The Phoenix in Flight (55 page)

Eusabian looked past him. “Perhaps you will explain this?”

Tallis came forward, bowing deeply. “My lord, it is a
Dyzonian Emasculizer.” When Eusabian frowned in incomprehension Tallis hurried
on, “A male chastity device from Dyzon. It was among the artifacts we took from
the gnostor’s estate.”

The Avatar snorted, then eyed Barrodagh. “And you don’t know
how to remove it?”

Barrodagh’s stomach twisted at that strange humor narrowing
Eusabian’s eyes.

“I assume it will not impede you in the performance of your
duties?”

He’s going to have it cut off anyway!
“No, Lord!” he
protested. “It will be no trouble. I’m sure someone will know how to cut—” He
stopped, appalled at his tongue’s betrayal. “—how to remove it.” He twisted
again at the sphere, as he had been doing all the way back from the
Satansclaw
.

“I shouldn’t do that if I were you.”

They turned to Omilov, who looked back, his jowly face
somber. “You might trigger the reward circuits in it.”

“What do you mean?” Barrodagh snarled.

“If you trigger the reward circuits it will attempt to bring
you to orgasm. Since you were incautious enough to install it on your thumb, I
assume that will not be possible.” The gnostor’s grave tone, with just a hint
of irony on the last word, was somehow worse than outright laughter.

Barrodagh noticed a slight curve to Eusabian’s lips.
He’s
enjoying this.

“However,” continued Omilov, “it is designed to continue
trying until it succeeds.” He paused. “I don’t know what will happen to your
thumb in that case.”

“You must know how to take it off,” said Barrodagh
desperately.

“As I told you during the flight down, I’m afraid that my
spouse never explained that part of the device’s operation.”

Barrodagh was astonished to hear Eusabian chuckle. “That was
amusing, Gnostor. My poor Bori will be terrified now until we get it removed,
even though I’m sure he realizes as well as I do that your little speech was
pure invention.”

Omilov’s face settled back into impassivity. “Perhaps.”

Eusabian’s tone grew serious. “I trust you will not be as
inventive concerning the Heart of Kronos?”

Omilov did not reply.

“Come, Gnostor, you must know that you will tell me where it
is, whether you want to or not.”

“Yes, but honor and loyalty require my silence while I am
still able to choose.”

“Gelasaar hai-Arkad stood before me not long ago and bleated
a similar refrain. It did him as little good as it will you. His sons are all
dead, and he won’t last long on Gehenna.”

Omilov’s face revealed grief, quickly hidden.

“But you, Gnostor, have even less time than he.” Eusabian
studied him. “I see in your demeanor the thought that perhaps you will surprise
us. I’m afraid not. One of our prisoners from Lao Tse was a woman with the
interesting nickname: ‘The Spider.’”

Barrodagh enjoyed the flicker of Omilov’s eyelids. Grief?
Worry?
Oh yes, you self-righteous old fool. You will soon find out what you
have to worry about, and I intend to watch it happen.

Eusabian said, “She, too, was unacquainted with the
mindripper, which is a uniquely Dol’jharian instrument. Her introduction to it
killed her, but not before we tore her ciphers out of her. We know you are one
of the Invisibles, Sebastian Omilov.”

Tallis gasped, stepping back to stare at the gnostor.

A praerogate? Barrodagh stared. The gnostor’s portly frame
was at variance with the popular image of those most trusted agents of the
Panarch.

Eusabian smiled. “But your hidden allergy to veritonin will
do you no good at all. The mindripper works on entirely different principles,
the least of which is pain.”

He gestured to Barrodagh. “Give him to Evodh. Make sure that
my physician understands this is for information only, not for honor.”

The Avatar turned back to Omilov. “Good-bye, Gnostor. Your
useless Douloi scruples will remain intact, even as we shred your cortex. I
hope that’s of some comfort to you.”

Barrodagh grabbed Omilov’s arm and shoved him toward the
door.

Eusabian turned to Tallis. “Captain, your report of the Krysarch’s
death was incomplete. Since your action deprived me of one third of my
paliachee, to which I have dedicated twenty years of my life, I want you to
recount it now, omitting nothing.”

Barrodagh wished he could linger to watch Tallis suffer
Eusabian’s cold interrogation, but he was also hoping to observe Evodh at work.
As he pushed Omilov out of the antechamber Barrodagh wondered if Tallis would
survive. Perhaps he needed to talk to his other contact on the
Satansclaw
.

o0o

The
Telvarna
backed slowly in among the huge trees,
hovering under geeplane as it floated tail-first away from the edge of the
forest, merging with the shadows. Finally Vi’ya brought the ship down so gently
that Greywing wasn’t sure they were on the ground until the engines spun down
into silence.

The captain rested her hands on the console for a moment,
then tabbed the intercom. “Jaim, any further damage?”

“No,” came the answer. “Once we went aerodynamic I took the
hardest-hit systems off-line. But things are still chatzed up—we’ll need a
major refit back on Dis—and I’m afraid it may take up to eight hours to get the
fiveskip back to where I’d trust it. Worst is, of course, that we can’t really
test it down here.”

Marim thrust her face into the vid pickup next to Jaim’s in
order to corroborate his statement with a rueful shrug.

“All right, both of you get up here to the bridge.” Vi’ya
tapped the intercom again. “Montrose, come forward, and bring the Schoolboy
with you.” She turned to Brandon as Jaim’s acknowledgment came back.

“This is the spot you chose, Arkad. I assume you don’t
intend us to walk.” She inclined her head toward the main screen, which
displayed the broad shadowy forest corridor the
Telvarna
had backed
into.

Lokri’s chin jerked up. “Walk? We’re not really going in?”

Greywing stared at the comtech in surprise. She had never
seen him show fear before. What was he afraid of? She did not believe that it
was mere physical danger. He was always ready for a firefight, and sometimes
almost reckless during one.

“Blit!” Marim scoffed. “Want us to sit here till someone
comes after us? That cruiser, maybe?”

Vi’ya said calmly, “If either the
Fist
or the
Panarchists tracked us we’re already dead, but I don’t think they have. The
ground defense system seems to be down, and
Telvarna
is well enough
hidden. Jaim and Marim can defend it if need be.” As Jaim appeared, “The rest
of us will go inside and have a look.”

Lokri drummed one hand on his console. “We step inside the
Mandala and we’re dead.” He glanced toward Brandon, eloquent with scorn. “If
anything in there does work, it’ll be used against us.”

Jaim murmured agreement, and Ivard cracked his knuckles
nervously. Brandon sat in his pod, looking down at his hands.

“By whom, and to what end? We have seen and heard nothing of
the Panarchists,” Vi’ya said to Lokri, making a gesture toward the sky. “You
fear the Arkad will give us to the Dol’jharians?”

The twist she gave to the word
Dol’jharian
caused the
Krysarch’s intense blue gaze to shift from the captain to herself, as if he
remembered her saying about the other crew members,
They want to talk about
themselves, you ask them.
That made a new thought occur: did Lokri fear
being killed—or scanned and identified? Out of all of the Dis crew, he talked
the least about where he’d come from.

Lokri’s mouth tightened, then he shrugged.

“We will use the Arkad’s knowledge of the defense systems
and find out what is happening, or we will not be able to lift once we do
repair the engines,” Vi’ya said to Lokri.

“Maybe we’ll get that loot he promised us,” Marim said
cheerily.

While they were talking, Greywing gave in to impulse and
leaned over Brandon’s console to whisper, “She’s Dol’jharian. Birth, not
choice. Left years ago.”

The Krysarch gave her a brief, absent smile.

“So ask him,” Marim said, and everyone swung around.

“Ask me what?” Brandon shrugged, then said before anyone
could answer, “The Palace Major is about forty kilometers from here. But the
entire Mandala is riddled with tunnels, some for service functions, others whose
purpose has been forgotten and aren’t on any system maps that I know of. That
gazebo there is the terminus of one of them. The transport system will get us
to the Palace in about ten minutes.”

“A palace!” Marim rubbed her hands together, grinning. “I’ve
never been in one.”

“And you won’t this time, either,” Jaim reminded her.
“You’ll be here helping me monkey-up the fiveskip.”

Marim looked to the captain, her mouth ready to deliver a
protest, but a single nod from Vi’ya inspired instead a stream of genetically
improbable invective.

When the scout had run out of breath, if not out of
opprobrium, Brandon added, “I should be able to use my override to make us
invisible to whatever security system is still up.”

Vi’ya gazed at the screen. Just beyond the edge of the
forest, on a lawn dotted with yellow flowers, a small gazebo perched. In the
distance beyond it the greensward sloped up to gently rolling hills dotted with
small trees silhouetted against an evening-yellow sky. There were no other
buildings visible.

Vi’ya turned to Jaim. “How many hands you need?”

Jaim said doubtfully, “Well, Marim and I can—”

“One more.” Marim sighed through pursed lips, blowing tufts
of her flyaway hair. “At least one.”

Vi’ya paused as Montrose entered, one massive hand pushing
Osri before him. The captain studied Osri. “You would undoubtedly be more
liability than help with a firejac in your hands, Schoolboy. I assume you can
follow directions?”

“Yes,” Osri stated curtly.

“Good. Jaim, Marim, he’s yours. Montrose, equip a party of
six, downside interior sortie—”

“Six? The boy can watch the com.” Lokri pointed to Ivard.

“Com’s slaved to engine room,” Vi’ya said.

Lokri’s eyes narrowed.

“Ivard’s a good shot,” Greywing said, her voice sounding too
loud on the bridge. “Better aim than you.” Heat crept up her neck, worsening
when Ivard shot a glower of reproach at her.

Vi’ya studied Ivard. “You can handle it if things get hot?”

Ivard’s chin came up. “I’m part of the crew. I’ll do
whatever I have to.”

Vi’ya nodded at Montrose, reinforcing her earlier order,
then added, “Get the Arkad a boz’l.” She said to Ivard, “Go with him. Bring him
up on what we just decided.”

Montrose grunted his approval, and left, Ivard at his heels.

“C’mon, Schoolboy, we’re off to Murphy’s Kingdom.” Marim
gave Vi’ya a mock-angry scowl, adding, “And they better save us some o’ the
take.” Then the three of them disappeared.

Montrose and Ivard returned, arms loaded with gear: lumbar
supply packs, bandoliers of petards, a monstrous two-hand firejac for the big
Rifter, and five standard jacs in holsters. Vi’ya set hers for minimum
aperture, which yielding greater distance and accuracy at the cost of stopping
power. Greywing saw Brandon watching this as he put on his pack, attached the
holstered jac to its belt, and strapped on the boswell Montrose had handed him.

Greywing put her own on. She could feel the coolness of its
inductors against the inside of her wrist until it adapted to her flesh.
Somehow that made the reality of walking into danger more immediate than
strapping on her weapon, so familiar after hours of practice.

(Your ears up, Arkad?)
Vi’ya’s voice sounded inside
Greywing’s head.

(Neural induction—nothing like doing things right,)
came
the Arkad’s voice over the omniband.
(These things military-surplus?)

Only the most expensive civilian models had the neural
induction feature. Greywing wondered if Brandon was used to that—then she
wondered what had happened to his boswell.

“We won’t use these unless we get separated,” Vi’ya said out
loud. “They’re spread-spectrum, but there is no sense in taking chances.”

“That won’t work,” said Brandon. “Line of sight only in the
Palace, unless you have access to the network, and we can’t take that chance.”
He lifted his wrist. “Best these will do for us is help us keep quiet when
we’re together. “

Vi’ya frowned slightly.

“That’s what I thought you intended,” said Brandon.

“Don’t need to worry about being overheard,” began Greywing.

Vi’ya interrupted. “Set them to personal, then. Let’s go.”

“Wait,” said Brandon, hefting the bandolier, a dyplast strip
with a number of small black spheres attached to it. “What do I do with these?
I know what they are, but I’ve not been trained with them.”

“Carry them for us,” said Vi’ya. “If I need you to use one,
I can program it through your boz’l.”

On their way to the lock, a blur of white flashed past
Greywing, and Lucifur landed on his pads squarely before Vi’ya, his ears back
and his tail twitching. The captain stood motionless before the big cat for a
time, then leaned down and just touched the top of the broad wedge-shaped head.

Luce gave his ratcheting purr and with a bound disappeared
down the passageway.

Greywing’s instinct was to walk next to her brother, but she
made herself wait. Ivard took his place among the others. He hadn’t sought her
protection, so she had to stop offering it. She fell in behind.

In front of her, the Krysarch was studying the firejac
Montrose had given him. Greywing found his absorption puzzling. Had he never
seen a weapon close up? It was just like hers: a worn, scratched, but otherwise
well-maintained Dogstar LVI, just about the most common short-range plasma
weapon in the Thousand Suns.