Gates of Hell (18 page)

Snarling, Kith spun to face Pyr. His fury flailed out at Pyr, which Pyr ignored—except for taking amused note that the Leaguer frequently forgot the differences between the
Raptor’s
captain and himself.

Pyr sat down in his chair. “Shouldn’t Mik have bridge duty, Kith?”

“He’s tinkering,” Kith answered. He rubbed a bruised shoulder and went to hover over the navigational sensors, his back to Pyr. Bruised through the shield? Interesting.

Simon spoke up from the communications board. “Mik said he was needed in Engineering. He left Kith in charge during watch change.”

Pyr’s lips twitched involuntarily. How like Mik to give the League rep a chance to act like an idiot as a subtle way of pointing out to the captain that something firm needed to be done about the resident Leaguer. Pyr carefully crossed his aching legs. “We heard anything from outside?”

“Plenty,” Simon answered with a wide grin. “We’ve picked up a United Systems Security transmission. Tinna’s decode says that they’re curious about the Borderers pulling their ships back from the Rose but think it’s too dangerous to send any spy ships nosing around the border right now. There are too many quarantines and blockades and intersystem conflicts inside Systems territory for them to risk provoking fights with anyone right now.”

“That’s nice.”

“That will make raiding in the Systems easier for us,” Kith spoke up. “If you have the guts for it.” Kith was always urging them to raid the war-weakened Systems. Except that, from where Pyr sat, the Systems didn’t look all that weakened to him. Better for the
Raptor
to prey on the pirates who preyed on Systems shipping.

Pyr knew why the Borderers had pulled back, and why they’d been poised for a suicidal invasion of the Systems in the first place. Some clan factions had gotten the idea that the Unclean Evil Demon United Systems was responsible for infecting the farthest outpost worlds of the Holy Chosen People with Sag Fever and Rust. They had taken their ships and gone home because he sent the Clan Great House proof that the Systems were more affected by the disease than the People were. He and his whole clan had had to vow to find and destroy those truly responsible to stop a war the People could never win. Too bad his was a small clan, and soon to be smaller.

“Anything else?”

“A faint communications signal, Captain.”

Pyr jerked upright. “What?”

“Caught the signal just at watch change,” Simon told him, almost defensively, shoulders hunched and gaze on the multi-level board. “Been working on it for four minutes now. It’s faint, maybe an old echo. Mik said to wait until I was able to confirm it was a source and not a transmission shadow before reporting to you.” Simon’s fingers began to nervously rub along a strip of blinking green and yellow lights.

Let’s not worry Dha-lrm, eh
? Pyr thought at the engineer. “Is it a source?”

“I can’t tell, Captain.”

Something like that
, he was answered.
Guess you want to do something about it
.

You are getting your asses up here, aren’t you
? Demons, it hurt to think. His mind just wanted to spread out and inhabit someplace without pain. It was so tempting to drop all shielding and…

We’re on our way
, Linch’s mental voice intruded. It felt like ice water sloshed over Pyr’s burning mind. He waited for his senior crew to put in an appearance.

Kith kept his back to Pyr, his gaze on the datascreens, but his attention focused angrily on Pyr. “We have ships to hunt,” he reminded, rough voice soft with warning. “This could be prey at last.”

The door opened; Mik, Pilsane, and Linch hurried onto the bridge. Mik and Linch came to stand next to Pyr. Pilsane relieved Simon at communications.

Where
? Pyr asked after Pilsane’s fingers stopped flying over the touch pads and control sensors.

“Definitely there, Bucon. But I can’t get a linear fix.”

“Damn.”

“It’s a trail.” Kith whirled around. He banged a fist on the pilot’s console. “Follow it!”

“A faint trail,” Linch pointed out. “Perhaps the ship is a month gone from those coordinates.”

“It’s the only trail we’ve crossed in days.”

Pyr frowned as he looked from Linch to the Leaguer. He uncrossed his legs, making a true effort to look as relaxed and casual as any Bucon. “I hate to say this,” he drawled, gazed fixed on the main screen. “But I’m going to have to agree with Kith on this one. Let’s follow the trail.”

———

“Dr. Martin Braithwaithe, I do not like you,” Martin said to himself as he came into Glover’s private cabin.

He’d brought Roxy in here as soon as they’d rendezvoused with Glover’s yacht where they’d left it on a dead world, well beyond the Bonadem blockade. She’d been asleep when he settled her long, skinny frame on the wide bunk, and she’d been asleep every time he’d checked on her since.

Glover had popped an orange capsule and taken over the single-station cockpit of the yacht when they’d come onboard. Glover
said
Rust had no effects, but Martin was all too aware of his sister-in-law’s debilitated condition. The woman he remembered had disappeared into a disoriented zombie, when she was awake at all. That was from
treating
Sag Fever
and
its cure. He also remembered the silent mob in Dallis—a mob slavishly following their dealers’ orders. He kept waiting for some aberrant behavior from the Bucon, though he hadn’t seen any so far. Maybe the only effect was that a Rust junkie would do
anything
for the lifesaving drug.

Glover had made it abundantly clear that he would take care of himself. Roxy was Martin’s concern. He carried two hypos with him this time, one a nutrient supplement, the other one of the few stimulants effective on a koltiri. He knew all about what drugs worked on koltiri, and every other telepathic, empathic, and sensitive humanoid being in the United Systems. In one part of his life, Dr. Martin Braithwaithe was a psychiatrist stationed aboard the Sector Ship
Odyssey
, who specialized in treating the physical and mental ills of the psi-gifted. But you didn’t serve aboard a Sector Ship unless you had more than one specialty. At this moment, Dr. Braithwaithe was not at all happy with sharing his existence with the ruthless security agent who went by the same name. He’d had too much time to himself in the last few hours, and that left him vulnerable to the compassion that plagued his conscience.

“I’ll get over it,” he said, and stepped closer to the sleeping woman. He’d cleaned her up, and dressed her in a long, red, silk tunic and loose black trousers he’d found in Glover’s closet. The clothes fit well enough, and had the advantage of not being crusted with blood.

He carefully injected Roxy with both hypos, then sat down beside her near the head of the bunk. “I wish we could do this another way,” he said, not for the first time. “You’re looking better,” he added reassuringly, using a soothing tone that would help calm her as she slowly came awake. “Really. You look like hell, which is better than death warmed over, which is what you looked like twenty-four hours ago. Still too skinny for my liking. Course, Reine’s looking all round and maternal right now. Baby’s a boy, in case she didn’t mention it. You koltiri ever figure out why you have trouble having boy babies? Physically she’s fine, and telepathically, but some of the other super powers have gone down the toilet. She’s not happy about that—not to mention a little on the paranoid side. Almost glad to be away from home right now. Not that I’m having any fun. I really wish we could do this another way. I’m so sorry about getting you into this.”

One deep purple eye partially opened. It was sunk deeply in the skull-like mask of her face. “Oh, hush,” Roxy muttered as she focused on him. “You’re not sorry, not deep down in that nasty, self-righteous core of yours, Martin Braithwaithe. Almost as bad as Rafael—only without the ego.” She rolled over on her stomach and buried her face in a pillow.

Martin stared hard at the back of her head. “Madam,” he inquired. “Are you impugning the character of the man I love?”

“Yes,” came the muffled reply. She lifted her head. “Besides, you do it to the man I love all the time.”

“That’s cause you don’t really love him.”

“Do to. Mostly.” She sighed. “He takes care of me.”

“You can take care of yourself.”

“You let Rafe run your life.”

“I let him think he does.” He snorted. “If we start fighting about Rafe and Eamon, we’ll be here for days. Don’t have time for a good family brawl right now.”

She grunted, then rolled over and sat up. She pressed her thumbs to her temples and complained, “I’ve got Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars running through my head. It’s my sister who collects old music, not me.” She glared at him. “Probably picking it up via that link sort of bond thing you have with Reine.” She stopped rubbing her temples and leaned back against the headboard.

Martin settled down beside her and put his arm around her shoulder. She leaned comfortably against him. “How do you feel?”

She didn’t answer for a long time, probably doing an internal catalogue of her atoms, he decided. Finally, she said, “Half of me’s okay. The body is working, but the brain needs an overhaul. Reality has definitely become a subjective phenomenon. More so than usual.” She chuckled. “Sounded like a sentient being there for a second.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” he answered, as lightly as he could. “The sentient mood will pass.”

“Unfortunately. Maybe if I can stay off the Rust and plague combination for awhile, I’ll be okay.”

“Very likely. Hungry?”

“Always. Did I really make a fuss over a basketball?” She moved restlessly within the circle of his arm and looked around. “We’re on somebody’s private yacht.”

“Glover’s.”

“Hmmm.” She sighed. “And Dee’s dead.” She gave him a hard look. “You lied to me about that.” Tears brimmed in her huge eyes, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand.

He didn’t apologize. “A Rust dealer deliberately hunted her down and murdered her.”

Roxy nodded. “She was playing out of her league—and for all the right reasons.” She looked up at the ceiling. “Oh, hell. She was in love with me and I always pretended I didn’t know.”

“She knew.”

“Yeah. Eamon didn’t—wouldn’t—well, the
Tigris
isn’t the
Odyssey
. We don’t do group marriages.”

“Every ship has its own culture. Your people are into that frontline warrior tribe thing—with the chest-beating chief having the best woman that he doesn’t share with anybody. Too bad. You could use someone to love you.”

She didn’t argue with him for once. “I didn’t exactly volunteer, now did I? I was drafted to serve on the
Tigris
. Hell, it was Dee who found me in the wreckage of the refugee camp and talked Eamon into taking a MedService doctor on board. She got me off that hell hole just before the Trins attacked again.”

Martin knew the story very well, how Roxanne had been doing research on a strategically placed outpost world when the war started. Battles, both space and planet-based, had raged all around the system for weeks. Eamon Merkrates’s
Tigris
had been in the thick of the fighting. The ship had taken heavy casualties, including most of the medical personnel being killed. Merkrates grabbed the chance to get his hands on a koltiri Physician, and dragged an empath into the thick of battle. The battles had lasted for nearly three brutal years, with the
Tigris
gaining the reputation as the most ruthless band of Trin hunters in the Systems. Empaths reflect their surroundings, and koltiri were never what they seemed. Martin supposed Eamon Merkrates loved Roxanne in his own status-hungry way, but he’d made it hard for her to take any steps back into the wider, fuller life an empath needed to stay balanced.

“I’m sorry that your first trip off the
Tigris
hasn’t exactly been a vacation,” Martin told his sister-in-law. He squeezed her shoulder. “And it’s only going to get worse before—if—it gets better.”

She gave him a direct, very lucid look. “Now you’re going to tell me why you kidnapped me, right?”

He nodded. “Reine isn’t up to the job. Besides, she doesn’t have your reputation. The
Tigris
years are useful for that, at least. Bucons respect peoples’ reps. We’re going to need all the influence we can get if Glover is going to convince the Bucons to let you heal the emperor of Rust addiction.” Other than to stiffen against him, she didn’t react. No, her dark eyes went flat and expressionless. Not a good sign. “Roxy,” Martin hurried on. “The Bucon Empire is larger than they’ve let on to the Systems, more influential among non-aligned powers than our intelligence thought. They know more about the Pirate League and have leads to the remnants of the Trin forces. The United Systems needs the Bucons, and our treaty with them has always been tenuous. Thanks to Sagouran Fever, the Bucons are waging an undeclared civil war. Half the people in the empire are Rust addicts, and the other half is dealing Rust to them. It’s chaos inside their borders. Something has to be done about it. Glover figures that straightening cut Emperor Monolem is a big step in the right direction.”

“I see,” she said. Then added, “Let him die.”

Martin’s head reeled with shock. Koltiri weren’t allowed to say things like that. Even war-veteran koltiri who’d spent too much time on the front lines. “Honey?”

“Sagouran Fever is an artificial virus, a laboratory construct. Rust is an antigen formed from the same matrix. Dee is dead because she knew this, not just because she got her hands on Rust. Can you think of anyone besides the fucking Bucons who could come up with a disease and sell its cure for profit?”

Of course he could, but Martin filed this news away, and kept calmly looking at Roxy. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have his suspicions about the plague and the way it was being spread. “We have to concentrate on what we can do,” he told Roxy. “We have to save the man who can do something about the whole Bucon Empire.”

“We?”

“You.”

“No.”

“Roxy.”

“Never mind,” she said, and suddenly drew him near. “I’m about to be too messed up to argue for a while. You’ve got the damn Sag Fever again. I can do something about this.” Her fingers slid up his cheeks, fingertips sharp as shards of bone pressed against his temples.