Silence…
Contact is coming up. Downstairs, Roker is also waiting, with a finger on a trigger. Silence…Are the brethren waiting for Vaun to give a password? Or have they already guessed that he is not Prior, as he claims? Are their fingers reaching for triggers also?
Waiting…
E
VEN IN AN age when half the equipment on the planet seemed to be failing from lack of competent maintenance or lack of the correct resources or sheer antiquity…even then, the Patrol’s K47 torch buggies were so universally reliable that they carried only the simplest of emergency gear. Whichever previous owner had hot-rodded Vaun’s unit had stripped out most of that and left nothing but a simple buzz cushion and a primitive cartridge to blow it clear. Why bother? Nothing ever went wrong with a Star-seat.
Unless some maniac gave the control board a bad case of meltdown, of course…
Vaun spat into the howling ice of the wind, and coughed again. He thought he had been unconscious, briefly, but he was flying the cushion, so he must be still alive. Fortunate that sky buzzing was one of his favorite pastimes at Valhal—his reflexes were in good shape. There was a salty taste of blood in his mouth, and a red filter blurring his right eye. He felt as if he’d fallen about ten stories onto a concrete sidewalk, facedown. Ejection at that altitude and velocity was classified by the manual as “last resort.”
The world spun crazily far below him, and he fought back with muscles already numbed by cold. He dimly recalled seeing his torch dissolve in a flower of red fire that dropped smoky roots earthward. That might have been one of Tham’s missiles, or merely the self-destruct.
His left eye wasn’t much more use than the right, but through the tears he identified the familiar hills around Tham’s compound, and the lake, far below him still. He twisted the cushion and angled his dive that way.
They hadn’t shot him down, at least, and they could have beamed him easily already, so probably they weren’t going to.
Krantz!
but it was cold. He was a human icicle. He hoped nothing would freeze and break off before he landed.
Dawn flamed glorious along the peaks to the east. Good to be alive.
C
OZILY NESTLED IN a wooded valley, Forhil’s steeply pitched roofs and sheer timber walls suggested one of the Early Gilbian reconstructions favored by asteroid brokers and armament tycoons; but Forhil was genuinely old, parts of it dating from before the Stravakian Revolution. It sprawled haphazardly, confessing to centuries of indecision, yet that very vagueness—plus a mangy coat of velvety moss on all the buildings—gave it real character. It seemed almost part of the hills themselves, something that mankind could borrow and use, but had never created. In fact, in its youth there had been a substantial city here. The surrounding forest was pocked and knobbed with masonry and old cellars.
Forhil had belonged to the Patrol for several centuries, and was a traditional perquisite of the ComCom; which was likely why Tham had hung onto the post. Vaun ranked it third or fourth behind Valhal as a fitting home for a hero.
He was aware that he must be a sight as he limped across the lawn, heading for the front door. His eye had cleared, but there must be blood and bruises all over his face, and he was still coughing blood. He had ripped his shirt and some skin in a fornicating crimple bush as he landed, and twisted a knee. But at least he’d landed in one piece, and nothing seemed to have fallen off yet.
He reeked of crimple like an unwashed locker room. Why did women go for the scent? He would drive Maeve insane if she came near him now.
Stillness oppressed him as he hobbled up the wide steps to the terrace. The pool shone unrippled silver in the morning light, and the ornamental shrubs had a disconsolate droop to them, although that was likely only his imagination. Maintenance robots must still be tending the gardens, even if he could not see any. He had seen no signs of Security, either, which was hopeful. No sims, even. A dog barked monotonously from the paddocks around the back.
The absence of people was eerie. Always he had known Forhil teeming with people, boys and girls laughing and sporting on the wide lawns, in the pool, among the trees—the lucky ones of the world: politicians, aristocrats, industrailists, royalty, famous entertainers…and spacers, of course. Now the only guests were a couple of unwanted gate-crashers: Death and Admiral Vaun. Was Death inspecting the wine cellar? Trying a few idle strokes on the putting green? He wasn’t visible at the moment, but Vaun sensed the implacable presence more strongly than he ever had in his life.
Tham had had everything to live for, and all the resources of human science to help him do so. But Death was the most persistent of old friends—one who had refused to stay behind on Earth, or let mankind travel the spaceways alone. He could be delayed, but never denied.
Forhil’s main house faced squarely to the rising sun, and Vaun followed his shadow over archaic flagstones toward it, puzzled by the lack of challenge—no robots, no trained carnivores, no energy beams smoking through the shrubbery. Tham had been bluffing, maybe? And if the defense was so weak that it must use guile against a lone man, then the perfect ambush was right here, at the front door.
The entrance itself was set well back in a lofty breezeway, which had been built large enough to shelter a coach and four. Now the flat, yellow light of dawn poured in through the eastern arch, but the arch was narrower than the cobbled interior, and its sides were shadowed.
Vaun decided he didn’t like being an ambushee, even when he had volunteered for the job. He faced straight ahead when he limped through, but the corner of his eye disliked something vague in the darkness to his left. He was allowed another four paces.
“Stop right there!” a girl’s voice cried behind him.
He stopped. It was nice to be right as usual, even if he were
dead
right this time.
“Put your hands up. All the way.”
He stretched his arms overhead, and turned slowly, squinting into the rising sun.
She really was holding a gun on him. She was wearing a long, dark gown, and he still couldn’t see her clearly, except for a glint of light from the weapon. She could certainly see him.
“I’m Admiral Vaun. I’m a friend of Commodore Tham.” The words sounded very stupid, somehow. “I am unarmed,” he added, as that was probably what she was looking for.
“Turn around.”
“I’d rather be shot on this side, please.”
“
Turn around!
”
He obeyed reluctantly.
“Now drop your pants.”
“What!”
“You heard! Do it or I
shoot
.”
He did not like that sudden squeak of hysteria. Slowly he lowered his hands and undipped his belt, wondering if this was some obscure execution ritual or merely a horrible joke. His shorts fell to his ankles.
“Lift your shirt.”
This was bizarre!
“All right,” the girl said, and her tone had changed. “You’re really Vaun. I had to be sure.”
“Zozo?” Vaun crouched to retrieve his pants, wondering why he had not recognized her voice. He also wondered how many people knew of the toothmarks on his buttocks. They were a hunting accident, tolerated and retained because they amused girls, and sometimes inspired them to be innovative. If the brethren were to send one of themselves to impersonate him, they would surely be efficient enough to research his scars first.
Respectable again, he turned to meet the shadow coming to meet his shadow, wondering if she’d let him kiss her. She never normally did, unless Tham was present.
His greeting died in a croak of horror. It was Zozo. It was not Zozo. Unsteady, sagged, and
too smalll
She stooped as if gripped by an awful sickness. Something unthinkable had shriveled her face. Fried it. He mouthed her name and barely resisted the urge to step back.
A bitter smile twisted loose skin around her mouth as she registered his reaction. This cruel caricature of a beautiful girl…Someone had taken a wax doll and started to destroy it, and then stopped halfway. There were dozens of tiny, shallow grooves scored around her eyes. Her neck was crooked on her shoulders and the skin of her hands was blotchy. He had heard of this, but never seen it, not even in pictures. It was appalling. His gut knotted in revulsion.
“You don’t need to kiss me today, Vaun.”
That was a challenge, and Admiral Vaun never refused a challenge. He’d known many dares he’d approached with more enthusiasm, but he overcame his horror and tried to embrace her. She backed away. “Forget it!” she snapped. “The good times are over.”
He found his voice. “Oh, Zozo! You, too?”
She nodded, and her neck
puckered
horribly. He wondered about arms in the long sleeves, about breasts and belly and thighs, what horrors might be hidden under the voluminous gown. That wondrous fair body…Yes, there had been some good times.
Very good times. He had spiked the punch himself more than once to get Zozo. The last time, at least, she had guessed who’d been responsible. She disliked him because of it, and put up with him for Tham’s sake.
If Vaun had a gun as she did, and was dying as she was, he would certainly want to settle all his old scores before he went.
“Yes,” she said bitterly. “Now you’ve seen, Vaun. It’s true. Go away, Vaun.”
There was a shine of white at the roots of her hair that he did not understand. It repelled him as much as the crêpe skin and spidery veins…But Admiral Vaun’s poker face had lured many boys to bankruptcy, and he had never been more glad of it than he was now. “I have to speak with Tham.”
She shook her head fiercely. “My God, boy! You don’t have any human feelings at all, do you? No compassion. No understanding. You never did. If Tham had wanted to see you…if he’d wanted you to see him…Just be merciful—go away.” Her eyes glistened. Zozo had always been very controlled, an intensely private person—except when nobbled with unexpected chemicals, of course—and it was a shock to see the fear in her, the wavering, and the doubts. The hopelessness. Tham’s obscure religion wasn’t much good when the big bills came in, obviously.
“Listen, Zozo. I’m not doing this out of some misguided sense of pity or sympathy. I’m here on business, serious bus—”
The gun jerked up again, and she backed away. “Swine!” she said. The muzzle quivered.
“You don’t understand!” he shouted. His voice echoed coldly inside the great porch.
“Roker sent you!” Her knuckles on her gun hand whitened. He could see real hatred in her eyes. He would not have expected so much of it.
“No! No! Roker did this to you, Zozo!”
At least she did not fire. “What?” she said.
“Both of you?” he yelled, and continued to yell over the echoes. “Don’t you see that it’s too much of a coincidence for both of you to go at the same time? And so suddenly? Damnation, Zozo, you were both all right last week…”
She lowered the gun again. She shook her head sadly. “Roker didn’t send you?”
“I swear he didn’t,” Vaun said—more quietly, now that he was no longer a target, forcing a calm suitable for a famous hero. “It was all my own idea. I’m pretty sure the bastard is up to something. Or someone is.” He decided not to complicate things with talk of the Brotherhood. “Obviously someone has been tampering with your booster, Zozo, but if we get proper medical…”
She was shaking her head again.
And almost smiling, which looked awful. “Tham’s known for two years, Vaun.”
Two years? He stared dumbly at her smug contempt.
“Medical advised him it was having to raise the dosage.”
“But he’s not that old!” Vaun protested. Then he realized that he had absolutely no idea how old Tham was. Older than him, yes—and he would have to work it out to know how old that was—but a boy’s age didn’t matter. Or a girl’s. It wasn’t something anyone ever worried about. A girl didn’t ask a boy how old he was before she bedded him. Lots had spread their knees for their great-grandfathers, and not always by mistake, either.
But apparently his statement had been true, for Zozo was nodding. “Some people just go sooner, Admiral. The body starts resisting the drugs. You know that! The Lord grants some of us one century; others He honors with two. Blessed is the Lord!” Her voice sounded sincere, but her sagging face was bitter. “Sooner or later the Lord sends for all of us, and for Tham it was sooner.”
“Two years?” Vaun knew the chill that death gave off when it was very close. He knew he could face it without wetting his pants, but he didn’t know if he could control his bladder that way for two years. Yet Tham had never as much as dropped a hint.
Of course, if Vaun did have a weakness, it was picking up hints.
Zozo was driving away the silence with nervous words. “When the dosage becomes too high, there’s a sudden rejection. A catastrophic rejection. It happened a week ago.”
“But you? That can’t be coincidence.”
She looked down so he could not see her eyes. “We’ve been together a long time. We’re going to go together.”
He wondered if Tham knew of her decision, and what their precious church said about suicide. He also felt unusually lost. Absurdly, he was mostly aware that his knee was throbbing painfully, and he was enormously weary and hungry, as well as disappointed that his long journey probably wasn’t going to do him any good.
It was morning now and he hadn’t had his booster.
“I understand,” he said. “I admire you for that, Zozo.”
Two outright lies back to back, but she gave him a hard stare, and then said, “Thank you, Vaun.” She looked comforted, as if anyone would believe words spoken in such circumstances. “I probably didn’t have a great deal of time left myself, as I seem to be going fairly quickly. You miss it horribly at first. Every hour it shows more. I feel so tired…”
He could never remember hearing her complain before, ever. He would have expected more heroics from Zozo. When she ran out of convenient, empty words, he said, “What sort of shape is he in?”
“Tham? Hellish!” A trace of the old strength emerged briefly from the ruins as she became protective. “You don’t want to see, and he doesn’t want you to see. Withdrawal is everyone’s right, Vaun. A boy wants his friends to remember him the way he was. A girl certainly does, and you had no damn business bursting in here like this.”