The Dragon Circle (39 page)

“Hot springs?” she asked the air.

No answering voice, just a sensation of a nod of agreement.

She'd have to remember the hot spring when the rain chilled her to the bone.

“A fire. Konner said I could start a fire by sparking a rock off the knife blade.” If there was any wood dry enough to burn.

Cautiously, she broke a path back to the clearing, being careful to avoid the fronds of the plant she named saber ferns. Beneath some of the taller shrubs she spotted small twigs and branches that had broken off in an earlier season. These she gathered. By the time she made one full circuit of the clearing, she had an armload of bigger branches.

“Now if only I can remember the formation for the most efficient fire.” She'd aced the classes on survival. As she'd aced all of her classes and graduated a year early. So why had what she had learned about fires slid out of her brain like hot grease poured down a drain?

“What good was it to finish at the top of two classes and be denied assignment for years?” she muttered the old grief. Flying admin touch screens for four years while training on every vessel in the fleet and earning graduate degrees did not advance her career. Space time alone granted promotions. Well, she had some space time now and look where it got her. Stranded on a bush planet by her own flesh and blood.

“I'll get you for this, Brothers O'Hara. One way or another I'll see all three of you mind-wiped or dead.” Resolutely, she set about stacking her wood. When she ran out of fuel, she sat back on her heels and admired her construct. Text book construction. But would it work?

(
May I light this for you?
)

Kat looked up and stared straight into the swirling eyes of a red-tipped dragon, steam trailing from its nostrils, teeth longer than her knife blade dripping with saliva.

She fainted.

L
OKI GRABBED the latch. He had to help the trampled crew woman. The rest of the mission had to wait. Hestiia followed him into the corridor, right on his heels. She stared about anxiously as Loki stooped to touch the stranger's neck.

Her pulse beat strong, if a little too fast. Her eyelids fluttered.

“Let me help you up,” he said quietly, hoping for a soothing tone. He checked her insignia and name tag at the same time.

She opened her eyes and gasped. Her eyes threatened to roll up in another faint.

“I won't hurt you. My word of honor,” Loki protested. He grasped her elbow and lifted her.

She scrambled to pull away from him.

“SB Lee, compose yourself,” he ordered.

She nodded at his authoritative tone, blinking her almond-shaped eyes rapidly and chewing on her thick lower lip. Then her expression brightened.

A lone straggler hastened down the corridor, checking monitors every ten paces. He had a duffel matching SB Lee's slung over his shoulder.

Lee shrugged off Loki's helping hand and rushed to the newcomer's side. Jabbering explanations, they turned away from Loki and Hestiia. They seemed more interested in finding an escape vessel than reporting the presence of intruders.

Loki breathed a sigh of relief.

When the IMP couple disappeared around the curve, Loki led his troops toward the center of the ship.

They made good progress in the outer level. As they climbed, gravity lessened. At first the bushies smiled and bounded from corridor to corridor. They hopped and rebounded, delighted with the lessening gravity.

The next set of stairs upward gave them all fits until Loki got behind and pushed everyone and the sleds up. Then the fun began. All seven of Loki's charges began bouncing off bulkheads, ceilings, decks. They abandoned their sleds in order to experiment with the novelty of micro gravity.

Normally reserved and thoughtful, Hestiia turned a double somersault in midair. She quickly learned that she could increase her speed by grasping her knees and tucking her head.

Poolie walked delicately upside down. She took small, mincing steps and managed to maintain her orientation.

Niveean, a stout and seasoned warrior, lost his lunch in a cross corridor.

Loki stood back and watched for several minutes. As much as he wanted to rush to finish his job, he knew his helpers needed time to learn to move without the anchor of gravity and the orientation of a horizon. A few moments of play now might save them an hour of mishaps later when the sleds were laden with precious crystals.

Two dozen IMPs jogged toward them. At fifteen meters' distance, they stopped abruptly and brought their weapons to bear. Counter-grav equipment gave them stability in the .3g sector.

Loki gulped.

“State your business, bushie,” the sergeant spat. His voice sounded a lot like one of his weapons would when he pulled the trigger.

“We're crew, in native disguise. Deep cover. We're salvaging for dirtside survival. Commander Leonard's orders,” Loki returned. He refrained from saluting.

“Command code?”

Loki spat back the data stream he'd gleaned from Kat's mind. The one that opened the launch bay doors.

The sergeant nodded abruptly and signaled his men forward. They pushed past Loki and his natives, weapons shouldered.

At least some semblance of military discipline remained, even if it was lax. Leonard should have changed the command codes.

“You'll never be experts, but I think you can manage in null g now.” Loki called his group together. “Follow me, move cautiously. Remember the bounce is strong. Keep your movements small and slow.”

They had a few mishaps on the journey inward. The sleds did not want to move straight, especially up stairs. Niveean never did find a firm orientation and retched three more times before they reached the crystal room. He continued to plow forward, a small measure of the courage bred into him by centuries of warfare. A warrior endured pain and privation in order to protect his honor and those he held dear.

The chaos of the IMPs fleeing a sinking ship looked organized compared to the mess in the crystal room. Six techs flew, literally, from crystal to terminal to workbench and back again. They rebounded expertly into proper trajectories, grasping familiar handholds to brake or redirect their flight. Fiber optics, cables, and tools trailed in their wake, presenting hazards to the unwary. One woman worked frantically at a terminal trying to become the king stone for this array. The expression on her face showed the strain of thinking and entering commands at speeds beyond normal human capability.

Hestiia watched them with her mouth half open. Awe brightened her countenance.

Twelve beautifully clear, green crystals dominated the room, each a meter high, bigger around than a blacksmith's well-muscled upper arm, and sharply faceted. The bright glow of life had burned low in their cores. Unless their connection to a king stone was restored soon, they would die. Loki had to get them back to the clearing quickly and reconnect them as a family.

“If you are trying to stabilize
Jupiter
's orbit, your job is futile,” Loki announced to the techs.

“Fearsome Kahli!” one exclaimed. “It's him again.”

“The O'Hara,” stated another.

“Stinking bushie!”

At the last insult, anger burned Loki's cheeks. Every one of the men and women in their ugly khaki coveralls had the short, compact stature of civils, civilized citizens of the GTE. Sonic bathers.
Dome breathers.

“I'll have you know that I bathe every day in real water with soap,” he replied coldly. He could not give in to the temper that demanded he lash out with fists and feet. Too much depended upon getting the crystals safely back to the clearing.

Loki moved to the first driver crystal. Konner had disconnected them. The stones would not lash out with burning energy if disturbed. He twisted the first one and lifted it out of its socket. Tens of meters of fiber-optic cable attached to it tangled between the stone and its designated computer interface.

“Stop that. You're killing the ship!” A tech tried to pull the green crystal from Loki's grasp.

“That is the idea, odiferous civil. This ship will crash and you and your mates will be stranded dirtside forever,” he snarled. He jerked to his left, pulling the stone away from the tech. The abrupt movement sent him spinning.

Niveean stopped Loki with a strong hand.

The tech hit the bulkhead. His head slammed against the unforgiving walls with a sickening thud.

“Techs, take care of your buddy. Time for you to join the rest of the rats fleeing this ship,” Loki ordered.

If a person could scuttle in null g, the techs managed to give that appearance as they hastened to take one of their own to the nearest medical facility.

Loki gently placed the crystal on the sled. The fiber optics tangled and coiled around his feet.

“May I assist?” Hestiia asked. Even before he could answer, she began separating the fiber optics at the source.

In a remarkably short time, Hestiia had untangled the cables as if working with a very fragile yarn.

The woman at the terminal continued her futile task, never looking up. Every micron of her attention belonged to her task.

Would she even notice when her green crystals left the array and she had nothing left to command?

“This is for your own good, ma'am.” Loki pressed two fingers hard against her jugular vein until her head lolled forward. Before she could recover consciousness, he lifted her from her chair and placed her outside the room, slumped against a bulkhead.

Then he exhaled sharply. Followed by a deep inhale. He felt better. His mind cleared of the red mist of anger.

“Hestiia, you and Poolie work on the cables . . . er . . . ropes.” He had to remember to use vocabulary they understood, though they learned fast. Faster than some civils. “Men, you free the crystals, carefully wrap the ropes around each one and load it onto a sled.”

They obeyed without question and treated the crystals with care and respect; more so than many civils would have.

“Well done, my friends. Now we have to get them back to the launch bay. Avoid contact with any of the . . .” How to describe the IMPs? “The Others. These stones are very valuable. They will help defend the Stargods and our people in the weeks to come.”

They all nodded solemnly. Hestiia and Poolie both placed a hand flat against their bellies in an instinctive protective gesture. Time to get them back into gravity. Too much time in null g during gestation kept babies from developing correctly.

The corridors seemed more crowded on the return journey. Perhaps because Loki tried to avoid contact. He feared an overzealous Marine might try to retrieve the crystals. Niveean, the warrior, became their lookout. He directed them into shadowy hiding places Loki never would have considered viable.

They had just crept out from one such alcove beside the hatch they needed to take them back to the launch bay when a woman in a bright suit of fashionable cut stepped in front of them. Her blonde hair looked as if she'd combed it with her fists. Creases marred the sharp tailoring of her trousers. Scuffs showed on her dainty boots.

She pointed a needle pistol at Loki's eyes.

“Hello, Cyndi,” Loki gulped.

“Bastard bushie. Why are you trying to kill me?”

(I
RYTHROS.
)

“Is that a name?” Kat mumbled. She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to acknowledge that she had fainted or why.

(
Yes.
)

A pregnant pause. The voice waited for a reply.

“Kat Talbot, Lieutenant JG assigned to IMP Cruiser
Jupiter.
Helmsman.”

More silence.

“Not enough? Yeah. Mari Kathleen Talbot.”

(
O'Hara.
)

“O'Hara by birth, not by choice.” Kat opened one eye warily. She still saw the dragon. Immense. Shimmery in the fading light. Red outlined its horns and wing veins. It blinked a translucent membrane over the red-and-silver eyes. The swirling pupil opened wide, drawing her into unknown realms of thought and imagination.

She slammed her eyes shut against the invitation to trust her soul to this creature's scrutiny.

A sense of hurt and embarrassment spread outward from the back of her neck.

“Sorry, critter, but my thoughts are my own. You may not have them.”

The dragon lowered its head. In acceptance? Or to skewer her with the spiraled horn on its forehead?

She scrambled backward rather than take a chance. She found the knife still clutched in her left fist.

Konner had said she could defend herself against animals bigger than herself with it. She snorted in derision. The knife would prove useless against this beast.

“What do you want from me?” She sat up straight. The dragon did not come any closer. Rolling to her knees and then her feet, she kept the knife ready. She figured the half-furled wings would be vulnerable. If she damaged one, the beast would not be able to take wing and follow her through the underbrush.

Provided she could get away before it flamed her. The smoke kept curling from its nostrils in mute reminder that it liked to eat its meals cooked.

“What do you want from me?” she repeated.

(
To help.
)

Puzzled, Kat stared at him, braving those hypnotic eyes. “Why?”

(
You are of the blood of the Stargods. You need help. I must aid you.
)

That made no sense at all.

“I am not even certain I believe you exist. Why should I ask for help?” Dismissing the beast as an obvious hallucination—prolonged exposure to the alien air must have made her feverish—Kat knelt before her pile of brush, picked up a nearby rock and struck it against her blade.