Scattered Suns (7 page)

Chapter 11—ROBB BRINDLE

Would the nightmare ever stop in this impossible place? He had no way of determining how long he’d been trapped among the hydrogues, but Robb was sure his imprisonment had already lasted more than an eternity. The unbroken tedium was almost as bad as the constant fear. Since he was nominally in charge of the group, he led regular workout sessions and skill games to keep up morale as much as possible and keep their minds and reflexes sharp. None of his fellow captives could guess what the hydrogues meant to do to them. Robb wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“I wish that little compy would come back,” he muttered. He had said it countless times before.

“We’re on a completely different planet now,” said Charles Gomez, whose hangdog expression never changed. “Remember, they evacuated us.” His eyes remained fixed on the spongy, sloped floor, rarely meeting the faces of his miserable comrades. Gomez had been captured when hydrogues overran the lumber operations on Boone’s Crossing, annihilating several villages that EDF ships could not rescue in time. The drogues had snatched Gomez for their...experiments? Their zoo? All the prisoners had similar stories.

“The drogues’ll never tell us what that emergency was,” Robb said, “or where they took us.” All he remembered was a flash of light and a lurching sensation. Then the clouds outside the immense wonderland city were different. Still hellish, but different. “I don’t suppose standard POW protocols translate into their language.”

Robb hunkered down. His wing commander’s uniform was stiff and rumpled from countless weeks without washing or changing. The hydrogue captors provided water and rubbery blocks of “food,” and somehow the captives’ waste was disposed of from time to time, but the liquid-metal creatures did not seem to comprehend the human need for bathing or clean clothes. The transparent holding chamber reeked, but Robb no longer even noticed the smell.

Though there wasn’t much hope they could ever set foot outside their confinement chamber, much less discover a way out of the gas giant’s depths, the captives followed the unspoken imperative of survival. But they had few resources and even less information. Some had tried to think of ways to commit suicide, surrendering utterly to despair, but Robb was not one to give up. And he did not give up on his companions, either. He wouldn’t admit, not even in the back of his mind, that their chances of getting out of this ordeal were incalculably remote.

Workouts and skill games could not fill up the time between sleep sessions, so with nothing else to do, Robb and his comrades had shared family memories, talked about their lives. By now, they knew each other as intimately as if they had grown up together. One man missed his large family with a crippling misery; another woman grieved that she had never had children. Others apologized for past wrongs they had done to people who would never now hear their regrets.

Robb had already shared the news of how the EDF had mounted a terrific attack on the hydrogues at ringed Osquivel, how he had gone down in an armored encounter vessel in a last attempt at diplomacy—but the hydrogues had seized him, and the EDF attack had begun. There had been explosions...and he didn’t know what had happened after that.

Most of all, Robb talked about Tasia Tamblyn. Of course she must consider him dead by now; Tasia was a tough girl, not given to believing in silly fairy tales. Everyone here had similar longings for their loved ones.

Outside, multicolored chemical and polymer mists drifted through the bizarre geometric metropolis like tendrils of fog. The amorphous quicksilver hydrogues moved like lumps of molten metal, going about their incomprehensible purposes. One of the captives, Anjea Telton, whistled to alert the captives. A trio of flowing hydrogues was coming toward their curved cell.

“This can’t possibly be good,” said Gomez. Robb didn’t argue with him.

The hydrogues rarely communicated with them, and then only with terse commands. None of the human prisoners could understand what the deep-core aliens
wanted
from them.

Beyond the bubble wall, the three ominous beings rose up and shaped themselves into identical forms they had copied from their first victim, who looked like a Roamer skyminer. Two of them carried the halves of a perfectly transparent shell about the size of a coffin. It was empty.

The deep-core aliens stepped against the curved wall and slowly pushed, easing themselves through the membrane. All the captives shrank away to the opposite side of the chamber, but the hydrogues moved forward. In the confined space, the humans had nowhere to run.

The hydrogues selected one of the prisoners at random, Charles Gomez, and closed in, carrying the opposite halves of the man-sized container. The third hydrogue gestured the other prisoners away. Gomez tried to flee, but could not get around the creatures. The drogues encircled their hapless subject like hunters using nets to capture a specimen.

“What are you doing?” Robb shouted at the aliens. “What do you want with him, or any of us?” The hydrogues went about their business without saying a word, as if simple communication was beneath them.

Robb threw himself forward. “Leave him alone! Leave us all alone!” He closed with the third hydrogue, landing a punch against its quicksilver amorphous body. His fist unexpectedly sank into the shimmering liquid metal.

He let out a shriek as unbearable cold shot through his fingers, hand, and wrist. Staggering back, he withdrew his arm from the quicksilver creature. The skin of his hand crackled with ice, steaming as it began to thaw. Nerve pain continued to scream into his brain, but he couldn’t move his fingers. He sank to the floor, nursing his hand.

Robb looked back up in time to see the two halves of the coffin container seal tight, trapping Charles Gomez inside, like a mummy in a sarcophagus. The walls of the container must have been thick, for though the victim thrashed and pounded and shouted, no sounds escaped.

The hydrogues carried the coffin container to the curved wall, where they slowly melted back through. The chamber membrane shimmered and then solidified behind them, allowing none of the external pressure in. Robb cradled his aching hand and joined his fellow captives as they pressed against the transparent wall.

Outside, another group of hydrogues had hauled a much larger object forward, something made by non-hydrogue hands. Despite the horror and confusion around him, Robb’s face lit up. “That’s my encounter chamber! The hydrogues kept it.”

A flood of unreasonable optimism rushed through his brain. “What if they’re taking Charles into the diving bell? Maybe they’ll pressurize it and let him go.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Anjea Telton.

Robb shook his head, refusing to give up hope. He had experienced too much despair over the past months of being trapped here. But even if the diving bell was shot back up to the clouds—of whatever planet they were inside now—how would Gomez ever get to a human settlement or even another ship?

“They might’ve arranged some sort of hostage transfer,” Robb said. “The military has done it many times before. Maybe the drogues sent another emissary, like the one that killed King Frederick. Maybe they’ve arranged a cease-fire or peace terms. Maybe—”

But when he saw what the hydrogues were doing, his excitement drained away into a bottomless pit. The creatures stood around the transparent coffin and activated a vent on the sides, slowly letting in their own atmosphere.

Trapped inside, Gomez began to struggle and pound even more furiously.

“What are they doing?” Anjea said.

“They’re gradually increasing the pressure. They’re opening up his chamber to the outside environment.”

“That’ll kill him.”

“I think that’s the idea.”

Inside the coffin-shaped transport bubble, Gomez grew wild. The hydrogues looked down at him, as if studying his reaction for later discussion. Gomez pounded, kicked. His mouth stretched open in a scream. His eyes were wide and bulging.

“Stop it!” It was useless, and Robb knew it. The other captives moaned or cried.

As the pressure continued to increase, Gomez finally ceased his thrashing. His eyeballs hemorrhaged, and blood began to run out of his nose and ears. By now all of his internal organs must have been crushed. Robb blinked tears from his eyes. He wanted to look away from the horror, but couldn’t.

The hydrogues didn’t stop there. Even after Gomez had been killed, they continued to let the atmospheric pressure grow greater and greater, until the dead prisoner’s body began to snap and implode, all of its structure breaking down.

It took almost ten minutes for the body to be squeezed into a gruesome paste. Then the three implacable hydrogues unsealed the halves of the coffin and upended it to pour out the gelatinous pulp. The reddish mess, spangled with splinters of bone, spread out in a heap outside among the hydrogues’ geometrical structures. The three quicksilver figures stared at the runny mess, as if waiting to see if it would form itself into a body like their own. Instead, the organic matter that had been Charles Gomez simply bubbled and oozed.

The hydrogues finally left. What had they hoped to accomplish? What had they expected? Was it some sort of cruel experiment? A torture? A punishment, or even amusement? Robb didn’t speak; the other captives remained sullen and silent.

“We’ll never get out of here alive,” Anjea said.

Then, as the remaining prisoners backed toward the rear of their protective chamber again, the hydrogues came forward to take another experimental subject.

Chapter 12—ADAR ZAN’NH

From his command nucleus, the Adar stared in disbelief at the images from the besieged docking bay. His escort troops, protocol officers, and reception committee lay sprawled on the deck, cut down by stunners or beaten senseless. The doors were sealed, all access blocked. Rusa’h had barricaded himself in with his hostages, and demanded the impossible.

“Get our engineers and constructors working. I want them to break through that door. Recapture my docking bay.” Grudgingly Zan’nh added, “Keep the Hyrillka Designate alive, if possible...but do what you must.”

Teams outside the sealed doors were using cutters and prybars, but the barriers had been designed to hold even against an explosion.

Knowing Zan’nh was eavesdropping, the Designate showed no compassion, not a trace of emotion, as he ordered his rebels to gather the stunned reception committee. Rusa’h sat in his imitation chrysalis chair, directing his followers. “You have little time remaining, Adar. Surrender this warliner, or I will begin executing captives.”

Zan’nh found it inconceivable that his uncle would do such a thing. But he had already slain Pery’h...

The Adar called to his communications operator. “Have we heard from Qul Fan’nh? Warn him that the Prime Designate may also attempt treachery. I do not understand what is happening here, but we dare not trust Thor’h.”

“No response from the first warliner, Adar. The qul does not respond to our communications.”

An icy fist gripped Zan’nh’s heart. Was he already too late?

“Your time is up, Adar,” Rusa’h announced, leaning close to the imager so that his expressionless face filled the screen. “By hesitating, you force me to demonstrate that my demands must be taken seriously.”

Attender kithmen moved his chrysalis chair to give the imagers a full view. The Designate raised a hand, and two of his brainwashed guards dragged the groggy primary protocol officer into view. He had not yet fully recovered from the effects of being stunned. “This one will be first.”

Zan’nh observed with growing alarm. How far would Rusa’h carry this mockery? “Uncle, wait! Allow me to—”

The Hyrillka Designate gestured calmly and sat back in his cushions. The two guards slid crystal blades from jeweled sheaths at their sides, then moved with mechanical efficiency. One stabbed the protocol officer in the chest. The other drew the sharp edge along his throat. Arterial blood poured out in a foaming stream. The two guards released the body, letting the dead man slump to the deck plates. They stood back, their uniforms splashed with Ildiran blood.

Zan’nh gasped. Two of his officers in the command nucleus became noisily ill. “You...you have killed—”

By commandeering the imaging network, Rusa’h had transmitted the gruesome scene to every crewmember aboard all forty-seven warliners. “In another three minutes, I will execute a second victim. I should point out that as the effects of the stunners begin to wear off, the hostages will feel the agony of death more acutely. The reaction through the
thism
will then be more painful to all of you.”

“Stop this!” Zan’nh demanded.

“You know how to stop it, Adar. I urge you not to let the slaughter continue.” His voice was bland, smug.

On a private channel, Zan’nh demanded of his security crew, “How soon can you break through?”

“At least a standard hour. This is solid metal plating.”

“Bekh!”
The fist squeezed tighter in Zan’nh’s chest, and his mind raced for options. Through the
thism,
his father would be able to sense the danger, but not the details...only that something was wrong. He wished Adar Kori’nh could be there to give him advice. What would his mentor have done? How could he put an end to this? Designate Rusa’h was insane!

Three minutes thundered by.

Zan’nh had intimidated human skyminers. He had traveled to disaster-stricken colonies, and he had performed intricate war-game maneuvers. He had fought hydrogues. But this hostage situation, the cold and blatant threat of murder after murder, had paralyzed him as if he were no more than a novice. Zan’nh had heard of wild, irrational behavior by human heroes and madmen, but never an
Ildiran
. He had no experience with incomprehensible situations like this.

In spite of such heinous, inconceivable behavior, the Hyrillka Designate was still the Mage-Imperator’s brother. He was still an Ildiran.

But Zan’nh did not dare allow the rebellious Designate to seize these warliners. What did Rusa’h intend to do with the ships, that he was willing to commit murder to gain them? Without fresh victims, though, Rusa’h would have no leverage. To prevent greater failure, should Zan’nh just coldly sacrifice all seventy hostages, let the Designate and his rebels slaughter them?

How could he live with that, stand by and do nothing? He was the Adar of the Solar Navy! Those hostages were his loyal soldiers. He had led them into battle against the hydrogues at Hrel-oro. After they had been hammered by the enemy aliens and suffered the devastating loss of an entire warliner, Zan’nh had brought them to Hyrillka so they could regain their strength and confidence. How could he fail again? How could he abandon them?

“It is time for your second lesson,” the Designate said. “You have wasted time, and three minutes pass so swiftly.”

Zan’nh shouted into the speaker. “No! Let me send in an aide to discuss your demands—”

Rusa’h was not interested in listening. “There is nothing to discuss, nothing to negotiate. I have been perfectly clear.” His followers dragged forward a struggling female guard this time. “Eventually you will learn, Adar. You have always been intelligent, nephew, though deluded by the Mage-Imperator.”

They stripped the female guard of her body armor and left her vulnerable. The effects of the stunner had worn off completely by the time they raised their assassination knives.

“I ask again, Zan’nh—do you yield?” Rusa’h said. “Do you surrender these warliners to my cause?”

“I cannot.” He struggled to find steel within him. “You must not have access to—”

The Hyrillka Designate nodded, and his followers once again stabbed and slashed. The female guard gurgled as she bled to death; her body fell beside the first victim on the deck.

Each death tortured him like a red-hot needle in the eye. Zan’nh felt the screaming response resounding through the
thism
. He felt her die.

“How many more bodies must you pile up, Adar? You know you will surrender eventually. How many more useless executions will you face?”

“We will defeat you,” Zan’nh said through clenched teeth. “And each murder adds to the list of your crimes.”

“My crimes are as nothing. The false Imperator Jora’h will also face judgment for leading the Ildiran people astray.”

Privately, Zan’nh transmitted a plea to the other commanders aboard the remaining warliners. He still had not heard from Qul Fan’nh, or Thor’h. “I want solutions, ideas. Does anyone have suggestions?”

When Zan’nh was younger, Adar Kori’nh had led him in military drills using human war-game scenarios to see how Ildirans responded to changed situations. Zan’nh had been promoted because of his innovation. But now viable ideas eluded him. He could not think what to do. “Can we flood the compartment with an anesthetizing gas?”

“We could rig that, Adar,” said one of his engineers, “but the airflow modifications would take longer than cutting through the door itself. We’re making progress, but not quickly enough. We don’t have that long. The Hyrillka Designate is not leaving us the time we need.”

“He knows that. It is why he forces the issue at such an impossible pace.”

Much too soon, Rusa’h said, “Three minutes have passed again, Adar.” He raised his hand. Though Zan’nh begged him to wait, to negotiate, the Designate ordered the murder of a third helpless member of the reception committee.

“What are we to do?” the engineer asked. “We could open the outer hatch and shut down the atmosphere field. That would kill the Designate and his followers, end this standoff—”

Zan’nh interrupted. “And all of the hostages. I’m not willing to accept that solution. Find me another one.”

Two of Rusa’h’s steely-eyed pleasure mates wrestled a fourth victim forward. In their shapely arms the women held a groggy guard captain who had been hit with two stun-beams. One of the wickedly smiling pleasure mates held her crystal knife to the guard’s throat, touching the point to his thick skin.

“Look at this man, Adar,” Rusa’h said, sounding very sincere. “You hold his life right now. Your next decision will result in his death, or his freedom.”

“I will not accept the blame for this insane behavior!”

“Less than a minute remaining.” Rusa’h acted as if he had all the time in the world. “I ask again: Do you surrender your maniple?”

“Tell me what you have done on Hyrillka! Why do you need these warships? The Solar Navy has always defended your planet. What is the purpose of—”

“I would be happy to explain myself later, but I’ve given you my terms. Your time has run out once again. I will not tolerate your stalling while you search for a way to stop me.” He gestured, and the pleasure mate rammed her knife under the guard’s chin and up into his brain. He fell without a gasp, his eyes cold even as they dimmed in death.

Another resounding jolt tore through the
thism
. Zan’nh bit back an outcry as lances of pain shot into his mind.

Unexpectedly, the voice of Prime Designate Thor’h came over the channel. “Uncle, my brother needs a greater incentive. He still does not understand how far we will go.”

To his dismay, on the screen Zan’nh saw his brother surrounded by traitorous guards in the command nucleus of Qul Fan’nh’s warliner. Around them, splatters of blood and tumbled bodies of soldiers lay on the deck.

He felt sickened. “Thor’h!”

“Take the time to understand, brother—hear what Imperator Rusa’h has to say. Then you will comprehend our motives and see that we are correct.”

“Stop killing my crew, and I will consider it.”

“The Adar seems to be under the impression that he is able to bargain,” Rusa’h said.

“I will demonstrate for him how little bargaining power he has, Imperator.” Thor’h turned to the blood-spattered guards. “Open fire as ordered.”

Qul Fan’nh’s warliner unleashed a merciless volley of kinetic-energy projectiles and energy beams. They slammed into the hull and engines of the nearest warliner. The huge Ildiran warship exploded, flame fronts and deadly decompression slaughtering thousands of crewmembers aboard.

The flash of light blinded Zan’nh, and he reeled backward against the command rail. The deaths played a cacophonous arpeggio of pain on his nervous system, crippling him. The screams through the
thism
were deafening. A full warliner! Thousands and thousands of innocent sacrifices!

Inside the besieged docking bay, Rusa’h said coldly, “You have three minutes, Adar Zan’nh.”