Morgan's Choice (22 page)

Soon enough the sing-song drone of voices
from the auditorium ended and Unwyn stepped through the door to
summon them. The reaction was the same as always; gasps of pleased
surprise from the believers or narrowing of eyes from the doubters.
Although at each meeting less and less doubters appeared to be
evident; their fame must have spread. Jones made his ringing speech
in his accented tones. Morgan smiled and answered questions, the
same ones about where they came from and why her eyes were
different to Jones’.

“
So where are the rest of the
Orionar,
Sur
?” called a
fellow in the back. “Why just you ‘n her?”

“We are emissaries,” Jones said. “Sent to see
how you are coping after all these centuries. These are your worlds
to rule as you see fit, but it saddens us to see how the equality
you once had has been usurped. You must stand up for your rights,
fight for the freedom you once had.”

They straightened in their seats.

“
Join your leaders in throwing off the
Mirka tyrant’s yoke.” Jones’ voice boomed across the audience, his
interlocked fists held high above his head. They cheered and
clapped.

The wide double doors at the front of the
hall burst open. Figures in black uniforms pushed inside.

“Stand fast. You’re all under arrest,” a
voice shouted.

Chapter
Twenty-Four

The room erupted into noisy confusion. Shouts
and screams competed with crashes of chairs toppling, boots
thudding. Somebody turned out the lights. Morgan dropped to the
floor. In this dress she stood out like a beacon as well as not
being able to move. She flung herself off the podium, pulled the
dress up around her waist and crawled to the side of the hall using
her augmented eyesight to avoid running feet. The attackers were
shoving their way toward the stage but the audience fought back. If
she could just get out of the hall she stood some sort of chance.
Getting caught was not an option. She eased forward, sticking to
the wall.

Shouts, groans, thuds filled the air.
Something flopped down onto her. Her heart lurched.

“Quick. Cover the dress and follow me,” a
voice hissed.

The guard. He’d brought the cloak. Forcing
down the panic, she shrugged the dark material around herself and
scurried after him along the side of the hall past a pile of
struggling bodies. At the doorway, he poked a cautious head
outside.

“Come on. Hurry.”

He leapt out, ready to fire. Asbarthi was
already there, weapon in hand. A number of bundles lay on the
ground, some sprawled motionless, some writhing and moaning or
crying out. The sound of running feet and shouts punctuated the
darkness to the right.

“Hey there. Stop.” A soldier running toward
them raised his rifle.

Asbarthi fired. The man staggered, stumbled
and collapsed in a silent heap.

“This way.” Asbarthi set off at a jog down a
tree-lined alley between the houses. She followed as best she could
holding the damned and blasted dress up, the guards at her
heels.

Footsteps thudded behind her. “Stop or we’ll
shoot.”

She kept going, almost feeling the
cross-hairs between her shoulder blades. Asbarthi ran back to her,
weapon raised. “Go on. We’ll catch up with you.”

****

Jones stumbled through the darkness away from
the stage, terror clutching at his chest. It had all been going so
well and now this. He couldn’t see a thing. All around him shouts
and screams blended with thuds and thumps. Bodies surged this way
and that. Somebody stumbled against him cursing and he slipped to
his knees. Probably not a bad idea. He crawled forward on his hands
and knees toward where he thought the door was. He had to get out
of here, had to get away. A leg slammed into his side and he
lurched, while the owner of the leg collapsed over him.

A hand grabbed his shoulder and hauled him
up. “This way.”

Which way? Panic galloped up from his gut. “I
can’t see.”

The hand grabbed his, towed him along,
shoving around the edges of the fight into the food preparation
area. His savior flung a cloak at him and Jones wrapped it around
his body. What he’d give now for a simple black suit.

“We’ll get you other clothes soon. First we
get you out.”

Hadn’t Asbarthi called this man Brenish?
One of Mellnar’s folk? Jones’ heart settled, just a
little.

Brenish sidled out the door, hand out,
keeping Jones back. He looked around, fired once and beckoned.
“Quickly.”

Jones followed, running for a lane between
the houses, trying to keep the cloak tight.

“It’s him,” a voice shouted. “The King.”

Pulse pounding, he sprinted.

He’d almost reached the lane. The rapid
staccato of running feet behind him sent his heart racing again. He
sucked in air, legs pumping. Just a little further. Hands reached
out, caught his arm. He tried to pull away but the grip was too
strong. Ah, no. Caught again. Gasping for breath he looked into the
grinning face of a black-clad soldier.

“
Well well well,” the fellow said. “The
King himself.” He called over his shoulder. “
Srimana
, we have the king.”

An officer swaggered over. Eyes alight
with glee he grabbed Jones’ chin and pulled his head around,
looking at his eyes. “I expect Governor Murag would like to meet
you.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Jones said, still
panting.

“Meetings of the Krystor People’s Party are
forbidden.”

“Is that what it was? I didn’t know.”

“Of course not.” The officer’s lip curled.
“Not your idea at all, I expect.”

“No. I had nothing to do with it. I just came
along for the ride.” Maybe he could talk his way out of this. He
didn’t owe anybody anything, after all.

The officer stared at him, head tilted, eyes
calculating. “I see. Would you care to tell me who involved you in
this?”

“Maybe. What’s in it for me?”

“Maybe we just won’t hurt you quite so much.
Come on. Names.”

Jones grinned. “I’m sure we can
negotiate.”

They pulled off his cloak, hustled him to
a skimmer and shoved him inside next to an armed soldier. The
officer seated himself in the front beside the driver and the
vehicle rose. Jones gazed around him. The skirmish seemed to be
over, here near the hall at any rate. A number of bodies lay on the
ground and a group of people sat with their hands on their heads,
under armed guard. He wondered where Selwood was. Not that it
mattered. She hadn’t been any more sociable here than she’d been
on
Curlew
. Just as
close-mouthed and contrary.

The skimmer turned into the lane that led to
the gate.

He’d get out of this. Negotiate a deal with
this Murag fellow or maybe even suggest a ransom to get him back to
Asbarthi. Or maybe they’d come and rescue him. Even so, his pulse
beat too fast.

****

Asbarthi crouched back in the shadows under
the trees and watched Murag’s men load Jones into the skimmer. So
he thought he’d sell out his new friends, did he? Ah well. He’d
served his purpose. Perhaps he could even be of more use dead. A
martyr to the cause.

He waited until the soldiers moved away
before he called his security chief at Devagnam’s house. “Barad,
Murag’s enforcers have a skimmer on its way to Krystor Central.
Make sure it is destroyed with all occupants.”

He sent a picture of the vehicle.

Now to find Selwood.

****

Morgan hobbled on. She had to get rid of the
fucking dress. She pushed open a gate and darted inside a neat
yard. The house was in darkness. If the owners weren’t out there in
the melee, they’d be hiding inside with the doors locked. Very
wise. She struggled out of the gown and thrust it behind a shed.
Now she’d need clothes. Washing lines? Not in this house. She
peered over a stone wall into the next yard. Yes. She scrambled
over into next door with only a few abrasions. The din of the
battle continued, shrieks and screams punctuated by shots and the
whizzing whine of energy beams. She grabbed a pair of too-large
pants and a shirt from the line and sent a silent apology to the
owners. Maybe she could do a little more. She took off her earrings
and hung them on the line, wishing she had a pair of decent shoes.
The stupid slippers she wore were already cut to shreds. Although
she was grateful she hadn’t been wearing high heels.

She stood beside the gate, listening. No
footsteps, no firing in this lane anyway. The gate creaked as she
opened it. Heart thundering, she hesitated. Nothing. She slipped
out. The stars glittered hard as diamonds in a clear sky, their
brightness scarcely diminished by the tiny crescent moon. The stone
walls gleamed, still radiating the trapped warmth of the day. Her
footsteps made little sound on the hard-packed earth. Distant
noises drifted from the melee at the hall. Scuffles and shuffles,
the occasional thwack of a punch or slap, a moan, the hiss of a
skimmer lifting. How many arrests, Morgan wondered? Would they be
looking for her? And what about Unwyn and Jones?

She jogged warily back almost to where she
had left Asbarthi. No sign of him, but he’d been headed the other
way when he stopped. She turned and set off, polling all the way.
She might be covered up, but her skin and eyes would still give her
away.

Figures loomed in the distance, coming this
way. She stopped and checked. Asbarthi and a guard, weapons
raised.

“No. It’s me.” She stepped forward, hands
above her head.

“Thank goodness you’re safe,” he said,
lowering the weapon. His eyes flicked over her.

“Sorry about the dress.”

“A pity. But yes, sensible. Just as well we
had two made.”

The noise of battle had receded. No more
shots, only the occasional shout.

“
What now?”
And let’s hope it isn’t too
energetic
. Running in a
ball gown was not for the faint-hearted. Nor was climbing stone
walls in your underclothes. She’d only just recovered her
breath.

“We wait. It will settle down. Maybe Mellnar
will get a vehicle to us. Or maybe we’ll have to steal one.”
Asbarthi turned to the guard. “Where should we go?”

“
Maybe the silos,
Hai
Sur
. They’re out of the way and we can get inside. We might
find a vehicle there, too.”

“What about Unwyn and Jones?” she said.

“
Jones has been arrested. Unwyn will have
to make his own way out. We can’t afford to look for him.” Asbarthi
raised a hand. “No more now,
Suri
.”
He gestured to the guard with the pistol he still held in his right
hand. “Lead on.”

She noticed the energy level was set to
maximum. Asbarthi was shooting to kill.

The guard sidled through the dark alleys
between the houses, heading for a vast, unlit bulk towering against
the spangled backdrop of the night sky. His weapon raised, the
guard approached the building.

A hum in the darkness. Morgan’s head snapped
to the right. A vehicle, coming fast. The guard sprinted for the
silo. Asbarthi grabbed Morgan’s shoulder and pulled her back into
the alley and hard against the stone wall. He peered around the
corner, blocking her view. Even so, she could still listen.

The skimmer had stopped. Voices muttered in
conversation.

“Where are they?”

“Over there.” That was their guard.

The skimmer turned toward their hiding
place.

“Hurry,” the driver called.

Morgan and Asbarthi dived inside as soon as
the vehicle drifted beside them. Just in time. The driver
accelerated away, leaving the guard behind, as a second vehicle
shot out from the alley in which they’d hidden.

“
Mala
,” Asbarthi swore. “A swift. Let’s hope there
aren’t any others.”

A swift. Morgan scrambled up to see. Ah. A
single rider crouched under a faring on a sleek, powerful vehicle,
little more than a propulsion system with a saddle. “Halt or I
fire.” The words echoed in the skimmer’s sound system.

“Get rid of him,” Asbarthi snarled.

The man in the front beside the driver leaned
out of the window, rifle in hand. The beam from the energy weapon
lanced out into the darkness. The swift’s rider avoided easily and
fired in response. The beam glanced off the skimmer’s rear panels;
it lurched and swerved, corrected. Now the gunman in the front seat
had a clear shot. The bolt blasted the rider off his machine. The
man lay sprawled on the road while his swift careered on into a
stone wall.

The crash boomed and bashed and rumbled
through the darkness. The skimmer plunged on, leaving the crumpled
vehicle and the fallen man far in its wake.

“
Are you all right,
Suri
?” Asbarthi asked, laying a solicitous hand on
Morgan’s knee.

She shifted away from him. “Yes, fine. What
was that about? Who were the attackers?”

“Murag’s security forces must have been
alerted to the meeting. Gatherings of the Krystor People’s Party
are not permitted.”

No, she’d expect not. “I’m still worried
about Jones and Professor Unwyn. What will they do to them?”

“
Nothing nice, believe me,” Asbarthi said.
“We’ll just have to hope they’re safe. I’ll be going back to
Hai Sur
Mellnar’s property tomorrow to
return this vehicle. I’ll make some more enquiries.”

Morgan grunted a response. She wasn’t sure
she liked this darker side of Asbarthi.