The Zygan Emprise: Renegade Paladins and Abyssal Redemption (12 page)

A feral instinct overtook the Chidurian.
Matshi was no longer thinking of his partner, of Sutherland, of
death. He could only feel the waves of adrenaline pouring from his
brain and giving him a strength he never knew he had. As the next
volley of knives rained upon him, Matshi grabbed as many as he
could with his remaining hands and feet and, fastening them on his
exoskeleton so they pointed out, launched his massive torso at his
smaller opponent. Matshi landed directly on top of Ulenem, the
knives piercing the Assassin’s chest like a bed of nails falling
sharps-down from a painful height. Ulenem’s final scream faded as
his celadon-colored blood washed over Matshi and drained on the
floor of the skinos to merge into a Chidurian purple as it blended
with Sutherland’s red heme.

Shaking, Matshi rolled off of a now-still
Ulenem and lay on the ground, breathing heavily. He had lost two
limbs, but not his life. But he had not managed to escape grievous
tragedy. He had killed his partner and his friend.

Chapter 6

Purgatory

Chidurian Enclave, Zyga—present day

When the next morning arrived, and Matshi and
Ulenem hadn’t, our anxiety was in the stratosphere. Nephil Stratum
had turned a charcoal gray, the Ytrans were locked in a death grip,
and Eikhus was dripping himself all over our already cold and damp
feet. Even Sarion had stopped making jokes.

Spud kept rubbing his eyes and temples with
his long, delicate fingers. I was too nervous to sit, and paced the
room, annoyed to be sloshing through former bits of Eikhus. I’d
been hoping that our emissaries would be as successful as the
Hellenic warriors that had emerged from the original Trojan Horse
to verse Paris’ minions. Hadn’t our History uploads given the
Greeks the victory in that legendary war?

“You’ve read the
Iliad
and the
Odyssey
. The Greeks won, right?” was my rhetorical question
to my partner.

Spud leaned back in his chair and grunted as
he stretched his long legs. “Only Odysseus finally made it
home.”

“And that comforts me how?” I said,
irritated.

Spud only stretched and grunted once
more.

Nephil Stratum finally spoke. “Maybe it’s
time to go to the Omega Archon.”

We all sat up at that one.

“Well, he
is
the head of Zygint,” she
defended. “Let us think strategically. You’ve got at least two made
moles on the inside, Benedict on the attack, and his lieutenants
playing football with your timelines. Why the hell not?”

“You put your finger on it right there,” I
muttered. “Hell. Do you know what he’s going to do to me? Losing
Sutherland, DNA muting, unauthorized Off-worlders running
God-knows-where around ancient Earth. I’m looking at a week in the
flames easy.”

“Not so easy,” Sarion jibed, mimicking
Suthsi’s lilting tones.

I gave him my coldest glare.

Eikhus said, “You could explain …”

“Never complain; never explain,” Spud
interjected in his most prep-school English accent. “Rush is right.
Better we try going back in ourselves.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Matshi! We all turned to look at the door
with relief—and then shock. The warrior was missing two limbs, and
he leaned precariously on the jamb to maintain his balance.

I couldn’t resist running to him and giving
him a hug. My American upbringing comes out at the worst times. He
winced as I brushed against his seeping wounds. Eikhus and I
quickly led him to a chair where he could rest and Setsei served
him a tall glass of Chidurian ale.

“What happened? Where’s Ulenem?” We asked
anxiously.

Matshi raised a bleeding hand. “Ulenem,” he
began weakly, “Ulenem … gave his life in the service of
Zygfed.”

We all stood stunned for a good minute, then
Suthsi let out a sob. “Such a heartbreak.”

“What happened?” Spud’s voice was even.

Matshi drank some more from his glass,
swallowing each sip slowly before answering.

“I was searching for Yeshua’s DNA—”

“Yeshua’s dead?” Spud’s voice was a little
less even.

“No … no,” Matshi paused, then shook his
head. “Not that I can say for certain. And before I got back, he,
um, Sutherland, Sutherland attacked him. I tried to help but it was
too late … they were gone …”

“
Sutherland
is dead?!” Spud’s voice
was definitely not even.

Matshi looked at him, four eyes flaring.
“Yes, Sutherland is dead.” The Chidurian downed the rest of the ale
in one large gulp. “And he took my best friend with him.”

* * *

Ulenem’s body, fully covered in a white
kaffahn, an Izmali burial shroud, lay next to Sutherland’s in an
adjacent chamber of Matshi’s kalyvi. I stood quietly by the
Assassin’s side for a few minutes, grateful that his shroud kept me
from witnessing his face in death. Grateful that Ulenem’s eyes
could not bore into mine and further jab my aching conscience. If I
had not taken the bait at Io, Ulenem would still be alive.

Eikhus had already notified Ulenem’s family
on Orion Alpha, the largest planet orbiting Orion star Saif al
Jabbar. They were on their way to Zyga to take their prodigal son
home. Matshi had intended to stay and greet the family, but his
blood loss had weakened him severely, to the point that even Spud
was insisting that the Chidurian seek medical care immediately.
Sarion and the Ytrans agreed to accompany the less-than-willing
Matshi to Nejinsen, Zyga’s largest and most renowned hospital,
while Eikhus and Nephil Stratum awaited the Orion Alpha family’s
arrival at the kalyvi.

Our own mission somewhat back on track, Spud
and I were now tasked with delivering Sutherland, in his admittedly
less than ideal condition, to Zygint. I turned away from Ulenem’s
body and saw that Spud, bless his steel heart, was busy inspecting
Sutherland’s corpse. I didn’t dare ask if he’d already done a
similar examination of the Assassin.

I did ask, “Why the frown?”

Spud shook his head. “It is nothing. Nothing.
Let us go.”

Our mood somber, my partner and I tractored
Sutherland’s body to Zygint Central, where after extensive WHO and
NDNA scanning, we were admitted to the ultra-secure Administrative
complex on the 14Tth floor, and directed to the morgue where
Forensics relieved us of the corpse.

Our next stop would be with the Headquarters
team in Debriefing. We’d rehearsed our story thoroughly. Ward
Burton had rescued Sutherland from our clutches at Earth Core and
had fooled us into thinking we were actually transporting
Benedict’s henchman to Zyga. We didn’t discover the deception until
after we’d left the Sol System. Not wishing to show Wart our hand,
I did a little undercover detective work—no need to elaborate how
or where—and found that the real Sutherland had been sent back to
Phoenicia to get Yeshua. So, we raced back to Phoenicia, caught the
Andart again, and were transporting him to Zyga when we’d hit
unmapped dark matter turbulence at Ganymede. Sutherland, still
stunned, had been unable to brace himself as our ship rolled, and
met his death from a loose strut that had slit his throat. I saw no
reason to tell Headquarters about my having recruited the “Lost
Boys” for assistance, a fateful decision that had regrettably led
one of them to breathe his last.

We’d even downloaded the DNA records of the
victims of the temple fire from Matshi’s Ergal and turned them in
discreetly for Temporal Disturbance Analysis. Did Sutherland’s
fateful arson at the Temple murder a scholar who might either have
been critical to Earth’s history, or might have lived to father a
descendant who was? To our relief, the analysis confirmed that the
unfortunate victims had been religious celibates, and that their
premature deaths hadn’t resulted in a significant disturbance in
Earth’s timeline.

And, as for Yeshua? Well … as our assignment
had demanded, because of our “success”, the river of Earth’s time
would continue flowing unchanged. We had, after all, no evidence
either in the ancient past or our modern present that Yeshua was
dead.

The mystery of why Yeshua wasn’t dead was one
that we chose to avoid answering, or even asking, ourselves. How
could the youth have survived Sutherland’s inferno? Where did he go
during and after the fire?

Temporal Defense Team Leader Juan de la Cruz
was somewhat sympathetic as he processed our reports. He’d had a
few missions go off track himself over the hundreds of years he’d
been a Zygan Intelligence catascope. With great heaviness in our
hearts, we described Wart’s suspected betrayal in getting
Sutherland back to Tyre through the temporal vector shield. I did
have a moment of pleasure identifying Wart’s contact at
Headquarters, Carlton Platt, as a traitor. The debrief team seemed
understandably distressed to discover that Zygint Central itself
had been formally infiltrated. Juan immediately commed Security and
demanded Platt’s arrest.

A few hours later, we had finally finished
our debriefing and stood up to leave. Juan thanked us both warmly
for our dedicated service, and we started for the door.

“Oh, Rush,” Juan added as I neared the exit.
“His Highness wants to see you.”

I froze, terror-stricken. Spud looked at me,
and then looked away. I said nothing for a few moments. Finally, I
ventured in a tremulous voice, “You don’t have any idea what he
wants…?”

Juan shook his head. “He doesn’t tell me his
business. I’m sure he’ll let you know.” There was a hint of
sympathy in his voice.

“Uh, sh-should I set up an appointment?” It
was worth a try.

“He’s waiting now,” Juan informed me, to my
great distress.

Survive first, then face the music.
John’s words guided me yet again. I guess it was time for me to
start my dance. I took a deep breath, and, patting Spud on the arm,
I turned to Juan. “Okay. Let’s get it over with.”

* * *

The Omega Archon is reputed to have an
infinite number of reception suites, each designed to make visitors
from a universe of planets feel at home. Or, more likely, he
anamorphs his chambers and changes the molecular pattern and
appearance of his reception areas so they’d look homey and familiar
to each guest. Just as he does with himself.

Every Zygan who has had the ‘pleasure’ of
meeting with His Royal Highness has a slightly different perception
of Zygfed’s leader. Tlhlns think he looks Tlhlni. Angonians,
Angonian.
^xvi
For Spud, the Archon is
a six-foot human king, decked in opulent Louis XIV robes and
wearing a sparkling bejeweled crown. For me, the Archon always
dresses in office casual and sports a pair of tortoise shell
glasses. Frankly, he really should wear a muscle shirt and jeans,
but then maybe I wouldn’t be intimidated by him as much any
more.

I sat stiffly on the stiff couch in “my”
reception suite until His Highness entered. I stood up out of
courtesy, and he greeted me politely in unaccented American
English.

“Good morning, Ms. Rush.”

“Good morning, Your Highness.” I took my seat
again as he eased into a leather office chair opposite my sofa.

“You do know why you’re here.” Short and
sweet, as always.

I forced a smile. “Mission accomplished?”

Silence. Only silence.

After a few moments, I couldn’t stand it any
more. “Don’t I get any credit for finding the two moles?” I said in
desperation.

“We have been aware of the infiltration at
Central for quite a while,” His Highness informed me, to my
surprise. “And we’ve been managing it.”

I frowned. Had Juan known about the traitors?
If so, then why did he act like he didn’t?

The Omega Archon took off his glasses and
polished the lenses casually with a linen handkerchief. “But, you
are correct, we hadn’t ID’d Ward Burton as the double agent.”

It was my only chance. I didn’t mince words.
“If you all had, then maybe we wouldn’t’ve gotten into the mess at
Io in the first place, I wouldn’t be here, and—” I stopped myself
before saying, “Ulenem wouldn’t be dead.”

For a few seconds, I felt the Archon’s neural
probe invade my brain. Apparently satisfied with his search, he
turned back to using his voice to communicate.

“One week,” he said coldly.

I gulped. I had realistically expected a few
hours in Hell … but a week?! “But, but—” I stuttered.

“Ms. Rush, catascopes are not excused from
the regulations of the Federation. Your transgressions include
abandoning your assignment, unauthorized access to Zygint,
unauthorized muting, relinquishing your Ergal to mercenaries,
abetting unauthorized time-travelers, and the list goes on.” The
Archon looked at me steadily, his tone firm. “Violations of the law
result in consequences.

“You are encouraged to know the rules—not
make them. This is not a democracy, understand?”

I nodded, endeavoring to calmly return his
gaze. Finally, he stood up. “That’s all.”

I tried to stand but my legs were shaking.
The Omega Archon turned his back and walked out of the suite
without another word.

The pain began as soon as he left the room. I
gritted my teeth and clenched my fists, but the burning was
agonizing, my entire body was on fire. I rolled on the floor and
curled into the fetal position, writhing on the shag carpet. It
took only a minute for my defenses to become overwhelmed and,
against my will, I began to scream.

* * *

Spud looked almost as pale as I did when I
staggered out of Central an hour later. My muscles were still
trembling and weak, and I fell into the soft coolness of the cloud
tufts with a sigh of relief and closed my eyes.

“It’s been over an hour,” Spud said, his
voice wavering.

“He gave me a week.” My time ‘in stir’ seemed
short to others, but as the Omega Archon had launched me into my
own special punitive time loop, I had felt every minute of the ten
thousand that made up a week.