Gates of Hell (11 page)

He hadn’t noticed her approach. His gaze flicked away from her for a moment, glad to discover that no one else had entered the common room while his attention drifted. Kristi pointed at the cup and repeated her question, then explained when he stared blankly at her, “A cold is a Terran virus, you ignorant alien scum. You look like shit.” She patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry so about the boy. Have some tea.”

So that was what the steaming cup of something was. He couldn’t smell it, and it was a paler color then her usual herbal infusions. “Medicinal?” he asked.

“Chamomile—the last packet I had. We really need to terrorize a Terran outpost so I can do some shopping. Now, drink your tea and stop worrying about the Ax.”

Kristi always assumed all problems were interpersonal. She stared insistently at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to lift the cup to his lips. “Kith looks hungry,” he said instead, as the League representative came in and crossed the common toward him. “Go find him some raw meat.”

She gave Pyr a disgusted look, but was glad enough to get out of Kith’s way. “I put lots of honey in the tea,” she told Pyr before heading back to the galley. “You know how your voice gets when you’re sick.”

“I’m not sick,” he said to her back, then forgot about her as Kith took a seat opposite him.

There were legends among many races of walking dead. Kith suited the prevalent descriptions on his best days. Pyr assumed Kith must be some sort of mongrel mixture of several Pirate League races. He looked a little like several races Pyr knew about, but mostly he looked ugly, which frequently happened when beings from different worlds mated. Kith was pallid-complexioned and dead-eyed, with too many sharp teeth. His face was pocked and wrinkled, his nostrils mere slits in the center of his sharp face. His whole being radiating reptilian coldness that was emphasized by the horizontal row of fleshy red knobs across his forehead. Merely having him along on boarding parties was enough to ensure a certain amount of useful fear. Normally silent and watchful, Rust addiction had made the League rep quarrelsome. Kith was the greediest being Pyr had ever met, which made him perfect for his League assignment on the
Raptor
. He was Pilsane’s main source of worry. The navigator was afraid the crew would decide to follow Kith in a take-over attempt.

Pyr looked at Kith as Kith glared at him, and decided Kith’s life could be measured in hours. One more little problem to take care of before turning command over to Linch. He’d have to figure out a way to space him, because Mik hadn’t yet figured out how to get through Kith’s personal shield. Pity the shield somehow insulated him from telepathy as well.

Pyr ignored the smoldering Kith for the moment and spoke into the bracelet. “Well?”

“The ship that’s following is still trailing at maximum sensor range,” Linch’s voice replied.

They’d picked up the reading three hours after leaving the Calrod system, not long after Pyr found his way onto the bridge. A day later, Pyr was still more concerned about his loss of control in the Door room than being followed. He expected to be followed.

“Take a break,” he advised Linch. “You’ve had duty since we left Calrod.”

Quiet laughter issued from the bracelet. “Just proving I’m more iron-willed about bridge duty than you, leader.”

“I had to take a leak. Come down to the commons.”

“Be down in a minute. Tinna’s got the helm. I’m warming your chair.”

He’d be warming it permanently soon. Pyr still thought it was a bad idea to have let the rest of the crew out of the chattel hold, but Linch and Mik had finally backed Pilsane on the subject. They needed the crew to run the
Raptor
with any efficiency. With a ship chasing them, Pyr had to agree that efficiency might come in handy.

“Fine,” he answered Linch. There was no need to mention that it was about time for their daily dose of Rust. He finally gave his attention to Kith. “Yes?”

Flat black eyes flamed briefly, then deadened again. “You let the ship trail us. Why don’t you strike?”

Pyr held up one finger. “I’m giving you one raid. That ship is as likely to belong to Security as it does to Denvry. I’m not starting a war.”

“It’s expensive to maintain ships,” the League rep reminded him after a glaring silence. “Expensive to buy loyalty, Captain. And then, there are the toys to pay for.”

It was easy to ignore the contempt; he was used to it from Kith. “I know all that. I know anything you might want to tell me,” he reminded in turn.

“There’s a ship out there. Strike.” Kith emphasized his point by pounding his fist on the sturdy surface of the table.

“No.”

“A simple statement,” Linch said, coming up behind Kith. He already had the ligret in one hand. “Even you should be able to understand such a simple word, Leaguer.”

Kith growled a few words in his native language. Linch smiled, and drew his fingers across the ligret strings. Kith was not a music lover. Pyr watched Kith’s cold expression for any hint of the respect Linch deserved. None. Hatred, anger, and arrogance vied with each other on the ugly face. Nothing Linch could use. Kith really would have to die. After he’d had his raid and made his report.

Pyr leaned forward, resting his right elbow on the table and his chin on his hand. “Do you understand the word ‘dismissed’?”

After a prod on the shoulder from Linch, Kith answered, “I do.” He swiveled the chair, lunging off the seat. But Linch was already out of his reach, grinning wolfishly. He held a knife poised to throw out of habit, not because it would do anything more than bounce off the Leaguer’s shield. Kith pretended to ignore him and stomped out of the common.

Linch’s knife disappeared into a forearm sheath. He picked up his dropped ligret and took the vacated seat. He settled the instrument on his lap, bent his head and began to caress the metal strings. Notes sharp as the blade were drawn from the instrument.

Kristi appeared from the galley and placed plates in front of both of them. “That Leaguer’s getting boring,” she observed, then left them to their meals.

“Observant,” Linch said affectionately. “
And
she can cook. Every pirate’s notion of a perfect woman.”

“Not mine,” Pyr answered, too quickly. He didn’t want to start that old discussion again.

Linch put the ligret down, propping it carefully beside his chair. He dug into his food, and observed around a mouthful, “You always were picky, Dha-lrm.”

Pyr passed a Rust capsule to Linch, and took one for himself. He made himself take a sip of tea to down the drug. The drink was cold and tasteless, and the drug did nothing but keep the plague at bay. He tried another sip from the cup before pushing it away. “She said she put honey in this.”

“A type of Terran insect spit.” Linch took far too much pleasure in informing him of that. “Quite sweet. I like it. You should try it. And a woman.”

The smell of the food nauseated Pyr. “I have restraint,” he said, finding he’d risen to the bait after all.

“You have scar tissue.”

“Well-healed—thanks to you,” he admitted “Besides, Kristi has a mate and—”

“You’re looking for intellectual stimulation, not a mother. I’ve heard it before. And, oh, yes, the galaxy is going up in flames. Such poor excuses, Dha-lrm.” He gave his dangerous grin again. “Of course, you’ll always have me.” He put his fork down and rubbed his hands together briskly. “What do you want to do about Denvry’s ship? It would be easy enough to lose them.”

“You’re absolutely certain it’s Denvry’s and not Bucon Security?”

Linch looked mildly offended. “I’m certain. Do I lose them?”

“I’m considering it.”

“But… ?”

“Depends on Mik’s skills.” So much they accomplished depended on Mik’s skills.

Linch retrieved his ligret, brushed his long fingers across strings before speaking. “I see. Wonder what’s taking so long.”

“He’s trying to keep her sane.”

“A romantic, our Mik.” He began to play something soft and melancholy. It hurt Pyr’s ears. “Why don’t you keep her, Dha-lrm?”

Who was the romantic
? “No.” Pyr got to his feet, happy to leave the common to Linch and his ligret. “I’ll take the watch.”

“You do that.”

“Fifty-nine hours,” Mik said, stepping away from the padded table in the center of the room.

To one side of the table was a control console, to the other a bank of monitors. The unconscious woman was held down by padded restraints. Her hair and clothes were soaked with sweat and her head lolled to one side, but she showed no physical signs of damage.

“She was full of useful information,” Mik went on regretfully. He held a datacube out to Pyr. “Only she didn’t know she knew where Axylel is. She’d have been happy to tell me as soon as we got started, but all she actually had were some random facts we had to trace to a conclusion.”

Pyr almost understood what Mik was getting at. “Whoever gave her the brooch intended her to pass it on to us?”

Mik nodded. “Laying down a false trail. Somebody who wanted Denvry out of the way and thought we’d do the job for him, is the conclusion we came to. She didn’t understand that at first. It took her a long while to realize who must be behind the information screen she thought she was manipulating.” He looked admiringly at the prisoner. “Fascinating thought processes.”

Pyr waited impatiently for Mik to recall why he’d questioned the woman in the first place, but the man was lost in the details of tinkering—mechanisms or minds, Mik could easily get carried away. “Well?” Pyr finally demanded.

“It’s on the cube.”

“Who?”

“Robe Halfor.”

“Damn!” Pyr bit down hard on his annoyance. “I have to kill Robe Halfor?” Mik nodded unhappily. Bloody typical of Axylel. Boy never had been anything but trouble.

“What about Hanni?” Mik questioned, dealing with the present and leaving Pyr to worry over the bad news he’d given him.

Pyr spared her one quick glance. “How is she?”

“Seventy percent chance of recovery.”

Pyr was impressed. “Let’s hope Denvry’s grateful for your care.” When the engineer gave him a puzzled look, Pyr explained, “There’s one of his ships hovering behind us. It’s scared to open fire, but it’s not going away, either.”

“You could have mentioned this before,” Mik complained.

“You were busy.”

“What do you plan to do?”

“Sneak up on them and use your Door to give Hanni back to her brother. We won’t mention any of this to Kith.”

Mik nodded; he looked relieved. “Better than spacing her.”

Pyr patted the engineer’s arm. “You weren’t planning on spacing someone you worked so carefully on.”

Mik looked briefly contrite. “She’s real smart, Pyr. You’d like her.”

“She goes back to Denvry.”

Mik tried a different tack. “What about the plague?” Linch would have been proud of him. “She’s probably caught Sag Fever from us. Does Denvry have Rust?”

Pyr refused to let the engineer make him guilty. “Give her a five-day supply,” he told Mik. “Then stand by with her at the Door. I’ll signal you when we’re ready to send her over.”

You’re an odd girl, aren’t you?

When Roxy looked up, she saw pale, green sky overhead and the swaying branches of the tree she was sitting against. When she looked around, she saw the rest of the small, walled garden outside the pediatric wing. The flowers that had just begun to bloom when she first arrived on Bonadem were fading. The grass needed trimming. The fountain wasn’t working. No gardener, biological or droid, had set foot or antigrav pad here for a while. Roxy closed her eyes again, and continued soaking in the warm sunlight, happy to be alone. She ignored the voice that had spoken in her head.

It didn’t extend the same courtesy.
Rude, isn’t she
?

That was a different presence.
Too long with the silents
, the first presence answered the second.

You two go on without me
, Roxy thought at the other koltiri.
I’d hate to interrupt
. The two koltiri had been avoiding her since they arrived, and that was just fine with Roxy. Having Reine and Racqel in her head occasionally was as much contact with Koltir as she wanted. They were her sisters and understood where she was coming from about most things. At least, Reine did. Racqel was usually too busy seeing the future to take much interest in the present.

Roxy didn’t know why these two strangers were bothering her now, but she gave a mental sigh and told them,
I live as a silent among silents, and I like it. So I’m odd. So what? I’m also on my break
.

Your being distresses us
, one of the koltiri answered.

She might have asked, ‘my being what?’ but she knew what they meant. It was her very essence that grated on them.
Live with it
, Roxy responded.
We’re here to heal, not get along
.

The two telepathic voices blended into one.
It is time we spoke. You disturb our peace
.

Her nickname was Sting. Their thoughts hurt, so she stung back.
I disturb your presumptions
—
your arrogant, elitist, narrow-minded assumptions
.

You do not behave as koltiri of Koltir Prime.

Roxy rose to her feet and looked around the empty garden. She was tired, lonely, and vulnerable. The healings were hard, and the whole process seemed ultimately futile, even though every life saved was a small reward. She didn’t even know how long she’d been on Bonadem. Her husband didn’t answer her letters. Her best friend insisted on putting herself in danger in the hunt for a drug that might not exist. She had a lot to think about; the last thing she wanted was to be thought at. She wondered where in the huge hospital complex the two koltiri were, because they put her in the mood for kicking some serious telepath butt.
I put my life and sanity on the line every time I heal. Last time I looked, that was the job description for koltiri
.

Speak softly, child. You give us pain. We do not have long to meld with you.

Good
. She kept the thought to herself rather than send it. Why were they bothering her now? She forced herself to physically and mentally relax, to be calm and koltiri-like. They were older, supposedly wiser, they were deigning to share their wisdom with one who had strayed from the peaceful philosophy of their kind—the interfering old biddies. It was her duty to accept their wisdom. Right. Still, better to play along if she wanted them to leave her alone. They weren’t the only ones who found the contact painful. She looked up at the calm green sky and made her thoughts as gentle as the blossom-scented breeze.
How should I behave as koltiri of Koltir Prime
?