, just as instinctively, turned to look at the object of Kejesli’s fury.

Bewilderment crossed his face when he found only Megeve; he turned back to Kejesli, his expression clearly seeking explanation.

“One death on this world was not enough for you, dastagh!” The captain took a single step toward the Maldeneantine. “You needed four more!”

Megeve paled. For a brief moment, Tocohl thought he might turn and flee. But there was nowhere to run to. As if he had read the thought, Megeve put his hand to his belt—a cocky sort of gesture, but surprising under the circumstances.

He pushed past Hitoshi Dan and advanced toward her. “What have you done, Hellspark?” he demanded. “Months of work ruined; sacrifices made in vain.”

Matching his anger, Tocohl said, “What work? What sacrifices? The four of us? The sprookjes?”

That he did not answer. Instead he began to chant in a language Tocohl did not, for all her experience, recognize. (Maggy, record.)

(I am.)

Megeve continued toward her, his steps timed to the rhythm of the chant, all expression draining from his face.

As he reached the center of the room, Tocohl stretched out her hand to warn him.

Too late, she saw him blindside Om im. The result was almost too fast for the eye to follow. Om im’s blade flashed out and up. Megeve screamed in anguish, his hand spattering an arc of blood as he jerked

out of the small man’s reach.

The knife flashed a second time. Tocohl had barely enough time to gasp as it struck Megeve’s side, ripped upward. Megeve’s belt clattered to the floor where Om im kicked it deftly across to John the

Smith. “Put a foot on that, John,” Om im commanded, “and don’t let it up until I’m done.”

To Megeve, who nursed his injured hand, Om im went on, “Move an inch, Megeve, and you’re dead.” His glance flicked the length of the Maldeneantine. “I won’t bother with a body blow—your 2nd skin would deflect it—I’ll go straight for your throat.”

Timosie Megeve froze, good hand gripping injured. The grip was tight enough to whiten his knuckles but insufficient to stop the steady drip of blood.

Even Kejesli was stunned into inaction. Thus the tableau held—until the arrival of Dyxte and

Edge-of-Dark. Om im, still seeming the only one of them capable of action, said, “Target Megeve. If he moves so much as a hair, stun him.”

Dyxte, bewildered, glanced at Kejesli. “Do it,” Kejesli said, and the two obeyed. With a sigh of
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relief, Om im wiped and sheathed his knife. Then he crossed to John the Smith, where he bent to pick up

Megeve’s belt.

“You look puzzled, Ish shan.” He grinned, a strained expression more of relief than humor.

“Could it be that your education is sadly lacking?”

“It could be,” Tocohl said; attempting to match the lightness of his tone, she succeeded only in matching its forced quality.

“Watch and learn.” He bowed, added a flourish of cloak. Then he strode a few steps from them, raised the belt to shoulder height—

There was a sharp spitting sound, followed almost immediately by a rasp of metal on metal. A small but deadly looking dart embedded itself in the infirmary wall. Buntec whistled.

Maggy said, (You didn’t have your hood up, Tocohl. He could have killed you with that!)

“I’m sorry, layli-layli calulan

,” said Om im, staring at the dart. “I didn’t think it was that powerful.”

Kejesli looked from the dart to Megeve. “Strip him down. I want his 2nd skin. We don’t know what else he might be carrying.”

Under the watchful eyes of Dyxte and Edge-of-Dark, Megeve was stripped and marched across the courtyard where a cell was hastily improvised from a section of the supply room.

Tocohl could hear Kejesli’s shouted orders even over the rumble of the passing storm. Then she turned to face the small man who stood patiently beside her bed. “I live,” she said in Bluesippan, “I thank the sharpness of your blade.”

He grinned; this time the grin was genuine. “Ish shan,” he said, in passable Hellspark,

“everybody needs a friend, some time or other, even a legend.”

He turned the belt over in his hands. “I saw a weapon much like this used when I was on Hayashi, but it never occurred to me that Megeve—” He met her eyes ruefully. “I didn’t even think of it—until he made that move.” Flawlessly, he reproduced Megeve’s cocky gesture.

“To arm the weapon then,” Tocohl said. “May I see?” She held out her hand toward the belt, but

Om im drew it from her reach. Mildly puzzled, she said, “How can it hurt me? The one he intended for me is there.” Her glance flicked to the wall where swift-Kalat held the arachne up for a close look at the imbedded dart.

Om im called out, “Don’t touch it, swift-Kalat. If the barbs are sprung within the wall, it will be safe;

but it may not have penetrated far enough, in which case you could get your fingers rather nastily sliced.

And Megeve seems capable of having poisoned the dart, too.”

To Tocohl, he explained, “The standard model carries four darts. Let me disarm it for you.” He made a swift motion, then aimed it again at the wall, well away from swift-Kalat; this time nothing happened.

He handed the object to Tocohl to examine to her and Maggy’s satisfaction.

As Tocohl turned it over wonderingly in her hands, she asked aloud, “Why? Why should he try to kill me? It’s too late.”

Om im looked at her in surprise. “You of all people, Ish shan, should know that even gods take vengeance on those who thwart them.”

Tocohl slept again;

layli-layli calulan had seen to that, and Maggy rather wished she could understand how the trick was done. She wondered if it weren’t simply a matter of perception, much like the difference between her perception of the Ringsilver magician and Tocohl’s. She tagged the matter for further investigation.

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Meanwhile, with a camera eye recording those events in which Tocohl would most likely have an interest, she sent the arachne after Kejesli who was still in the storeroom interrogating Megeve.

“Worryin’ a wound,” Buntec called it, in a tone Maggy interpreted as acid. “Don’t know what he thinks he’ll hear. He hasn’t liked any of Megeve’s answers so far.” She pounded the side of the storeroom and bellowed, “Maggy’s comin’ in with me to eyeball the little b.f.f.”

Dyxte opened the door to them. “Just don’t get between me and the target, Buntec.”

“Hah. Where’s he gonna run?”

“He was ready to kill Tocohl,” Kejesli snapped back, “I won’t give him another chance—at any of us.” Edge-of-Dark’s weapon never left its target and, as Maggy’s arachne scuttled by, Dyxte retrained his gun in the same direction. “Okay,” said Buntec, “I take your point. Get anything out of the waster yet?”

“You call me a waster,” Megeve said suddenly, “what do you see here?

Nothing

. No communications, no homes, no farms. They waste the resources of an entire world.—Even if they are sentient, the sprookjes don’t deserve this world. What have they done with it?

Nothing

!” Despite the emphasis, he spoke calmly, as if he might convince them of the justice of his actions.

Kejesli’s scowl deepened—Maggy had no trouble interpreting that expression. In a voice that sounded to Maggy carefully controlled, deliberately even, he said, “It’s a lousy planet.

There’s too much rain, too much lightning. Even in sunshine the air stinks of storm. But if the sprookjes are sentient, it’s theirs—and I’d burn beside Veschke before I’d let you take it from them.”

“You still don’t understand—” Lifting his hands, Megeve took a step forward. Dyxte and

Edge-of-Dark dropped to firing position.

“Then explain it to me,” Kejesli said.

Warily Megeve lowered his hands, clenching them into fists. “The world’s too valuable for sprookjes,” he began.

With a snort of disgust, Kejesli turned his back on the Maldeneantine and strode for the door.

Megeve called hastily after him: “Listen to me, Captain—the lightning rods! They’re biological superconductors!”

Buntec gave a grunt of surprise; interest took her a step closer to Megeve, who immediately turned to address her. “Buntec,” he said, “you understand, don’t you? Superconductors that don’t require an entire advanced technology to produce. Superconductors that don’t need to be artificially maintained by cooling!” Kejesli had turned back to stare at Megeve with widening eyes.

“Yes,” said Megeve. He was smiling now, and Tocohl would have called his tone triumphant.

“Forests full of superconductors! Now you see why Flashfever is too valuable for sprookjes.

Give it even a moment’s thought and you’ll admit I’m right.”

Maggy was thinking indeed; she knew precisely what that would mean, to her and to Tocohl, if what he claimed about the lightning rods were true. “Cheap memory!” she said to Buntec. “Do you think the sprookjes would trade for moss cloaks?”

A short, sharp laugh answered her; there was no warmth in the sound. “There, Megeve,” Buntec said, “even the kid knows better.” Looking down at the arachne, she went on, her voice gaining warmth as she spoke, “They’ll trade for something, Maggy; and I’d trust a Hellspark to find out what every time.

Don’t you worry—if you can’t figure out a fair trade, Tocohl will.”

“Good,” said Maggy. She split her attention at once, setting a part to work on possible trade goods for the sprookjes. Given their reaction to Alfvaen’s blood sample, wine would not be
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high on the list of probabilities. Biologicals—like Tocohl’s moss cloak—there was the place to start.

The rest she devoted to Megeve. His smile had gone. Again he tried to back away, as if Kejesli’s look were as dangerous as layli-layli calulan

’s curse. Already backed against the wall, he sank instead, sliding his shoulders down until his knees suddenly buckled and he sat on the floor, dropping his head between them.

It didn’t seem an opportune time to ask for further information, but Maggy wasn’t sure when she’d have another chance. And Megeve had seemed willing to talk just a moment ago. “I don’t understand,”

she said. “Why would that make Flashfever ‘too valuable for sprookjes’?”

When Megeve made no answer, Maggy said, “Buntec?”

“C’mon, kid,” Buntec said, “let’s get you out of here. He’s what my momma would have called a bad influence. And Tocohl wouldn’t like you hangin’ around him.

Neither of us should be hangin’ around

‘im.” She started for the door, clearly expecting the arachne to follow.

“Bad influence?”

“Somebody you shouldn’t imitate if you want to grow up to be a human being.”

Maggy was not sure that applied to her, but since Buntec seemed to mean it sincerely, she decided to go along with it, and with Buntec—at least until she had a chance to talk the matter over with Tocohl.

She sent the arachne trotting after Buntec.

Once outside, she found the two of them momentarily alone. Rain still battered the arachne; she did not, however, expend the energy needed to compensate for the distortion it caused the arachne’s eye.

Instead she sent the arachne at full speed after Buntec. “Buntec, wait!”

Buntec splashed to a halt in mid-puddle. Hands sheltering her eyes and face, she bent to the arachne.

“Buntec, I don’t understand. And it’s secret so I can’t ask anywhere else. I’m not a kid, I’m an extrapolative computer, and I don’t understand why Tocohl wouldn’t want me ‘hangin’ around

’im.’”

“You may be a computer, kid, but that

”—a sharp jerk of her elbow toward the storeroom made

Megeve the referent—“

that is a villain, and nobody’s momma wants her kid hangin’ around villains. You got it now?”

“Yes,” said Maggy, for that one word, villain, explained it all. “I’ve got it now. Thank you!”

“You’re welcome—now let’s get the hell out of the rain before we both get zapped.”

AGGY HAD MUCH to think over—so much, in fact, that she spent most of the night swapping data from active files to inactive and back again, cross-referencing wherever she saw the need. She regretted that not all of her memory could be active simultaneously. Still, she supposed this to be what