The Thirteenth Man (9 page)

A large, imposing man stepped out from behind the throne, having entered the hall via a private doorway behind the dais. Again the hall erupted into chaos, and as the chamberlain slowly restored order, Charlie and Goutain studied one another. Goutain was tall, close to two meters, athletically trim, though showing the signs of middle age. When Charlie looked in his eyes he saw only hatred and contempt. The Syndonese dictator probably blamed him for the failure of his last war, and Charlie realized that Goutain would let nothing stand in the way of revenge. In that moment they both understood that one must eventually kill the other.

“We have, this day, signed and placed Our seal upon documents declaring a mutual defense pact with the Republic of Syndon, and to that end We appoint His Excellency as king's representative and viceroy of the new province of Aagerbanne.”

The eruption this time was thunderous. The lord chamberlain rapped his staff repeatedly on the floor to no effect. In the midst of the noise Charlie looked into Lucius's eyes and calmly said, “Your Majesty, may I ask a question?”

Lucius couldn't hear him, so he leaned forward, cocked his head, and put a hand to one ear. He said, “What?”

That simple action, that visible indication that something more was happening, slowly brought about silence in the great hall. Charlie kept his voice low, though it seemed to echo throughout the room. “Your Majesty, you would appoint a viceroy who has violated king's law by bringing an armed presence into Turnlee nearspace?”

Lucius shrugged. “You're impudent to suggest he's broken king's law, Commander. Like others present here today, his personal ship is armed, and he has my permission to ensure his own safety with its presence.”

Charlie knew he had to take a chance now, take a guess and pretend his knowledge was far more definitive than it was, hoping to get Goutain to reveal his hand. “I'm not speaking of his personal ship, Your Majesty. I'm speaking of four Syndonese warships in close orbit around this planet, and a troop carrier that is, at this moment, landing armed Syndonese regulars in the vicinity of this palace.”

Even Nadama jumped to his feet this time, shouting with all the rest, and it was clear that Goutain had played them both for fools. If Goutain could take the palace, take Lucius and the Nine and their heirs as prisoners, he'd have the entire Realm in his hands.

Goutain threw his head back and laughed, then he shouted, “Silence, you fools.”

His voice carried above the noise and he got his silence, though a background buzz of fear permeated the tomblike stillness of the hall. “Commander Cass, I owe you a great deal.”

“What is this?” Lucius demanded.

Goutain said to him, “Shut up, you idiot.” Then he looked over his shoulder, called out, “Tagama,” and a Syndonese officer appeared at his side, a pistol held in his right hand pointed at the floor. Pointing at Charlie, Goutain said, “Kill him, now.”

The Syndonese raised his pistol, and Charlie knew he had no chance of pulling the small gun that Pelletier had given him quickly enough to save himself. There came a thunderous report and Charlie flinched . . . only to see the Syndonese officer, as if swatted by a giant hammer, topple backward into the drapes behind the throne. Charlie looked up, saw Add had her pistol out and had beaten the Syndonese to the shot. She fired a second shot at Goutain, but he was already moving and disappeared behind the throne. Charlie spotted another Syndonese with an automatic weapon to the left of the throne; the fellow started spraying rounds at the Nine. At some point Charlie had drawn his pistol, though he didn't consciously remember doing it. He aimed, pulled the trigger, and as Pelletier had warned him it kicked like hell and made a lot of noise. But the Syndonese went down.
Eight shots then throw it away.

Seven to go.

At the entrance to the hall an explosion blew the massive doors off their hinges, throwing shrapnel through the crowd. Charlie stayed low, and using the panicked crowd for cover he pulled out the small recording device, pressed the record switch, and shouted into it, “Sucker punch, sucker punch, sucker punch.” He felt the heat of it even before he tossed it aside and scrambled up to the gallery where Cesare had been seated.

The hall filled with smoke and energy bolts tore up the decorations as Charlie dove behind the now empty seats of the Nine, where he found Roacka waiting. “Lad, I scrambled 'em as soon as I saw Goutain.”

Charlie grinned. “And I just sucker punched 'em.”

Roacka didn't grin back. “Cesare's hurt, piece of shrapnel. Don't know how bad.”

It was as if all the adrenaline suddenly drained out of him.

“Take me to him.”

 

CHAPTER 9

ESCAPE FOR SOME

A
s soon as Roacka had gotten confirmation from Darmczek that the bogies were Syndonese, he'd had Pelletier put Cesare's entire guard contingent on alert. There was a private entrance hidden behind the drapes in the ducal gallery, and the guard had just reached an anteroom there when the shooting started. Roacka led Charlie into the anteroom as Pelletier was issuing orders to set up a defensive perimeter. Charlie spotted Arthur kneeling beside an unconscious Cesare as a medic worked on him. Charlie put his hand on Arthur's shoulder. “How bad?”

Arthur looked up. “Thank god you're here. He'll live, but it was close.”

The building shook from an explosion somewhere as Charlie took a head count. Faggan was dead; Telka's heir was dead; Harrimo's heir was unlikely to live out the hour, and barring a few nasty but non-­life-­threatening wounds the rest of the Nine and their heirs were all present and would live. “Where's the royal family?”

No one answered him. “We have to find the royal family. We can't let them fall into Goutain's hands. Roacka?”

“I'm with ya, lad.”

Dieter elbowed his way through the crowd of nobles. “I'm taking command, Cass.” He turned his back on Charlie, told Roacka, “Have your marines secure transport. We need to get off planet as soon as possible.”

Roacka spoke carefully. “Your Lordship, I have orders from His Grace, Cesare, to take orders only from Commander Cass.”

Nadama stepped up beside Dieter. “See here, Roacka—­”

“Enough,” Telka shouted. The plump little woman's eyes were puffy and red, her cheeks glistening with tears shed for her dead son. “Nadama, why were you not surprised by any of this? I think it's clear you had something to do with it, so I, for one, will not be comfortable taking orders from any de Satarna.”

She and Nadama faced off in what Charlie knew was an old argument. Charlie ignored them, turned to Pelletier. “I need two of your best ­people, armed.”

“Right away, sir. But we'll have an extraction team here in five minutes.”

Charlie shook his head. “Too long.”

Pelletier nodded, handed Charlie one of the little fake recording devices. “It hasn't been used yet. When you find them, hole up someplace, scramble it, and we'll send a team after you.”

“You can't go without us, little brother.” Charlie turned around as he shoved Pelletier's device into his pocket, found Add and Ell standing behind him. Add said, “Someone has to come along to take care of you, since you'll probably stumble and shoot yourself in the foot.”

“You know, sister,” Ell said, “I could just shoot him in the foot now. Then he wouldn't go running off and getting into trouble. He'd be so much easier to take care of that way.”

Charlie growled, “Shoot me after we've got the royal family.”

Add looked at Ell, one eyebrow raised skeptically. “I think he just wants another kiss from that princess.”

Charlie, Roacka, the twins, and the two troopers headed back to the ducal gallery, moving cautiously. The great hall itself was filled with smoke, debris, and a number of bodies, but otherwise empty. The building shook again to a large explosion as they crossed the floor to the throne, leapfrogging in strictest military discipline. Charlie stepped over the body of the Syndonese officer behind the throne and through the private entrance there. He found a short, dark little passage that led to an anteroom not unlike that behind the ducal gallery. It was empty. Roacka was about to proceed on into the corridor beyond when Charlie had a sudden idea. “Wait.”

As boys he and Arthur had taken great joy in exploring the servant's passages throughout Cesare's estates. And thinking back to the corridor where Del had kissed him, perhaps she'd done the same. Charlie turned to a wall covered in velvet drapes, pulled the drapes aside, and yes, he found a servant's entrance. He opened the door carefully, stepped into the corridor beyond looking both ways; it was empty. Perhaps he was wrong.

“Little brother.”

Ell squatted down and examined the floor. She rubbed her fingers along a dark smear there, lifted them to her face, sniffed, and announced, “Blood.”

They continued down the corridor, Ell leading them by tracking the occasional smear of blood. The trail led to a door about twenty meters down the corridor, labeled
Maintenance Supplies
. Charlie opened the door slowly . . . nothing. He stepped through, only to be assaulted by a raging storm of fists and claws and petticoats, and he went down with Del on top of him. Add saved him by plucking her off him as if she weighed nothing. Del struggled like a puppet for a moment, then realized who they were. “Oh, thank god it's you.”

Add let her down and turned to Ell. “Is that how they kiss? A rather violent form of affection, don't you think?”

They'd found Delilah with Martino and Adan, but no sign of Lucius. Blood streamed from Martino's nose, the source of the smears they'd tracked.

Del said, “The bloody drunken idiot fell down and bloodied his bloody drunken nose.”

“T
here's a large Syndonese strike force incoming, Commander. Someone gave them Turnlee's encryption keys, so they've got access to the local command grid. They'll be inside long distance bombardment range within the hour.”

Goutain's plan had been to take Lucius and the Nine and their heirs as prisoners, use his hidden firepower to hold the planet long enough for a much larger force to arrive and secure his position. But Charlie's
sucker punch
had worked. Darmczek had nailed the four warships without a fight, and got the troop carrier before it landed all its troops. The two hundred regulars that Charlie had at his command had outnumbered the Syndonese decisively. But when Goutain's strike force arrived that situation would change.

“I will not leave without my husband,” Adan screamed. They had yet to account for Lucius.

“Mother, please,” Del pleaded. “Don't you understand? If he has father he has the king. And if he kills father, then he has nothing. As long as he doesn't have Martino, then he must keep father alive. But if he has Martino also, then father is a dead man. We have to do as Commander Cass says and evacuate before the Syndonese strike force arrives.”

Adan screamed at Del, Del screamed at Adan, and Martino took a sip from a small flask. They were all standing in the royal apartments, trying to get Adan to see reason. Charlie turned to a marine medic and whispered, “I need a palm patch. A sedative. Three of them. Something that won't react with alcohol,” he glanced knowingly at Martino, “but something that'll put them down fast.”

The marine grinned. He handed Charlie three small patches, started to explain, but Charlie growled, “I know how to use the damn things.”

He selected one and slapped it hard between his palms to activate it. He was careful to keep the active surface away from his own skin as he marched up behind Adan, who was busy arguing with Del. He pressed the patch carefully against the side of Adan's neck. It pulsed underneath his hand as she turned on him indignantly. “How dare you? You have no right . . .” She hesitated, then her eyes glazed over and Charlie caught her as she fell.

He lowered her carefully to the floor. “Bag her up and get her out of here.”

He turned toward Martino, who offered him a drink. Charlie smiled as he pressed the palm patch against Martino's neck. Martino went down like his mother and Charlie turned to Del.

She held her hands up and backed away from him. “Charlie, you don't need to sedate me like that.” Their eyes met and she seemed to read his thoughts. She shrugged and laughed. “Then again, it'll be easier for you if I am sedated. No chance I might turn hysterical at an inopportune moment, eh?” She curtsied. “Commander, I capitulate.”

She rose and approached him confidently. He raised the palm patch toward her neck, but she caught his wrist. “No. I'm told it leaves a mark. And I'm so vain.”

She turned to one side, swung a hip toward him, angled in a way that no one else could see. She started raising her skirts and petticoats, exposing first her leg, then her knee, then her thigh, and lastly some rather enticing undergarments. “I think I'd rather have it here,” she said. All he could say was something to the effect of “Uhh,” and while he stood there speechless she grabbed his wrist, pressed his hand with the palm patch against her bared thigh, and closed her fingers, forcing him to squeeze her skin in a most inappropriate way. “I like that much better, don't you? Sometime I'll have to show you . . . if it sca . . .” Her eyes glazed over and Charlie didn't have the presence of mind to catch her as she fell. Thankfully, Ell stepped in and scooped up the princess effortlessly.

With Delilah in her arms, she turned to Add, shaking her head sadly. “Little brother is involved in the strangest courtship ritual I've ever seen, sister.”

C
harlie strapped himself down in the acceleration seat in the shuttle. “It's gonna be close,” the pilot shouted as he firewalled the grav drive and lifted them straight up off the lawn. “
Defender
reports a big transition flare at the edge of the system.”

They'd evacuated everyone of importance to their respective flagships, and though he'd tried repeatedly, Charlie couldn't get an update on Cesare's condition. After that Charlie had remained on planet with the marines to sweep the palace and its grounds. Still no Lucius, and no Theode either. It would be ironic if Charlie were killed trying to save the two ­people for whom he had no liking.

As commanding officer of the ground operations, through long habit he'd hustled everyone else off before jumping on the last boat out. But in the confusion there'd been a mistake: the last boat had already gone out with no room to spare. He and twenty marines had wasted precious minutes finding something to get them off planet. All they'd found was a mere shuttle, not a gunboat: no firepower, no powered shielding, no serious internal gravity compensation, able to drive at no more than about six gravities. It was a bad mistake, perhaps a fatal mistake.

“They're leapfrogging,” the pilot announced as he lifted the shuttle's nose.

Like everyone, the Syndonese were blind in transition. It would be suicide to enter Turnlee nearspace on transition drive. The gravitational distortions within the system would warp their heading into the nearest planet or asteroid, and blind, they'd have no way of knowing how to compensate, or even if they needed to compensate. Standard operating procedure was to down-­transit at the edge of the system, then spend hours, even days, driving inward on sublight drive. But the Syndonese were leapfrogging: down-­transit one ship at the edge of the system. That ship, no longer transition-­blind, immediately launched its navigational drones to extend its baseline, then uplinked accurate navigational data to the remaining ships in the strike force, who themselves continued with confidence into the heart of the system at transition velocities. At hundreds, even thousands of
lights
, such ships could cross the breadth of the system in minutes.

“It's a big strike force. I've got thirty, maybe forty transition wakes entering the system. Darmczek's engaging them.”

Charlie had a situation summary on the screen in front of him.
Defender
was already long gone with Cesare and the other VIPs aboard. Darmczek had left a small destroyer in orbit around Turnlee to pick them up, then had taken the rest of the flotilla outbound to take potshots at the incoming Syndonese: still in transition and temporarily blind, they were defenseless.

“Big transition flare in near orbit, Commander. A Syndonese, close in, and he came out of transition shooting.”

“We're not going to make it out of here,” Charlie shouted. “Take us to ground now. Advise Darmczek and tell him to disengage and take care of himself.”

The shuttle suddenly lurched badly and listed to port. Charlie didn't need the pilot's “They're firing on us, sir,” to know what was happening.

Charlie gripped the arms of his seat. The shuttle lurched again into a wild spin. The pilot managed to pull them out of it, but they were canted at an odd angle, and Charlie didn't need readouts in front of him to know they were losing altitude in a sharply slanted dive with only a few hundred meters to a very hard landing. He braced for a crash, tried to think of something nice, like Del's kiss maybe. It had been a nice kiss. And he did rather enjoy applying the palm patch to her thigh, and . . .

H
e had no sense of time. He'd been in the dark so long that time no longer mattered. At least someone had shaved off his beard and cut off the matted, lice-­infested, shoulder-­length hair, though he still had about a two-­day growth of beard. Oh, but his face hurt. And his leg hurt, and his arm hurt, and his ribs hurt.

First the arm, his left arm. He explored it carefully with his right hand. It was crudely splinted, so it must be broken. The realization struck him that he wore no manacles, and he was no longer on the chain with his comrades.

He was lying on his side so he struggled to a sitting position. His right leg throbbed painfully. He found that the leg of his trousers had been torn away, and in the dark he could feel a line of crude stitches running up the calf about six inches long. Next he carefully explored his face. The right side was oddly misshapen, and he guessed that his cheek and the orbit of his eye had been shattered. Also surrounding the damage were a number of deep gashes that had been crudely stitched up.

He needed to urinate badly and stood carefully, trying to put as little weight as possible on his right leg. He explored the limits of his cell by touch, and in the dark he had to forcibly remind himself that he wasn't in a Syndonese prison camp. That was his past. Then again, perhaps it was also his future.