The Only Game in the Galaxy (21 page)

He needed an alternative heat source.

He dropped an incendiary device, then stumbled. The bomb
whooshed
and suddenly the corridor was a flaming inferno. The blast caught Maximus, lifting him off his feet and sending him flying down the corridor. He thumped into a wall at the next junction and slid down onto the floor, shaking his head to clear it.

He heard rather than saw the shredder. It wasn’t the heat-seeking type, he’d originally thought. It had been attuned to him – oh yes, the tests Anneke had ordered. You had to give it to the girl. Very, very bright.

In ‘pure’ reflex mode, he waited till the last second, then jerked up. The shredder – the size of a pinhead – took him in the shoulder, paused to work out if it had hit the brain as it had been programmed, and realised it was off by many centimetres. That’s when he blasted, flicking his beam aperture at the last second to its minimum pencil setting.

Since he was still alive when he released the trigger, he figured he’d gotten the little sucker. But he’d also blown a hole right through his own shoulder. He needed medical attention urgently.

Alarms rang through the Fortress. He guessed that the outer walls had been breached. Right now, quite possibly, Omegans were pouring into the stronghold itself.

Time to go.

He lumbered to his feet, clutching his shoulder. Sprinkling more microspikes behind him, he broke into an unsteady jog.

He found Deema where he’d left her and dropped, exhausted, into the room.

‘Need you to do something … for me …’ he gasped, peeling his tunic away from his shoulder. The burn was worse than he’d thought. The shredder hadn’t entered cleanly, veering at the last moment and gouging through his pectoral muscle, shearing a few ribs. He was soaked in blood.

Deema inspected the wound. ‘You have to get your tunic off,’ she said.

‘Can’t.’

‘Then I need to cut it away.’

Maximus drew out a knife, flipped it end for end, and handed it to her. She started sawing the tunic, which was tough. Her hands wet with Maximus’ blood, she slipped and sliced her finger. The moment the knife broke her skin, a strange rippling effect occurred.

Although puzzled, Maximus was in too much pain to dwell on the ripple.

With his tunic off, Deema followed his instructions, first giving him a stronger painkiller, along with a wide-spectrum antibiotic. Then, using a dermal renovator, she repaired the damaged skin and blood vessels as best she could. The ribs she left alone – they could be dealt with later. The main wound cauterised itself, but she still needed to extract the shredder. This she did using a magnetic scalpel. After the wound was cleaned and doused with disinfectant, she sprayed a dermal skin surrogate on top and applied a field bandage, all under Maximus’ guidance.

‘Not bad,’ said Maximus. ‘Thanks.’

‘Are you going to let me go now?’

‘Soon,’ said Maximus, truthfully. ‘I just need to strike a deal.’

Moving slowly, with frequent pauses, Maximus led Deema to a different location. There they rested. He was sweating, and panting hard, as if he’d run up a steep hill.

‘You need a hospital,’ said Deema.

‘So do a lot of people today.’

Maximus tapped into a communications network and sent a scrambled call to Anneke. Up till now he’d kept his communicator off-line so that it wouldn’t show up on any sensor sweeps.

Anneke’s face, weary and bruised, appeared on screen straight away.

‘Is Deema all right?’

Maximus motioned Deema to move into the field of vision. Anneke sighed. ‘Are you all okay, sweetie?’

‘I’m fine,’ the girl said. ‘But Max is hurt pretty bad. He needs a doctor.’

‘I’m sure he does,’ said Anneke. To Maximus, she said: ‘What do you want?’

‘Safe passage out of here, in exchange for the girl.’

‘Or what?’

‘Don’t make me spell it out.’

‘Best you do,’ Anneke said.

Maximus told her exactly what he wanted, and when.

‘Agreed,’ said Anneke.

‘I want your word.’

‘How do you know I won’t break it?’

‘I know. Believe me.’

‘Gee, compliments. I’m flattered.’

‘Your word, please.’

‘Fine. You have my word. Hand Deema over to me, unharmed, and you will be guaranteed safe passage back to your ship.’

Maximus cut the connection, rose shakily to his feet, and held out his hand to Deema. She took it, and together they found a main corridor and followed it till they came to a freight elevator. Here two guards spotted them. Without a word, the man and the woman fell in behind, their blasters out, but not pointed at Maximus.

All four rode the elevator to the roof.

Deema helped Maximus from the cab, taking his weight on her shoulder. Together, they staggered towards a scout ship, prepped for takeoff. Anneke and several others waited nearby.

At a safe distance, Maximus stopped. ‘Go to Anneke,’ he said to Deema.

Deema started towards Anneke then stopped and turned around. Anneke called to her, but Deema ignored her. To Black she said, ‘It’s not your fault, you know, Max.’

Maximus smiled. ‘What’s not my fault?’ He didn’t mind Deema calling him Max.

‘Being a slave, like me.’

Maximus said nothing for a moment, then, softly, ‘I know.’

‘Thanks for not hurting me.’

Maximus gave her a bow, sending red-hot pain through his shoulder. ‘My pleasure,’ he said.

Deema ran to Anneke, and hugged her. Maximus limped behind. When he was only two metres away, he stopped. ‘Do we still have a deal?’

‘We do. But don’t push your luck. Get on board, and go. There are a lot of itchy trigger fingers around here.’

Maximus nodded, turned and walked slowly towards the scout ship. He climbed inside, but before the two guards who’d followed him could fasten the hatch, Anneke called out to him.

‘Oh, Black. There’s something you ought to know.’

He looked at her through the hatch. ‘What’s that?’

‘When you were a little boy, on Tormat, your name was Max, right? For Maximilian?’

‘What if it was?’

‘And your last name was Quist? Max Quist?’

Maximus stiffened. He hadn’t heard that name in a lifetime.

Anneke went on. ‘Your mother and sister didn’t die that day. They lived.’

Staggering, Maximus put out a hand to steady himself. ‘That’s a lie. They’re dead.’

‘No, Black, they’re not. This is your sister. Deema.’ Deema stared from Anneke to Maximus, and her hand flew to her mouth. ‘She was just a baby that day, but your mother managed to hide away, to escape the first wave of slavers – though not the next. She stayed on Tormat though, and when freed she signed on with another merchant. Her name was Mirella.’

Anneke paused. ‘Your mother’s here, Black. In this city.’

Maximus stared, a ghastly fear evident on his face.

L
OB
Lotang moved slowly, painfully, hugging the city wall. The slave narcotic in his bloodstream was winning its internal battle, building raider proteins that, despite the suppressants his scientists had developed, were disassembling his own.

It would not be long now.

The street, close to the wall, was quiet, the surge and cry of external battle far off, as if that pocket of urbanity had been abandoned, ignored. Up ahead, the girl moved quickly, taking minimal precautions.

He had been following her for just under an hour.

Deema wanted to know everything. ‘Where do I come from, who is my mother, what is she like, is she nice? Is she beautiful, like you? Does she miss me? Is Max really my brother?’

It seemed as if the questions would never stop. When – what – how – why …

Finally, Anneke clamped a hand over Deema’s mouth, the girl looking at her reproachfully over the rim of fingers.

‘Deema, please, you’ll see her soon. I only found out moments before Black grabbed you – it was all in that data package. There wasn’t time then – and right now, we have a war to fight.’

Anneke took her hand away from Deema’s mouth. ‘Is my mother all right?’ Deema asked, subdued.

‘She’s fine. She’s hiding inside the Sentinel Consulate, and we’ve had reports that the Omegans can’t or won’t enter any Sentinel building or the grounds. So your mother is safe.’

‘For now.’

Anneke sighed, hugging the girl. ‘Yes, sweetie. For now.’

Anneke climbed to her feet. ‘I need you to return to your room, and wait. As soon as I can, I’ll get a message through to Mirella – even if I have to find a runner to take it there.’

‘Promise?’

Anneke nodded. ‘Now go!’

Deema ran all the way to the apartment, hurried inside, and started collecting what she would need for the trip. She had a backpack and in it she stowed the book she’d been reading, water, leftover food from breakfast, as well as the e-pad she’d been scribbling in, having started a diary at Anneke’s suggestion. She thought her mother might like to read it. Deema had put down her musings about who her mother might be, what she’d be like if she ever came for her, whether she’d want her to come and live with her again …

She had a sudden thought. Reaching into the backpack, she took out the e-pad, checking that it contained a map of the city. It did. She found the Sentinel Consulate and mapped out a route, one that kept to back streets and alleyways.

Then, excited and terrified, Deema flew out the door and made for the lower levels. The time she’d spent with her brother, Max, had been useful, as she now had a good idea of how to get out of the Fortress. In any case, being a slave had made her resourceful.

She would manage it all, and very soon she would see her mother.

Anneke watched the holographic map with weary eyes. She was desperate for sleep, already way over the limit on n-doze; next she’d be shooting up pure adrenalin, like a street junkie. She blinked, rubbed her eyes, blinked again.

Sector Yellow went red.

Another city block taken – swarmed – by the Omegans. They were so close to the east-side city walls they could have thrown stones.

Anneke hit some buttons on her keyboard, expanding the hologram to include the battle in space (lately she’d tried to focus on the ground battle so as to not spread herself too thin). Despite its greater firepower, the Quesadan Empire – as it was becoming – was making little headway against the combined forces of RIM, the Imperial Myotan Combine, and the ships Anneke and Herik had brought from Carson’s Vortex. The Empire also outnumbered them nearly two to one and boasted fancy field-shielding, but the modern ships were no match for the old Demons.
Klankis was a genius
, Anneke thought.

Nevertheless, Quesada was beating them back, slowly, yes, but inevitably. The war in space had become a war of patience, of attrition, and could end only one way.

The war on the ground was different.

It was brutal pandemonium with little doubt as to its outcome. It wasn’t that the Omegans had superior numbers, and that they fought with insane disregard for their own welfare. The deciding factor was simpler: terror.

The Omegans inspired sheer terror in all they met.

Realising this early in the conflict, Anneke had had a human-tailored viral neuronotic whipped up (viral ‘drones’ were always kept in readiness) and seeded over the battlefield. Symptoms included itchy eyes, slight rashes and sneezing – in other words, hay fever. Only this strand of hay fever implanted deep hypnotic suggestions into the reptilian part of the human brain, countermanding the instinctual fear that the Omegans induced.

Unfortunately, a sizeable percentage of casualties were coming down with ‘catatonic terror’.

Black had undoubtedly calculated this into his dreams of empire, had been counting on it.

Another sector blinked red.

Anneke shut her eyes. All she wanted was sleep.

Earlier, Anneke had called Lob Lotang to her side. He had been slumped on a divan at the back of the war room, his face drawn with pain. She thought he should go to bed, have his doctors tend to him, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He was dying, and wanted to make his life count. Soon, she knew, he would go somewhere private and seek his death, but until then …

‘What do you wish, Anneke?’ said Lotang, hopefully.

‘I have a small favour to ask. Would you check on Deema for me? She’s pretty excitable right now.’

‘Of course. And who can blame her?’ Lotang smiled. ‘I too would be happy to know my mother had been found.’

Lotang turned smartly and strode out of the room. He did not allow himself to slump until he was out of sight. Then he staggered, and would have fallen if he hadn’t thrust a hand hard against the nearest wall. He took several deep panting breaths, wiped the sweat from his face, and made his way to Deema’s apartment.

He had been the leader of an empire once – admittedly a middling one, and an empire of thieves and cutthroats – but he had always cherished his reputation for fair dealing and loyalty. He had never double-crossed anyone, never shot anyone in the back, and always accorded his enemies the respect he demanded from them.

It wasn’t much in light of current conflicts, but it was something.

And now he was dying, and had lost the woman he loved.

Not lost
, he reminded himself bitterly.
She is out there, even now – a monster …

He clenched and unclenched his fists. The pain in his heart was greater than the pain in his flesh.

Then all was driven from his mind. He found the apartment door open, Deema gone. He was about to call Anneke, but stopped. The room hadn’t been ransacked, and Black was gone – had another enemy penetrated the Fortress? Had Deema been kidnapped twice?

Unlikely.

Lotang used his field sensors to pick up residual ‘ghost’ movements in the room, a temporal reconstruction of events. It was patchy, like trying to hear a broken song in the midst of static. But the gist was that Deema had left of her own accord.

Which could mean only one thing.

There was no time to lose. Leaving the apartment, he stood for a moment in the corridor, thinking fast. Which way would a child go? A child who had been a slave, who was street smart, and determined. He called up a map of the Fortress and the city, plotting alternate routes to the Sentinel Consulate. Whichever way Deema went she must pass a ‘choke point’ or else risk venturing too near the hue and cry of battle.

Lotang hurried from the Fortress, avoiding the main route, which was clogged with troop movements and supplies. He emerged, fifteen minutes later, from the south-side gate, and struck out through the town, aiming for another section of the star-shaped Fortress where the wall angled sharply and ran southeast before curving back to the north.

Lotang had taken the viral neuronotic, though his doctors had told him not to. His immune system, they said, could not handle the extra load; but without it, he could not go into battle.

It was just as well.

Within minutes of leaving the dubious safety of the wall, he encountered three Omegans creeping down a garbage-strewn alleyway, the same one he had been sneaking along. Everyone froze when they saw each other, then the Omegans gave a short blood-freezing howl, and charged.

Lotang blasted one. The remaining creatures were too close to shoot. He drew a long vibroblade, and waited. They rushed him, depending on brute force – their undoing.

Lotang did not waste time with fancy moves or feints. He spun, slashed, stepped aside, slashed again. And the Omegans were dead.

Out of habit, he wiped the blade on one of the bodies, though the molecular-thin weapon retained no taint of blood.

He caught his breath then forced himself into a jog. Deema must be kept safe. If she met a group like this … He shuddered, and hurried on as fast as he could.

He nearly missed her. His calculations had been right, his timing wrong.

Gaining the choke point, Lotang settled down to wait. A faint noise drew him to a bend in the road; peering round it, he saw Deema ahead, hugging the wall.

Cursing himself, he hurried after her, keeping back so as not to alert her, but not so far that he couldn’t come to her aid, by blade or blaster.