The Rifter's Covenant (55 page)

“The court of
Mandalic Justice is adjourned,” he shouted over the uproar, and the three
jurists vanished out the door behind their desk.

Brandon flexed,
activating an override on the suppressors.

To erode someone’s
social prestige took only smiling questions, hesitations of deference, and
maybe a frank talk or two in the Whispering Gallery—at the hour when it was
most crowded.

But to take down
political figures required a conflagration. You thought I was a political
innocent, all of you, Vannis was thinking as she sat watching. That threshold
has been crossed, and here is my true Enkainion.

Abruptly Brandon
started toward the double doors, shaking off the guards, the counselors, the
hangers-on who tried to stop him, or to hustle him to safety through the exit the
judges had used.

At the front on the
Polloi side, Kendrian and his sister were locked in an embrace. His crewmates
crowded around them. Only the tall woman turned her head, watching.

As Brandon made his
way through the crowd toward the doors, he gave some orders, and Vannis saw Srivashti
and Hesthar efficiently separated from the swarm of Douloi below the judges’
bench. Marines marched the two through a side entrance, as the
Telvarna
’s crew moved toward the back
entrance.

Osri Omilov fought
his way through the growing, surging crowd, and he was swallowed up with
Fierin. Only the tempath was left.

Vannis watched
Brandon’s head lift, his blue eyes staring across the human sea straight into
Vi’ya’s gaze.

Then Vi’ya turned,
and was gone.

Vannis’s vision
began to sparkle around the edges. She released the breath she had been
holding, and loosened her grip on the chair arms. She laid her hands quietly
into her lap, calmed her breathing, and smiled.

‘They
cannot
arrest me!” Torigan moaned,
clutching his head, his face shiny with sweat. “I am an
Archon!
Do not
touch
me!”

Hesthar edged away
in distaste as the sergeant-executors grasped his elbows and pulled him out of
his chair, provoking another scream of rage. Flecks of spittle flew from his
twisted lips. He stank sharply of fear-sweat. Of course Stulafi would be the
first to lose control
,
Hesthar
thought in loathing.

Precedence vanished
into the chaos of a growing crowd trying to get at Torigan as he was taken
away. Voices sharpened into angry shrillness. A meaty arm knocked into Hesthar,
forcing her into the pillowy curve of someone’s breast. Hesthar jabbed
viciously with her elbow, gloating at the trespasser’s gasp of pain.

She looked about
for the judges. They’d sensibly withdrawn. But then a tall Marine appeared
before her, weapon held at the ready across her chest. “Come this way,” she
said.

Hesthar stepped
forward, rather than back, endeavoring to intimidate, but it didn’t work. Then
she heard another Marine say to Srivashti, “This is for your own protection.”

“I demand to have
my bodyguard with me,” Srivashti said hoarsely.

“As you like,” was
the response, and Felton silently appeared out of the crowd.

Hesthar sighed in
relief. That idiot Brandon Arkad had to have sent them. Perhaps he was worth
something, after all.

Of course
she
must be protected, as benefitted a
member of the Privy Council. But why would that extend to Srivashti?

Her assumptions
faltered when the Marines opened the door to a small room, where they found Torigan
standing, fists on hips. The door shut on the four of them, and Torigan sank
onto the best chair in the room, sighing with relief. “A fine thing,” he
growled, “when an archon can be arrested like any common fool.”

“It’s only a matter
of time,” Hesthar said between her teeth. It was a direct insult to take the
best chair—she had the precedence, as a Privy Counselor. And he knew it.

Torigan swung about
and glared at her. “For you, too, you smirking bint—”

“Shut up. Both of
you.” Srivashti had gone to the wall, fingers working rapidly at the keypads of
the small console. This room lay outside the suppressor fields.

The screen
flickered over the newsfeeds, stopping on Ares 25.

Hesthar was about
to protest that she didn’t want to be harassed by novosti screaming about the
Telos-chatzing trial, when she saw a picture of herself, and the words turned
to acid in her throat.

Herself. In the
Ivory Hall.

Backing away, just
before the bomb went off.

“Fierin,” Srivashti
breathed.

“She had it all
along,” Hesthar screamed. “You weak-minded, sentimental nullwit—”

Srivashti’s his
eyes narrowed to slits. “Shut up,” he said softly. “Or I will strangle you.”

“No!” Torigan
screamed. “No, no, no!”

Hesthar and Srivashti
swung around; black sports danced across Hesthar’s vision as Nik Cormoran, his
voice sharpened by excitement, laid out in damning detail her dealings with
Eusabian.

“What’s this?” Srivashti
demanded. He turned on her, his face distorted with rage. “
You
sold the Suneater to Eusabian? You witless, greedy fool! What
did you think he would do with it? What did he promise you that could—” He
broke off in disgust.

“I had phages all
over that data,” Hesthar whispered.

“
That
was Cheruld’s datapacket,” Srivashti
said, exerting himself to recover control. To think. “Someone found another
replicate before your phages did and shepherded it through to Ares.” He stalked
two paces away, then froze. “Thetris,” he hissed. “Has to be. Betrayed us all.”

“We’re dead,”
Torigan keened, head in his hands. “We’re dead, we’re dead, we’re dead—”

Hesthar gave in to
long-withheld desire and slapped him hard across the face. “Get control of
yourself,” she snarled, pleasure spiking her anger at the tears of pain in his
eyes. She raised her hand to strike him again, but he cowered away. At least Srivashti
was being a realist.

Srivashti’s hair
drifted across his forehead, his face haggard. “This is not protection, this is
an arrest,” he said. And to Felton, “Get us out of here.”

Felton bowed, his
lank hair swinging forward to hide his face. He moved to the door and knocked.

The door opened,
and a Marine poked her head inside. Then she fell to the ground, choking.
Felton stomped across the back of the spasming woman’s neck, then stepped close
to the other guard, who got off one shot, but it went wide because he, too, had
made the mistake of breathing. Five seconds later he was as dead as his
partner.

Srivashti and
Hesthar raced out, Torigan struggling at their heels. They made it down two
hallways before pounding footsteps sounded from an adjacent corridor. A second
later they came face-to-face with a crowd of Polloi, some waving sticks broken
off furniture, and others wielding improvised clubs.

“That’s them!” a
woman screamed. “That’s the traitor Gessinav!”

“And the murderer
Torigan!” shouted a man.

“I demand—” Torigan
never got any further.

Srivashti met
Hesthar’s gaze and reached. She also reached. They took hold of Torigan by the
arms and shoved him directly into the crowd, who fell upon him, screaming
obscenities.

Hesthar and
Srivashti ran off in the opposite direction, but not fast enough to escape the
horrible, wet ripping noises and agonized screams that died away in bubbling
agony.

Screams and shouts echoed
from several directions; when Srivashti and Hesthar reached corners, they
dashed away from the noise. Once they emerged into an open area, but a quick
look around showed no one about. The Kamera, like the civilian port, lay near
the south pole of Ares. They spotted lifts across the plaza from where they had
emerged.

Srivashti wiped his
hair back with a shaking hand. “This rabble knows where we live. They’ll go to
our territory first. Easier access. We’ve got to get to my shuttle. That’s Dock
9.”

“Fastest way is
through the spin axis,” Hesthar said, activating her boswell. “The transtubes
go around, and they’ll be swarming with Polloi.” As they ran, Hesthar heard a
faint noise, like a rushing wind.

“Hell,” Srivashti
muttered, looking upward.

Hesthar’s neck tightened.
She forced herself to look up—but it was only a nuller bubble pacing them.

“I wish I had a
jac,” Srivashti said grimly. “Felton?” Srivashti asked as they fell into a
lift.

Felton shook his
head, opening his palms. Hesthar knew his only weapons were his hands and his
breath, as demanded by the strict code of the Ultschen, and the nuller’s bubble
was likely proof against the latter.

“It’s merely that
senile nuller,” Hesthar said, turning her shoulder to the others as she
activated her boswell again. “He can’t do anything.”

“Even an old
scorpion can sting,” Srivashti said grimly as they ran into the lift.

Hesthar activated
an override code and they all caught their breath as the lift accelerated
savagely upward on its curving path. Soon enough it opened to an empty concourse.
They hurriedly applied the sticky soles to their feet to counteract the
infinitesimal gravity. Then the nuller gee-bubble appeared, spinning end over
end. Hesthar’s stomach lurched. She abhorred null-gee.

“Ho!” the nuller
cried. “Scuttling spiders. And the flies are swarming.”

Srivashti said between
his teeth, “If he gets close, Felton, kill him.”

“You tried that in
the Hall of Ivory,” said Tate Kaga. “I was there at the climax of your crimes.
I am here for their punishment.” The nuller bubble spun away, laughter floating
behind on the hot wind it left.

Another loose end
,
thought Hesthar in disgust. Why had
she ever thought Srivashti a worthy ally? He was as incompetent as Torigan.

“He’ll tell them
where we are,” Srivashti muttered. “
Damn
it.”

“But it’ll take
time to get here. More, if we jam these lifts,” Hesthar retorted. “It is time
to use our wits. Not lose them in useless complaints.” She relayed more codes
to their boswells.

Srivashti and
Felton each moved to the consoles of a lift, but Hesthar hung back, activating
her boswell for the third time.

An answer pinged at
last.
(What is it?)

Hesthar smiled,
enjoying the hatred Arret ban-Mandiz did not try to hide. Gnostor of Ochlology,
highly respected member of the Council of Pursuivance, Mandiz was one of the
many whose sentimental weaknesses rendered them prey for those with stronger
wills.

Mandiz hated Hesthar,
but she had to take her orders.

(There’s a mob chasing us. Counter it,)
Hesthar commanded.
(Send them after the Rifters.)

(It’s not a mob, it’s a baiting crowd,)
Arret responded.
(They are not controllable. If we try to redirect them, there’s the
danger of complete riot—)

(I don’t care if the damn station burns or
gets vented to space, just as long as I make it where I’m going,)
Hesthar cut in.
(If I don’t—)

(You will have your riot.)
Mandiz cut off then.

Hesthar smiled as Srivashti
and Felton finished their tasks. “Now. Which way to D9?” she said.

o0o

Jaim had never
before seen such a transformation as Lokri wrapped his long arms around his
sister, holding her tightly. All the anger, cynicism, the detachment, was gone
from his smile, as if swept away by the cataract of tears coursing down his
thin cheeks.

From beyond Lokri’s
shoulder Vi’ya signaled Jaim by a sideward glance, and started backing away.

Time was short.

“Jes,” Fierin
cried. “I always believed—I wouldn’t take—wardship, Srivashti . . .
oh!” She gasped, looking up at him, midway between laughter and tears. “I’m not
making any sense! But when you come back to Torigan, the business—”

“Is yours,” Lokri
said, lifting his palms to either side of her face. “I’m not going back to
Torigan. Except to visit you,” he amended quickly.

“But, Jes, you
can’t just decide that—”

“Just?” Lokri gave
a dry laugh that echoed his old self. “I’ve had little else to think about
these past weeks. It was either that or compose death elegies.” He looked over
her head at Jaim and winced slightly, then he bent and pressed a kiss to her
forehead. “And I am no poet. We’ll have plenty of time to talk later, but right
now I have a promise to keep.”

“But, Jes—”

Lokri looked
around, his brows lifting. “And I have to admit I don’t like the sound of
whatever is going on outside this building.”

Jaim let out a
relieved breath at the sight of Osri Omilov pushing his way determinedly
through the crowd. Fierin saw him, motioned him over, then turned back to
Lokri. “Osri knows how to get around safely in this area. Maybe we’d better
meet later, Jes—”

“We will,” Lokri
said, kissing her hands, then letting go. “Soon as I can.” He turned quickly
and followed Marim. Jaim went after, pausing near the adit to look back.

Vi’ya had lingered.
Jaim could only see the back of her head, but he knew that she was watching
Brandon. A surge in the crowd made it impossible for Jaim to see anything.

“Where is he? Where
is he?” someone roared from the other side of the room.

“They took them
out!” a woman screamed.

“Let’s find them!”

Vi’ya stepped up to
Jaim, her face grim. “Let us be quick.”

People crammed the
hallway outside the courtroom. Once or twice the word
Rifters!
rose as a battle cry, Jaim braced against rough shoves and
elbows as he tried to get through without force. But when the Eya’a appeared as
if from nowhere, with Lucifur prowling along between them, the thick crowd
melted miraculously.

Sedry Thetris
emerged from the crowd, her plain civilian clothing awry, her face tense. She
clutched a small bag tightly to her side.