Requiem for Anthi: Anthi - Book Two (26 page)

“Eighty-five-niner clear,” came a voice over the crackle of an outside communications line.

Startled, Asan jumped and whirled on Udge, who shrugged and turned down the volume.

“Just listenin’. Most of it’s been subspace chatter up till now. You know, the kind of stuff that’s probably just an old-fashioned radio signal from a primitive planet wantin’ to know if anyone is out there. But this sounds local.”

“I think it is,” said Asan. “Keep it on.”

“Eighty-five-niner. This is
Moonskimmer
reporting in. Full orbital sweep. No enemy craft at maximum scanning range.”

“Look again,
flin-face
,” muttered Udge. “We’ve got better range on them, but not by much.”

“They won’t be expecting anyone from this trajectory, but keep a close eye on them.”

“Yeah, yeah. Why do I feel worried? Three people and one ole tub flyin’ right into a whole nest of GSI. Sure we can slip in under their noses. Sure we can.”

Asan grinned at him. “Getting edgy, Udge? You’re a general now, remember. Or in the local lingo, a cintan.”

“General sounds better.” Udge scowled at the scanners. “And I think I want a raise. I must really be under a brain-twist. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be within parsecs of this place.”

Then he glanced up straight at Asan and said, “Go back to your cabin, take off that weird gear, and get some sleep. You look like hell. When we’re ready to make an orbit, I’ll call you ’cause I don’t know how to do that.”

Asan grinned self-consciously and stood up. “That bad?”

“Your nerves are hangin’ out all over the place. Flake down. We got nothin’ to worry about against these bloatwits.”

It was stupid to argue. Asan sighed and left the flight deck. But as he made his way back to the claustrophobic confines of his cabin, he knew Udge was wrong. They had plenty to worry about. Not just from the GSI occupational forces, but from everyone else as well. So far, he hadn’t figured out a way to tell Udge that most of Ruantl wouldn’t be on their side.

The shuttle climbed slowly, gaining just enough altitude to skim the ascending ridges that became foothills and then the jagged peaks of the Tchscos themselves.

Asan held the controls although he could barely wedge his long body into the cockpit. He was sweating heavily behind his mask, and his tunic was damp against his skin. The shuttle’s climate controls were set as low as they would go, but the interior of the cabin remained too warm for leadweave clothing.

Behind him, Zaula in her cloak and mask and Udge in his gear suit sweltered in silence. Now that they were actually going in, there seemed to be nothing to say.

Glancing down through the small port on his left, Asan saw a lake gleaming in the narrow folds of a valley. Borlorls surfaced, blew, and dived under again with powerful thrusts of their hind flippers. He smiled, remembering the first time he had seen that lake. He had been dying, and Giaa had sat beside him, talking about the wildlife to distract him from his pain and fear. Now he was the one who must be strong.

“Cockpit to cabin,” he said over the com. “Approaching stronghold at E.T.A. forty-five seconds. Brace yourselves for possible attack.”

There was a muffled acknowledgment from Udge, then almost without warning the shuttle sailed over a crest, and there were the burned-out remains of the transport pad below.

Attempts had obviously been made to clear away the blackened debris from the Bban assault. Functional transports looking battered and shell-pocked were parked in the midst of wrecked hulks blasted apart by explosives.

Men ran across the pad as Asan flew over, and there was a flurry of activity as some archaic artillery pieces cobbled together struggled to set aim.

He landed fast, squatting the shuttle straight down almost on top of them before they could fire. As a precaution, he flipped a toggle and ran out starboard and port gunnery. The men scattered, abandoning their posts.

Asan drew in a deep breath, checking his mask to make certain it was secure. Then he cut main engine power, and the loud roar became a decreasing whine. The cabin depressurized rapidly, hurting his ears. He unbuckled his harness and eased himself out of the cramped cockpit.

There could be no doubts now, no second guessing his decisions. If he were still Tlar leiil, he would soon find out. If not, he would probably die as soon as the hatch opened.

With strifer in hand, he headed back toward the hatch. Udge was already beside it. Zaula stood out of the way, knowing better than to interfere.

Udge’s face was only a shadow behind the polarized face plate. “This is stupid,” he said. “Your boys don’t act too friendly toward us. They’ll pick us off the minute we step out there.”

“What do you expect? We’re in a human craft. As soon as they see me, they’ll hold fire.”

“You hope,” said Udge.

Asan hit the switch, and the hatch locks sprang open. The steps lowered into the thin, slanting rays of Ruantl sunshine.

Pitching his voice in command tone, Asan shouted,
“Hu’t, kai! Choi’heirat el da-uun
. Asan walks with you once again. Victory is ours!”

Udge, pressed out of sight on the other side of the hatch, spat and said, “Modest, ain’t you?”

“Shut up.”

Asan waited a moment, his heart hammering as he gave them time to pass the word. Now he had to gamble. Slowly, holding his breath, he moved into sight and stood there framed in the hatchway long enough for the hidden warriors to have a good long look.

No one fired, and he managed to start breathing again. It was still tempting to raise his force field, but he held back. He went down the steps and stood free of the shuttle. Not a warrior was in sight. Silence ringed him except for the harsh cry of a pyr flying overhead. Wind, bitter cold, plucked at his cloak, pulling it back so that the decorations were revealed on his chest.

When nothing happened, nothing at all, Asan frowned inside his mask. Had the Tlar’n already surrendered to the GSI? Was there nothing to save? He felt suddenly ridiculous.

“Well?” said Udge.

“Stay out of sight, damn you!”

“You ain’t gonna go in there alone.”

Asan pointed at Udge without looking at him. “Stay.”

He started forward, walking as a Tlar leiil must walk, head high and strides long. His cloak billowed and whipped around him in the mountain cross-currents. His sword hung heavy upon his hip. The strifer, awkward and ill-fitting in his palm, was held out in plain sight ready to shoot the first one who tried to jump him.

Twenty meters short of the huge metal bay doors set into the side of the mountain, he was met by a cadre. They wore plain black uniforms; their masks had no lines of caste or house. He smelled Bban musk and swallowed hard. But he never altered pace or acknowledged them.

He was two steps short of the man in front when the cadre parted in silence to let him pass. But like a murmured whisper behind him as he stepped into the cold, shadowy interior of the caverns, he heard the words: “It is Asan.
By’he
, he has returned.
N’a en wulrad
, Asan.”

The cadre fell into step behind him like an unofficial escort. Asan stopped gripping the strifer butt quite so desperately.

The whispers echoed through the caverns, bouncing back to him, then fading away. He heard the running patter of feet far in the shadows away from the glow of light cubes shining in the main tunnels. Inside, his heart leapt with every step. The Bban’jen were wearing uniforms again. His people had united. Now they could accomplish something.

Ahead stood four sentries in square guard formation. These were Tlar’n. Three of them wore the symbols of Soot’dla upon their masks. The fourth was from the House of Spandeen. They stood at stiff attention, and they did not move aside from the entrance to the cavern of M’thra.

“Asan?” said one.

“It is so.”

“From a
n’ka
transport?”

As delicate as it was, the questioning was still an indication of distrust that worried Asan.

“I left in such a craft. Why should I not return in one?”

“Wait,” said the spokesman. “When the council has finished, then—”

“Chi’ka!”
snapped Asan in anger. He swept his hand out, palm down. “Asan does
not
wait.”

He strode forward, but the guards did not step aside. Beyond their shoulders, he could see into the large cave where warriors were packed in all the way to the walls. In the center, where the four crystal cases had once rested, a select group now formed a council. Asan could not yet see who they were, but he could hear impatient murmurs from the watching crowd. The guards were not going to move out of his way. In one more step he would bump into the spokesman. He gathered his rings, ready to use whatever force was necessary to join that council.

But just as the blue haze engulfed him, the guards parted for him to pass.

“If Asan must walk, let Asan walk,” muttered the Spandeen spitefully.

Asan strode into the cave as though he had not heard, but the comment added to his worry. He had lost respect during his absence. But if they thought they had a chance to beat the humans without his help, then they’d better think again.

The chilly cave stank with too many bodies, old incense, and Bban musk. Light cubes shone starkly upon the masked faces. Some of the Bban’n were swaying back and forth with the hoarse chant,
“Choi-hana, a’jen. Choi-hana chi.”

The din was so loud, Asan could not hear the debate of the council. But several members were gesturing angrily at one another, and Dame Agate’s face was as cold as the desert itself. Like her, the other council members did not wear their masks, and Asan recognized some of them: Unar of the Mura-an, Rroge of the Spandeen, Uxe Ggil. The rest, Bban and Tlar, he did not know.

Rroge was saying, “We must give her more time. She has risked much in going to the
n’kai
to parley—”

“She will betray us again,” said Unar.

Several shouts rose up from the watchers at this. When they were quieted, one of the Bban elders leaned forward.

“Dame Aural is great, and her word is true. We have the evidence of her favor with Anthi. Let there be no words said against her.”

Asan stiffened, and despite himself, his stride faltered. So Aural was claiming credit for bringing Anthi back online. And because of that, she had everyone tied up in a neat package sitting here ready for delivery into GSI hands.

He had advanced into the rear ranks of the crowd, but ahead of him was a solid mass of bodies. Asan hesitated for a moment, then he holstered his strifer and pulled out his sword instead. The singing of the blade as it left its scabbard caused several warriors around him to turn with hands on their jen-knives.

Asan held the sword aloft, and shouted, “I shall say words against her! If she says she has brought Anthi back to you, she lies. If she says the Institute is your friend, she lies. If she tells you to stand here meekly in peace while she brings the GSI to your place of hiding, then she has betrayed you yet again. And what do you say? Are you warriors or fools?”

It caused an uproar. The soldiers turned, necks craning, to see him. Many were shouting, and others would have attacked him but for the press of the crowd that kept everyone in place. The council members all came to their feet. Asan found himself pushed forward, jostled and half-squashed, until he reached the council.

Only then did he sheathe his sword and face them breathlessly, his heart racing beneath the weight of the medals.

Of them all, Dame Agate was the first to regain her voice. She lifted a hand that was not quite steady and pointed at him.

“All who stand in council, stand bare-faced.”

With a quick movement, Asan ripped his mask away and tucked it jen fashion under his left elbow. He heard the gasps rippling back through the cavern as they recognized him.

“Well, Dame Agate?” he asked. “Has the day come when I am no longer heard among the voices of leadership?”

He felt the pressure of her rings probing him, but he kept himself well shielded.

“Thou are permitted to stand in this council,” she replied. “But what has thou to offer us now, noble leiil? The Tlar’n and Bban’n united. They have fought wars and—”

“—been defeated?” Asan met the anger in their faces. “Yes, defeated! I smell it upon you.”

“At least we were here to fight,” said Unar.

“Oh, yes, that is true,” said Asan. “I have been gone a long while. Escaping from the Institute is not done quickly. But I have returned. And I offer you—”

“What?” interjected Rroge. “The gift of Anthi’s favor? We have it already, thanks to Dame Aural. Thou turned Anthi against us, but Dame Aural brought her back.”

“Fallacy,” said Asan.

Rroge reached for his jen-knife, but Dame Agate stepped between them.

“The question before this council is the
n’kai
proposal,” she said. “They wish us to meet them in the Outerlands to parley and accept terms. They have offered peace if we will cease hostilities.”

Asan frowned, not liking the sound of this at all. “Where? What meeting ground?”

For a moment there was silence as though they resented his interruption. But at last it was one of the Bban elders he did not know who answered him.

The Kichee well, one of the best watering holes in the eastern expanse of the Outerlands, was a tiny fertile spot cupped in the hollow of a long series of ridges spanning that region. The soil was rocky and rough, the visibility broken. It was a poor meeting ground by any reasoning.

“Don’t waste time by speaking of all the faults with it,” said Dame Agate. “We have discussed these. The site will not be advantageous for the
n’kai
either.”

“Why?” said Asan. “Have you not yet learned your lesson? They don’t think as we do. They don’t fight as you have had to fight during these many years of darkness. When you are gathered in the ridges, with half your force held back out of sight in case of trouble, they will simply fly ships over you and blot you out with wide-scatter bombs. Then there will be no more Bban’jen and no more Tlar’jen. There will be no more resistance, and the
n’kai
will have this world in their hand.”