Judgment at Proteus (62 page)

From Homshil we passed through Jurskala, the source of the messages I was still getting from Riijkhan about our pending deal. None of the walkers in the station had spotted him, though, or seen any other Shonkla-raa for at least a week.

Two days beyond Jurskala was Ian-apof, and a change to one of the lines that passed along the edge of the Nemuti FarReach and into the Tra’hok Unity. Two days after that we reached Trivsdal and switched once last time, this time to the Claremiado Loop.

Four days later, we arrived at the Veerstu Quadrail station.

The entry procedure was quick and efficient, and if the Nemuti manning the customs desks were surprised by the unusually high numbers of Humans that had been coming to their world over the past couple of weeks they hid their bemusement well.

Or maybe that avenue of curiosity was simply being overshadowed by the novelty of having a pair of Spiders on the passenger side of the station. Usually, the only Spiders aboard were those picking up or dropping off the lockboxes or handling other sensitive or secured cargo.

In fact, the situation was unprecedented enough that they were initially at a loss on how exactly to proceed. Sam and Carl obviously had no IDs or other official documents, and at first the station director wasn’t going to let them through. I finally had to declare them as part of my luggage, a solution that didn’t exactly thrill the director and probably irritated the defenders themselves.

But finally we were through.

The lockboxes where McMicking and I had stored our guns had been delivered. With my Glock once again snugged beneath my jacket and his Beretta under his, we headed for the torchyacht rental desk.

Along the way, we picked up the special equipment that the Spiders had been quietly holding for us at the station.

It was a five-day trip from the transfer station to the planet itself. We spent most of our time checking our gear, discussing the plan and last-minute thoughts that each of us had had, and otherwise just preparing ourselves for the upcoming task.

Bayta and I also spent a lot of time together. McMicking was perceptive enough to give us as much privacy as he could in the somewhat cramped quarters. Sam and Carl, naturally, didn’t.

Veerstu had only two spaceports that could handle torchships. The last time Bayta and I had taken this trip we’d tried to mask our destination by landing at the port farthest from the Ten Mesas region. Now, with the long procession of human travelers making subterfuge largely moot, we chose the closer one instead. We rented an aircar, loaded everything aboard, and headed out. Two hours short of our destination, we put down in a secluded area and changed into our desert camo outfits, heavy-duty jumpsuits with thin armor plates already sewn into pockets around the torso and groin areas. With another few kilos’ worth of gun belts and weapons vests loaded on top of that, we were ready.

Five minutes later, with our final task complete, we were once again in the air.

The Ten Mesas was a group of large rock formations, up to two kilometers long each, that rose up from the Veerstu desert amid a sea of smaller buttes, rock spines, and occasional clusters of vegetation, the whole thing overlaid by a light dusting of feathery, waist-high brown grass. Three of the mesas were of particular interest: a bit over two kilometers long, each one rose more or less gradually to a sudden and startling ten-meter-tall spike at one end. The Ten Mesas were the premier tourist attraction of the region, as desert tourist attractions went, with those particular three garnering most of the appreciation and photos.

What the tourists didn’t know, but Bayta and I did, was that they weren’t simple rock formations. They were, instead, the hidden resting place of three ancient Shonkla-raa warships.

The ten-meter spikes were the clue that had finally tipped me off when Bayta and I had first been here. Cozying the main body of a huge ship right up against the Thread would be risky; cozying the end of a ten-meter spike, not nearly so much.

I thought about the ships as we flew across the Veerstu landscape. They’d obviously been there since before the Shonkla-raa were destroyed sixteen hundred years ago, presumably stashed away as part of some military strategy the slavemasters had never gotten a chance to use. Sixteen hundred years was a long time, and the question on everyone’s mind was almost certainly whether or not they still worked.

For me, the question wasn’t even worth pondering. The Lynx/Viper/Hawk trinary weapons that the Modhri had been digging up the last time we were here were from that same era, and they had certainly been functional. So were the handful of
kwis
the Chahwyn had found. I had no doubt that the warships were just as functional. And even more deadly.

Bayta had wanted to destroy the ships as soon as she learned about them. I had talked her out of it, warning that letting the Modhri even suspect their existence might prove fatal somewhere down the line.

Now, because of me, the Modhri knew about the ships. Now, also because of me, the entire future of the galaxy was resting on a knife’s edge.

A couple of hours before sundown, we reached the Ten Mesas.

The last time we’d been here, the Modhri had had a full-blown archaeological dig set up in the middle of the area, complete with dozens of tents of various sizes, paths with nighttime guide lights, sanitation facilities, and lots of ground vehicles. After we chased them out, I’d expected the Nemuti would move in and dismantle the facility.

Only they hadn’t. If anything, the encampment was bigger and more elaborate than ever. Apparently, I’d overestimated the value of the Ten Mesas as a pristine tourist destination.

I was bringing us around in a leisurely curve to the west when I spotted the tunnel that had been dug into the western slope of the southernmost warship’s burial mound.

Bayta spotted it the same time I did. “Frank?” she asked, pointing.

“I see it,” I said, trying to make out the details through the shimmer from the low sunlight on the field of swaying brown grass. “McMicking?”

“Got it,” he said, and I glanced over my shoulder to see that he’d already pulled out his rifle scope and was peering through it. “Looks Human-sized, as opposed to vehicles or rolling carts. Wood or ceramic framing, probably the latter. Floor appears to be dirt.”

“How far does it go?” I asked.

“Three or four meters at least,” McMicking said. “That’s as far in as I can see.”

I frowned. The plan had been for the team to play it coy, create something that looked like a staging area, and try to draw the attention of the enemy, who were surely on Veerstu and aware of their presence by now. The idea had
no
t been to give the enemy any inkling that the warships were right here in the Ten Mesas region, and
especially
not that they were buried under the mesas themselves.

Had the Shonkla-raa already made their move? I’d expected Riijkhan to at least wait until Bayta and I arrived. “Is anyone moving out there?” I asked.

There was a soft click as McMicking switched the scope to infrared. “Got a foxhole sentry line,” he said. “Heat shields ready but not deployed.”

“Any signs of visitors?”

“Nothing showing outside the perimeter,” he said. “Could be hiding behind the mesas we didn’t pass.”

“Maybe,” I said, the uneasy feeling growing stronger. I would have sworn we’d anticipated all of the Shonkla-raa’s possible gambits. Was there one we’d missed? “What about the tents?”

“Afternoon deserts are hard to read,” McMicking said. “But it looks like only a few of the smaller ones are occupied, again mostly around the perimeter. Most of the heat’s coming from the two big tents in the middle.”

I exhaled loudly. That could be the Hardin team, the Shonkla-raa, the Hardin team plus Shonkla-raa prisoners, or the Shonkla-raa plus Hardin team prisoners. With all the heat confusion out there, and my strict order to maintain radio silence, there was no way to find out which except to go in and take a look for ourselves. “Okay,” I said as I straightened out of my curve and started us inward. “Let’s go see what we’ve got.”

A few Humans appeared from the outer tents as we neared the encampment, shading their eyes as they watched our approach. As we passed the outer perimeter three men emerged from the two large tents: Morse and two of the team leaders. The team leaders, like the others we could see, had stripped down to their armored jumpsuits. Morse, like us, was in full gear, complete with vest and gun belt.

He spotted us against the low sun and lifted his own rifle scope to his eye. I waved through the windshield, and he lowered the scope and pointed to an open spot beside the spot where he and the team leaders were standing. Giving the distant mesa to the east one final look, I brought the aircar in and set it down.

Morse came over as I popped the door, the two team leaders beside him. “Welcome to Proteus,” Morse greeted me, his voice slurred a little.

“Thank you,” I said, frowning. Morse’s cheeks seemed to be sagging, and there was something odd about his eyes and voice.

But there was no sign of the Shonkla-raa command tone. Could the strain on his face be due to the heat?

It was only as Morse’s hand dropped to his Beretta that I noticed the small earpiece nestled in his left ear. His ear, and the ears of the two men beside him. “McMicking!” I snapped, snatching out my Glock.

I was bringing the weapon to bear on Morse when the tent door behind him opened and a stream of jumpsuited men and woman strode out into the sunlight, all of them moving in the same rigid lockstep. “You wish to shoot them?” Morse asked, his voice still slurred. “Please—indulge yourself. They’re all unarmed.” In an almost leisurely manner he drew his gun and pointed it at the sky. “Or shoot me. I won’t even shoot back.”

I sighed. How the
hell
had the Shonkla-raa pulled this one off? “You know, I really thought you’d at least wait until I got here,” I commented.

Morse lowered his gun and twitched it to the side. “Outside, all of you,” he ordered. His eyes flicked to the two defenders hunched down in the rear of the aircar. “The Spiders too.”

“Bayta, give them the order,” I said grimly, holstering the Glock and popping my restraints. “McMicking, just play it cool.”

“One at a time,” Morse said, lowering his Beretta again. “You first, Compton.”

I climbed out onto the sand. The desert air was shimmering with heat, and I could feel sweat popping out all over my skin as the two team leaders silently relieved me of my vest and gun belt. Morse ordered me to the front of the aircar, then gestured to McMicking.

A minute later McMicking was standing beside me, his own arsenal also confiscated. Bayta was next, and then Morse watched closely as she directed Sam and Carl outside and sent them to the rear of the vehicle. “What happens next?” I asked when we were all finally lined up where Morse wanted us.

Morse shook his head. “You are indeed a fool, Compton—”

“—if you have not already guessed,” a new voice finished the sentence from behind Morse.

And the door of the big tent opened again and
Osantra
Riijkhan stepped into view.

“But don’t worry,” he continued as he walked toward us, four more Fillies filing out of the tent behind him. “We want you and your companions alive.”

His eyes glittered with malice and anticipation. “For the present.”

THIRTY-ONE

“A well-conceived plan,” Riijkhan said approvingly as he came to a halt a couple of meters behind Morse. The four other Shonkla-raa took up positions behind him as another silent stream of men and women poured from the tent. They and the original dozen whom Morse had invited me to shoot gathered themselves into two groups, one on either side of the Fillies. “Well-conceived, and subtly executed,” Riijkhan continued. “You first spin this tale of a great prize waiting at Proteus Station, thinking we will perhaps be too hasty to dig deeper into the words. Then you send out your team of pilots, a few at a time, in hopes of reaching the true location while we hurriedly gather our forces at Ilat Dumar Covrey.”

He gestured toward Morse. “Did you truly think we wouldn’t notice the presence of Agent Morse as he left Terra Station?”

“It was a calculated risk,” I said evenly, nodding at the newly minted Modhran walkers behind him. “I see I should have taken the lesson of your last attack more seriously.”

“Ah, and therein lies the true genius of your plan,” Riijkhan said. “A subtle and layered plan, indeed. Because you
did
anticipate that Morse might be noticed. You also anticipated that we would still have Modhran coral we could use against you.”

One of the team leaders beside Morse lifted his hand. “The skin coating was brilliant,” Riijkhan continued, as the other showed me a callused but otherwise unmarked palm. “A thin layer of carefully tailored poison that would be driven into the wound made by a coral scratch, thus killing any polyps so introduced. Not only would such a sheath protect your pilots from all such attacks, but the attacks themselves would betray ourselves or our agents to them.”

I felt my throat tighten. Naturally, once Morse and the others had been taken, the Shonkla-raa would have easily been able to dig out all the various layers of my plan.

Only how in hell had Riijkhan managed to take them in the first place? Hardin’s medical techs, and the Modhri himself, had assured me that the skin coating would work. “Yes, you’ve been very clever,” I said. “But I can’t help noticing that aside from Morse none of them are carrying any weapons. Worried about another slave revolt like the one that killed off your forebears?”

Riijkhan’s blaze darkened a couple of shades. Apparently, he didn’t like hearing about unpleasant subjects. I might be able to use that. “Focus on the future, Compton,” he said stiffly. “Not the past.”

I took a deep breath. I still had a hole card, I reminded myself firmly. Maybe two of them.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the glint of sunlight off Carl’s metal globe. Maybe even three of them.

But before I could play them, I needed Riijkhan to come a little closer.