A Covenant of Justice (7 page)

The hulking lizards stopped when they saw the tableau before them: one knife held to Zillabar's throat. Two needle-guns held to her lolling head. She babbled incoherently. Against the walls, the insect attendants twittered and fluttered uncomfortably. Without orders, they wouldn't—
couldn't
—act. Sawyer rolled a fallen guard over; he plucked the gun out of the dead Vampire's hand.

The Dragons stumbled to an uncertain halt. They hesitated.

Three-Dollar said, “If you shoot, she dies. Do you want that stain on your honor? Drop your weapons.”

Still, they hesitated—

“Drop them or she dies!” Three-Dollar ordered.

Two more Dragons pounded into the room, colliding into the others. The Dragon Lord came in after them, pushing to the front. Sawyer recognized him instantly, so did the others. He straightened up abruptly, bringing his weapon around to bear, already wondering if the smartbeam of the needle-gun had enough power to stop or even injure the great lizard. Maybe they could stun him. But what about the others?

Three-Dollar held the knife to the Lady's throat, tilting her head upward with it. “Tell your men to drop their weapons
or she dies
.”

Nothing about the Dragon Lord's demeanor betrayed his uncertainty, but he stood frozen in dismay. He had never even conceived of such an impossible situation as the one confronting him now. He stood like a rock while his brain raced.

As if to underline his point, Three-Dollar pressed the knife hard against Zillabar's unconscious throat. A single drop of red blood glistened for an instant, then rolled delicately down across her icy skin, leaving a dark angry stain.

The Dragon Lord hung his head in recognition. He gestured to his troops. “Put down your weapons. The safety of the Lady takes absolute precedence. The Dragons looked to him for confirmation.
“Do it!
” he roared suddenly. At least, now he had a target for his anger. At least, he could control his troops. The Dragons pointed their rifles to the ceiling, switched off the arming circuits, and locked the safeties in place. They dropped their heavy weapons to the floor with a loud clatter.

“Kick them over here,” Three-Dollar ordered. “All of them.”

The Dragon Lord nodded to Captain Lax-Varney—the soon-to-die failure, Captain Lax-Varney. The smaller Dragon saw no escape. He began reluctantly pushing all of the heavy rifles out toward the center of the room with his foot.

Sawyer shoved his needle-gun into his belt and stepped cautiously forward; he scooped up one of the cannons, grunting at its weight. “Holy shit. This thing could probably poke a hole in a small moon!” He pointed it at the guards. “Take off your armor now.” He unlocked the safety on the weapon. It made a terrifyingly loud click. He punched the arming circuit. The weapon emitted a high-pitched whistle as it charged itself anew.

“If you fire that in here,” cautioned the Dragon Lord, “you'll risk punching a hole in the hull of the ship.”

“I doubt that,” said Sawyer, “or you wouldn't have issued these weapons to your troops. Dragons do not have a reputation for either caution or intelligence. Take off your armor, all of you.”

“A Dragon never takes off its armor,” said the Dragon Lord, “and certainly not in front of a human.”

“I wonder what the other Vampires will say when they hear that your refusal caused the death of Lady Zillabar.” Sawyer fired a single precise shot. The sound of it crackled in the air like an explosion. And when the other Dragons looked around, Captain Lax-Varney tottered on his feet, a smoking hole sizzling in the exact center of his chest. Lax-Varney collapsed to his knees clutching himself in pain, then laboriously struggled erect again. “No problem,” he said, waving off help. “No problem. He has scorched my armor, nothing more.” And then he collapsed again to the floor, this time to remain motionless. He looked dead. None of the other Dragons paid him any heed. They had already discarded him. Perhaps his death would satisfy the needs of honor. But probably not. The rest of them would probably have to die as well.

Sawyer reset the targeting on the weapon. “I'll fire the next shot at full power. At this range, who knows what effect that'll produce? I admit to considerable curiosity.”

“You can't succeed, you know,” advised the Dragon Lord.

“I have died five times over, m'Lord,” Sawyer responded with a courteous nod. “At this point in life, my only interest lies in seeing how many others I can take with me the next time the opportunity arises. I should dearly like to have you accompany me to hell. Not every human arrives with a Dragon escort.” He gestured with the rifle. “The armor, now.”

“Never.”

“Then you'll have the Lady's death-stain on your name!”

“Then I'll go down in history as the greatest Dragon of all.” The Dragon Lord spread his legs wide apart. Still keeping his gaze focused on Sawyer, he hung his head low. His huge jaws parted and a terrifying rumble came issuing from deep in his throat. The sound had a terrifying edge, menacing and guttural. The Dragon Lord's eyes had taken on a quality of madness.

Sawyer had heard stories about the Dragon roar of madness, he'd never actually heard it until now: the Dragon's death-warning. A Dragon would take the posture and let himself succumb to his emotions. He would stand and roar and build up his rage until it consumed him fully. When a Dragon did this, he became invulnerable to fear, to pain, to wounds of all kinds. When the rage finally overpowered him, he would attack and keep attacking until he destroyed the target of his rage or it destroyed him.

Sawyer knew he had to act quickly. He had to dissuade the death-rage before it erupted into a blind killing frenzy. He'd already seen an ordinary Dragon in action; he had no desire to witness at first hand the furies of the Dragon Lord. He cried, “Dishonor! Dishonor! Death-rage now will dishonor your name, your family, the Dragons, the office of Dragon Lord! Death-rage will dishonor all dragons everywhere. Death-rage brings dishonor now!” He glanced back to the others.

“You shouldn't have asked him to take off his armor,” Tuan said.

“Now you tell me.” Sawyer turned back to the Dragon Lord. He didn't know if the giant beast had understood him or not. He didn't even know if the creature had heard his words over his own roaring.

He checked the charge on the rifle. Yes, he could bring the monster down if he had to. But if the Dragon Lord erupted in a berserk fury, so would his troops, and Sawyer knew he couldn't stop them all if they charged.

Without thinking about it, he slapped the controls of the gun, setting the beam for wide-angle, emergency discharge. He fired—

—the blast resounded throughout the entire ship. The defocused beam of the weapon leapt out, spreading a crackling blue nimbus across the entire arc of fire. The Dragons reeled as the smart-energy sought out its targets: their electronics, their augments, their nervous systems. They staggered under the impact, several of them collapsed to the floor. The Dragon Lord blinked, disconcerted, his death-rage interrupted, possibly broken.

—and still the spray of fire continued! Sawyer reeled under the strain of the weapon's fury. He had no idea that the Dragons charged their weapons so high. They must have some kind of ultra-powered fuel cell that even he didn't know about. He should have suspected it by the effectiveness of his first shot. One by one, the Dragons tottered and fell. It sounded like a forest collapsing around them. The crackling energy flickered over their bodies, hungrily drawn to the electrical fields in their armor, their nervous systems, their brains. It would not stop until it had discharged itself into those targets. The Dragons twitched where they lay.

—and then, finally, the weapon fell silent. Exhausted, depleted. Sawyer had pumped its entire reservoir of energy into the hapless Dragon Guard.

“Did you kill them?”

“Maybe. I don't think so. Dragons don't die easy.” Sawyer threw the cannon aside and grabbed two more. One he slung over his shoulder, the other he hefted. He scrambled for an ammo belt. Tuan and Lee shoved their needle-guns into their shirts and did likewise, each one grabbing one weapon to use and a spare to carry. The rebellion had learned to gather weapons wherever they could, and old habits died hard.

Three-Dollar dumped Zillabar into Finn's lap, tying her in place with her own red diplomatic sash. He grabbed a cannon-rifle of his own and hung another one on the back of the wheelchair, plus several belts of extra charges. Then he pointed his weapon at those still remaining, set his beam on wide and fired. Despite their armoring, the weapons couldn't withstand the assault. They melted into slag. Sawyer's ears began to hurt from all the noise.

“The bridge!” said Lee. “If we can seize the bridge—”

“Let's not get grandiose,” said Sawyer. “Let's just get off this ship.”

“This way,” pointed Three-Dollar. He steered the wheelchair toward the door. “Sawyer, take the point. Lee, cover our butts.”

The men circled the twitching Dragons warily. The seizures afflicting the great beasts had left them helpless in their own vomit. Their sphincter muscles had also relaxed and they had fouled themselves with their own urine and feces. The horrendous stench filled the chamber. The rebels hurried out quickly.

Ahead, the brinewood-paneled corridor stood empty. An alarm clanged insistently, but no one came running to meet them.

“To the left,” said Three-Dollar. “To the shuttle-bay.”

Sawyer grunted and quickly headed left. The others hurried after, Tuan covering Sawyer, Three-Dollar steering the wheelchair, Lee dancing backward behind them.

Two insect attendants stepped out of a door. They looked surprised at seeing the men escorting Zillabar. They fluttered their claws nervously. “Get back!” Sawyer motioned them back into the chamber. The door slid shut behind them and the men hurried past.

“Why didn't you kill them?” asked Three-Dollar.

“Why kill slaves? They haven't hurt us.”

Three-Dollar grunted.

“What does that mean?” Sawyer called back over his shoulder.

“You begin to show signs of a conscience, Sawyer. That does not bode well for your peace of mind.”

Sawyer shook his head in annoyance. “Thanks for sharing that.”

“To the right, now!” directed Three-Dollar. “This passage should lead directly to the shuttles.” They ducked into a corridor that curved sharply around to the right, bending with the shape of the vessel's hull. “I don't like this,” muttered Sawyer.

“They'll have no more visibility than us,” said Tuan.

“I didn't mean the corridor,” Sawyer replied. “This whole thing seems too easy. Why haven't they pursued us? No, this escape has too much convenience. It smells bad.”

But even as he spoke, a squad of Vampires—more of the Elite Guard—came hurtling around the curve of the corridor ahead.

“You spoke too soon,” called Lee.

Sawyer didn't waste time answering; he flattened himself against the wall and started firing immediately. So did Tuan. Bright blue fire punched through the Vampires' fragile bodies; it splattered off the walls. Screams and smoke and ricocheting pieces of metal and flesh filled the corridor. “Shit!” said Sawyer, and kept on firing. Wherever something moved, they blasted. Behind them, Lee-1169 began firing steadily at attackers from the rear—Vampires or Dragons, Sawyer couldn't tell.

William Three-Dollar grabbed the Lady Zillabar's authority bracelet, yanking it off her arm. He began shouting quickly into it in the Vampires' own language: “Don't fire! Don't fire! They have the Lady Zillabar! They'll kill the Lady Zillabar! Don't fire! Stop all firing! Evacuate the shuttle-bay or they'll kill her! Do it now!”

Abruptly, the firing from behind them stopped; either Lee-1169 had successfully beaten back their attackers or they had heard Three-Dollar's frantic message. Sawyer would have bet on the latter.

Unfortunately, whoever still blocked the passage ahead had not yet gotten the word. Intermittent fire still came splattering off the walls ahead of them. Sawyer ducked a ricochet. His skin stung sharply with the effects of the electric spray.

Three-Dollar punched up another channel and began grunting commands in the Dragons' own guttural language. “Don't fire! Don't fire! No dishonor. The Dragon Lord allows it. No dishonor! Let them pass! Save the Lady's life! Let them pass!”

A moment later, the corridor fell silent.

“Come on,” said Three-Dollar, pointing ahead. “Let's get into a boat before one of those damn reptiles starts thinking for itself.”

Halfway down the corridor, another alarm went off. This one rasped with the sawtooth-edged note of ship security. Behind them, they could hear the security doors slamming solidly shut, one after the other.

“Someone finally got smart,” said Lee. The men ran as fast as they could toward the last door, the one leading into the shuttle bay. Sawyer fired ahead, hoping to disable the mechanism. The door hesitated—

Sawyer leapt through, then Tuan. The door hesitated again—Three-Dollar pushed the wheelchair into the bay and jumped through after it, with Lee close behind. The door slammed shut behind them.

Sawyer and Tuan moved into the long corridor cautiously, wondering how many Dragons and Vampires lay hiding in the passages that branched off to each side. Each tube led down to a different shuttleboat.

“Which one?” asked Sawyer.

“Any one,” guessed Tuan. He pointed. “This first one?”

“No,” said Three-Dollar. “If they've booby-trapped any of them, they'll have rigged the ones closest to the door. Let's go forward. Lee, watch behind!”

Sawyer pointed to Tuan. “What how I do this.” He unclipped the safety cover from the external launch panel, turned the arming key, and punched the red panel. The starship shuddered as the first shuttleboat leapt away. “Launch them all as decoys. They'll cover our escape.”