Alien Chronicles 3 - The Crystal Eye (46 page)

The sergeant shot him in mid-sentence, blasting a lethal hole in his chest.

Shouting in fear, the rest of the squad tried to scatter, but the sergeant shot them all in quick succession.

Behind him, a lieutenant came running in. “Sergeant, what is the meaning of this? Who ordered shots fired?”

“Sir, it’s the Dancing Death. The abiru have set a trap for us. I—”

The lieutenant shot him down, leaving the sergeant sprawled in the doorway of the warehouse. Stumbling back along the loading dock, the lieutenant found his heart beating frantically and his air sacs booming within the confines of his helmet. He snapped his visor shut in reflex, even as a corner of his mind told him that was no protection against the plague.

I didn’t go in,
he told himself, trying to believe he had a chance.
I didn’t get too close. I didn’t go in.

“Sir?” said another sergeant from the second squad which had just flown up. “We heard shots fired.”

The lieutenant stopped running, but his heart went on racing. “Report in to headquarters,” he said breathlessly. “The plague has been released. I have killed the others to stop it from spreading. The Bureau must be informed at once—”

The officer in charge of the second squad shot the lieutenant where he stood. “Back away!” he shouted, gesturing frantically. The shuttle reversed directions at once.

As it flew off, siren blaring, the officer called in a report, giving instructions for the street to be sealed off immediately. His tongue was a knotted coil in his mouth, and his air sacs seemed unable to inflate. Inside he was thinking,
I
didn’t get too close. I’ll be safe. My squad is safe. We didn’t get too close.

By mid-morning the next day, the street in question had been barricaded and the warehouse was burning down. A shuttle had flown overhead shortly before dawn and bombed it. Now scientists in bulky environmental suits were laboriously scanning the area, checking for contamination.

Israi’s council had convened, and the chancellors and ministers were all but in a panic. Temondahl was trying to calm them with his usual platitudes and assurances, but his voice had no effect.

Israi herself was in a rage. Pacing up and down, ragged after having had no sleep, she cursed Ampris from the bottom of her soul. “There is no plague,” she said furiously, silencing them at last. She glared at their frightened faces. “It is a trick, a cheap abiru trick.”

“The Dancing Death has been released,” Oviel said from where he was standing with the silent attendants. He was not supposed to speak at this meeting, but it seemed he had forgotten that. “And now the sri-Kaa is dead. Perhaps his fever was—”

“No!” Israi said, appalled that he would suggest a connection. “Be silent, Oviel. You know nothing about this matter. Your imaginings only make things worse.”

“Perhaps Lord Oviel is correct,” quavered Lord Brax. Normally puffed up with assurance and self-conceit, this morning he looked seriously shaken. “Perhaps it is spreading through us all—”

“You forget that we know the mind of this traitor Ampris,” Israi said icily, interrupting him before he could panic the whole room. “She would never dare—”

The door opened and Lord Nalsk entered. Garbed in black, his throat encircled by a plain brass collar, the head of the dreaded Bureau of Security came striding in unchallenged.

Israi faced him with relief. “Lord Nalsk, good,” she said. “We know you will put an end to the council’s fears.”

“The problem has been contained,” Nalsk said. His eyes, piercing and always suspicious, swept the room. “The warehouse is destroyed. No contaminants have been detected in the surrounding area.”

A sigh of relief passed through the room.

Israi shoved her own relief aside. She’d known Ampris wouldn’t carry out her threat. Ampris had always been soft-hearted. Oh, she might growl and show her claws, but she did not have a ruthless bone in her body. As a bluff, it had almost worked, but now the Aaroun would find out how costly her ploy had been.

“But, Lord Nalsk,” Brax said worriedly, “there seems to be a possibility that the sri-Kaa’s fever was this—”

“No,” Nalsk said firmly. “Forgive me for interrupting you, Lord Brax, but such a rumor is unfounded. The physicians examined the sri-Kaa carefully.” As he spoke, his gaze drifted momentarily to Israi’s stony face. “His heart had been weak since birth. It could not sustain him. The plague did not cause an imperial death.”

Murmurs swept the room, while Israi stood there with her hands clenched on the back of her throne. As soon as she could command her legs, she moved around the throne and sat down. Holding her head high, she glared at them all.

“Lord Nalsk,” Israi said, regaining his attention. “Although the scare has proved to be only a bluff, such a threat to the empire cannot pass unpunished. Have you arrested Ampris?”

“We have not yet found her, your majesty,” Nalsk replied. He made no excuses for his continued failure to smoke her out. It was not his way.

Israi’s rill stiffened, but she dared not berate him. “If you cannot find her, then turn your attention to the ghetto. All abiru there are to be deported immediately. Not just the troublemakers—anyone you find. If anyone resists or tries to flee, shoot them.”

“Very well, majesty.”

“But—but—” Lord Temondahl sputtered.

Israi glared at him. He always tried to meddle when she needed to be strong. “Yes, chancellor?”

“Does this edict apply to our servants as well?”

“The Imperial Majesty specified the abiru living in the ghetto,” Lord Nalsk replied for her. “Do your personal slaves habitually go there?”

“No!” Temondahl replied in affront, his normal composure slipping. “Of course not.”

“Then do not fear on their behalf. Have I the Imperial Mother’s leave to go?” Nalsk asked.

She nodded, grateful for his ruthless efficiency. She had already asked him in private to become the lord commander of the Viis army. He had refused, saying he had more power in his current position. She did not feel entirely easy about that, but for now he was her ally and she was satisfied.

As Nalsk left she faced her council. “There is nothing to fear,” she said. “Make sure the rest of our court does not panic.” Her gaze went to Oviel’s face and grew hard. “We need no more false rumors besetting us during our time of tragedy.”

Oviel dropped his gaze. His rill had turned pink, giving him away. Israi loathed him and wondered how hard she would have to negotiate with Lord Nalsk to arrange for Oviel’s permanent disappearance. As much as she wanted to demand the elimination of her despised egg-brother, she was leery of putting herself too deep into Nalsk’s debt.

The council rose to its feet at her dismissal. She let them bow to her, then walked out through their midst, heading back to where the mourning silks hung in her chambers and were draped across the door leading to the nursery wing. Lady Lorea was waiting for her to make a choice on the funeral arrangements, and Israi wished she could flee into her gardens and be lost for the rest of the day. No parent should ever have to arrange a funeral for a little chune, she thought; it made the world seem as though all order had been turned upside down and nothing would ever be right again.

Israi was napping that afternoon, exhaustion having claimed her at last, when Chancellor Temondahl came and awakened her.

Confused and groggy, Israi sat up among her cushions, waving away the slaves who had been fanning her. Another came with a tray of wine and chilled fruit, but Israi did not want it.

“What is it now, chancellor?” she asked wearily, yawning and stretching her arms.

Temondahl did not look well. His rill was stiff behind his head, and his eyes held shock. “Terrible news,” he whispered as though his voice had failed him. “I regret to bring more terrible news to your majesty.”

Her head was aching. The room was too hot. Why had the slaves allowed the air to grow so stuffy? But even as the impatient thought ran through her mind, she knew the answer. Lady Lorea, still distraught over the death of little Cheliharad, had forgotten her normal duties and had not remembered to remind the slaves to keep this room cool.

“We are tired of receiving bad news, chancellor,” Israi said irritably.

“Forgive me.” He paused a moment, filling his air sacs. “Patrollers have come across three corpses in the abiru ghetto. A Kelth, an Aaroun, and a Myal.”

“Abiru die all the time there,” Israi said impatiently. She yawned again and beckoned to the slave who held the tray of wine. Sipping from her jewel-encrusted cup, she wished Temondahl would get on with it. “Just say what you have to say.”

“Their bodies were twisted and stiff. Clearly they died in terrible agony. Their eyes were frosted white.” His voice was unsteady and he paused to swallow. “The signs of plague are unmistakable, majesty. The Dancing Death has indeed been released in Vir by your former pet.”

CHAPTER
•TWENTY

“Chaos has erupted across the Viis districts of the city,” the reporter’s voice said, tight and crisp. On the vid-screen, only the flushed color of his rill gave his emotions away. “Shops and businesses are closing. Please be aware that aristocrats have first right of way in all traffic situations. You must yield to their shuttles and litters. All citizens are reminded to remain orderly and to obey all traffic and transportation rules. Further information will be forthcoming in the following public announcement from Lord—”

Israi gestured and a slave hurried to switch off the vid. Around her, slaves and attendants were rushing to pack her belongings. The palace was in chaos. Most of the courtiers had already fled, only to find themselves caught in the massive traffic jams at all city gates, or to be stranded, unable to hire shuttles to transport them safely out of the city.

Lady Lorea came hurrying up to Israi and bowed. “Majesty, the ladies in waiting for the imperial nursery report that all chunen are packed and ready for immediate departure.”

“Do not let them board yet.” Israi said.

“But, majesty, they are—”

“Not yet.” Israi flicked out her tongue, and Lady Lorea bowed and backed away from her.

A tap must have sounded at the door, for slaves opened it. Israi was not sure how anyone could hear anything in the commotion.

Lord Nalsk strode in, his black clothing a sharp contrast to the vivid colors worn by the ladies in waiting. They shrank back in surprise at his entrance, and the room fell abruptly silent.

Israi turned and watched him approach her. Normally no male except her chancellor of state could enter her private apartments uninvited and live, but normalcy seemed to have left them forever.

“Lord Nalsk,” she said.

He stopped and made his obeisance. “Majesty, I have been in discussion with a delegation of scientists. Ehssk and his colleagues, to be precise. They wish an audience with your majesty.”

Israi flicked out her tongue. “They are too late. We are on the verge of our departure.”

“If your majesty will wait and see them.” Nalsk said, his tone insistent. His piercing eyes never left hers. “This is important.”

“More important than escaping the plague?” she asked sharply.

“Far more important,” he replied.

Though extremely annoyed, she went to her study and received the scientists. Ehssk bowed low to her and stepped forward as the delegated speaker.

“Majesty,” he said in greeting.

She looked at his embroidered coat, with its cuffs turned back almost to the elbows. His pewter rill collar was studded with pale, semi-precious stones too large for good taste. She wondered if he thought he was dressed in accordance with court fashion. Next to the other scientists, in their plain coats and unadorned rill collars, he looked absurd. Given the circumstances, his finery seemed in even worst taste than usual.

“Speak quickly, Ehssk,” she said. “We have little time.”

“Thank you, majesty, for giving us this audience,” he said, and the others bowed again behind him. “We have come to assure the Imperial Mother that there is no plague. At least, it is not the Dancing Death.”

Astonished, Israi leaned forward in her chair. “What?” Her gaze shot to Nalsk. “But the report of the dead abiru—”

“Perhaps a bit premature,” he replied smoothly. “Chancellor Temondahl has been shaken from his usual composure by the combination of recent events. It was unwise of him to alarm the palace so thoroughly.”

“Indeed.” Israi folded her hands in her lap and flicked out her tongue. Her gaze, cold and hard, returned to Ehssk. “Go on.”

“You see, majesty, the victims were of assorted abiru species. A Kelth, an Aaroun, and a Myal. Not one Viis death has been reported—not one. I personally have examined the corpses, and while their symptoms are similar to those associated with the Dancing Death, the fever which killed them is something else entirely.”

“Are you sure?” Israi asked him.

“Oh, yes. You see, majesty, abiru cannot contract the Dancing Death. Nor can they transmit it to us. Whatever has struck the slave population, it cannot pose any danger to the Viis citizens.”

Her gaze moved to the faces of the other scientists. One of them she recognized, although she did not remember his name. The others were strangers to her. They looked respectable and knowledgeable. Ehssk, of course, had been the preeminent expert and authority on the Dancing Death for decades. She had no reason to doubt his findings.

A shiver passed through her, and she unfolded her hands. They were clammy and cold from nerves, she realized. For the first time it became clear to her just how frightened she had been.

Frightened over a false scare. A slow, simmering anger began to build inside her. She had come within half an hour of abandoning her palace and her capital city to the abiru. Their trickery was vile indeed. And Ampris was far more clever than she had realized.

“Thank you, Ehssk,” Israi said graciously. “Your warning has come in time to save us great embarrassment. We shall not forget your service.”

“The Imperial Mother is very kind,” he said with too much eagerness. “About my—”

Nalsk stepped forward, signaling the guards at the door. “If you will show these delegates out,” he said.