Weapons of War (38 page)

A new door slid open and light filtered into the space once more. Gabriel squinted his eyes against it, giving them a moment to adjust. Tea'va's form faded into view beyond the bright light.
 

"We cross here, to there. This route will evacuate a short distance in front of the bridge. You must adjust to the light quickly."

"We'll do the best we can," Gabriel said.

Tea'va opened the second door and once more directed them in. They followed him, using his voice to make their way through the maintenance corridor. Again, they reached their destination without interruption.

"I do not know what waits beyond this door," Tea'va whispered to him. "The bridge will be on your right. I expect Gr'el's defenses to be organized to the left, most likely clones hiding behind lek'shah shields. Or perhaps he has gathered the few drumhr warriors who were loyal to him here. We will only have a few seconds to use the surprise to our advantage, but they will be vulnerable from behind. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Gabriel said. He tightened his grip on his father's gun. "We're ready."

He could hear Tea'va shift ahead of him. A moment later, the door slid open, and the light began filtering in again. Gabriel squinted his eyes to fight through the blinding glare, moving out into the corridor and turning to the left, aiming the pistol, ready to begin shooting whatever was there in the back.

Except there was nothing there. No fortifications. No soldiers. No shields.

He heard Tea'va mutter something foreign behind him, the Dread's tone of voice surprised and confused. He clearly hadn't been expecting this either.

The door behind them slid open. Gabriel turned toward it just in time to see two plasma bolts fire from behind it, one striking Corporal Kalani, the other hitting Corporal Bush. Both soldiers dropped to the floor.

Then a dozen plasma rifles were trained on them, held not by the clone soldiers Gabriel had seen below, but by two other types of clones. Both were female. One was heavyset, with large breasts and hips and a plump face. The other was like the one he had seen on Earth. The spitting image of his mother.
 

He felt a chill tingle down his spine at the sight of the four identical copies of Juliet St. Martin. They were each wearing long, dark robes, their hair tied back and up. One of them was wearing a shimmering blue pin, and from the way she stood it was clear she was superior to the others.

He was so surprised by them that he didn't notice the Dread standing in the center of them right away. He was a larger, uglier version of Tea'va, his skin lighter, his hair longer, the bony ridges across his head more prominent. he reminded Gabriel of an image Theodore had shown him once of a real alligator.

"Tea'va," the Dread warrior said in thick English. "I would despise you so much more if you weren't so predictable."

"Gr'el," Tea'va said. "What have you done?"

"What do you mean?" the Dread asked.
 

"You know what I mean. The Mothers."

"The Mothers are a tool, Tea'va. Like all tools, it only takes a creative mind to find different uses for them. Do you like what I've done with mine?"
 

"The Domo'dahm-"

"The Domo'dahm has no dominion out here, Tea'va. You know that."

"He trusted you."

"He didn't trust you. He told me that you would plot against him the moment you were out of Earth's orbit. That you were too human, and that humanity would lead you to resent him and the other pur'dahm for our superiority. He tasked me with removing you quietly, which I have tried to do. Honor and respect for your ability to evade capture, but you are the lowest of the lor'el for running instead of retiring yourself."

"You don't seek to remove me on the wishes of the Domo'dahm. You are plotting to overthrow him yourself, to return with this ship and an army of lor'hai." He thrust his finger out at the Mothers. "Their minds are unfit for the Soldier programming."

"They have taken to it rather well," the Juliet clone with the blue pin said.
 

"Better than I had hoped," Gr'el said. "In any case, none of that is your concern, Tea'va. You are nothing now. You no longer exist to the bek'hai."

"I am the future of our race," Tea'va said.

"No. You are the mistake of an overzealous scientist who took the human genome too far. Rorn'el allowed you to survive because of your potential to reproduce naturally. But you denied the one thing that set you apart, the one thing that might have put you back into his favor, especially after your repeated failures against the Heil'shur." Gr'el looked at Gabriel for the first time. "Honor and respect to a worthy adversary," he said, bowing. "I am Gr'el, Dahm of the Ishur."

Gabriel didn't respond to the greeting. He was trying to put together the pieces of the Dread's conversation, to understand the complete picture of what was really happening on the fortress. He was starting to feel as though for all of their efforts, and for every member of the crew they had lost, their offensive was inconsequential to the infighting that appeared to be going on. Maybe it was. Gr'el had clearly been expecting Tea'va to lead them here. He had been waiting to get the drop on the traitor.

Tea'va was seething next to him, his teeth bared, his pale face darkened. "Mistake?" he hissed. "You owe me Hesh dur bek for words such as those."

"Honor of battle?" Gr'el said. "You have no honor, Tea'va. You surrendered. You agreed to retirement. You didn't even have the courage to go through with it."

"Who are you to speak of honor and courage? You betrayed me. Worse, you sent a Mother to assassinate me instead of trying to do it yourself. A Mother!"
 

Tea'va took a step forward. The clones raised their weapons, signaling their warning.

"Careful, Tea'va," Gr'el said. "The only reason I haven't killed you already is because I'm enjoying the embarrassment of your defeat. A Mother is all you are worth. I would never dirty my hands with you."
 

Tea'va's face gnarled in rage, but he stood his ground, drawing a laugh from the other Dread.

"Even now, you care too much for your life to honor it by attacking me." Gr'el looked over at Gabriel again. "You will make an excellent prize. I have no doubt your genetics are of superior quality. Zoelle, this one should be an improvement for the programming, should it not?"
 

The Juliet clone with the blue pin nodded. "Yes, my Dahm. The Heil'shur is assuredly of impressive genetic stock."

"You would know," Gabriel said. "Or rather the woman whose life was claimed in your making would know."

"What do you mean?" Gr'el asked.

"My name is Gabriel St. Martin," Gabriel said, feeling his hands clenching into fists. His initial fear of the situation was quickly changing to a cold anger. "My mother was Juliet St. Martin. Does that name mean anything to you?"

The Juliet clones all gasped as one. Gr'el seemed surprised as well, his inhuman smile growing even larger at the news. "You are a child of the un'hai? A natural born child? You are a more valuable prize than I could have ever imagined."

"I don't know what you've done to her," Gabriel said, his sudden anger exploding as he spoke. His hand came up, wrapping around the crucifix below his flight suit, clenching it tightly."You and your Domo'dick, or whatever you call him. My mother was kind and gentle, compassionate and intelligent. She wasn't a traitor. She wasn't a killer. She didn't use humankind like a toy to program to her whims, or anyone else's. She wasn't an inconsequential thing, or a tool to be used as a means to your own ends. You've twisted her memory into something foul. You've soiled everything she stood for. You son of a bitch."

He acted without thinking then, springing forward toward the Dread. Unlike Tea'va, he didn't care if that meant dying. The other clone of her he had met, Ehri, was helping the rebellion. She was fighting for humankind the way Juliet St. Martin would have. He didn't know how or why, but she was.
 

There had been no one to defend his mother's honor before.
 

There was now.

He got closer to Gr'el than he expected, almost reaching him before one of the Mothers came from the side, slamming him in the head with the butt of her rifle. He tumbled sideways onto the floor, a sharp pain in his jaw.
 

"Be careful, druk'shur," Gr'el shouted. "You'll damage him."

"My apologies, Dahm Gr'el," the clone replied, lowering her head.

Gabriel pushed himself into a seated position, clenching his teeth as he did. He looked back at Gr'el, and then beyond him to the Juliet clones. He froze when he noticed that Zoelle was staring right at him, a sudden look of concern on her face. It vanished a moment later.
 

Was he imagining things?
 

"And what do you intend to do with me?" Tea'va said.
 

Gr'el glanced over at Tea'va. "Are you still here?" He reached out, grabbing a rifle from one of the clones. "You've ceased being amusing, lor'el."

He pulled the trigger at the same time Gabriel hit his shoulder, sending the plasma bolt wide. Gr'el pivoted with the blow, swinging the weapon back around and slamming it hard into Gabriel's gut. Gabriel doubled over, the air stolen from his chest. He put his hand on the floor to steady himself. He had to get up. To keep fighting. His mother's memory demanded it.

He felt Gr'el's long fingers wrap around his neck. Then he was lifted off the ground, held by the throat and unable to breathe. It didn't matter what he wanted. His strength was vastly inferior to the Dread's.
 

"How dare you touch me," Gr'el growled, the pressure from his hands increasing. "I had forgotten how willful the un'hai was rumored to be, and what a poor pur'hai she was. It was only the Domo'dahm's weakness that allowed her to become so revered."

He let go. Gabriel fell to the ground again, gasping for air.
 

Gr'el aimed his rifle again, this time at Gabriel. "Honor and respect to you for your prowess in battle, Heil'shur. Your courage is commendable. I see now that you will be more trouble than you're worth. I would sooner destroy you and your fellow humans than have your lor'hai aboard my ship, or as part of my bek'hai empire."

"My. Name. Is. Gabriel St. Martin," Gabriel gasped, trying to stand again. "Son of Theodore and Juliet St. Martin. Remember that, asshole."

"Very well, Gabriel-"

A small fist came from Gr'el's left, hitting him square across the jaw with enough force to knock him to the ground. Gabriel's eyes darted to his attacker. The Juliet clone he had called Zoelle.

"You wanted your Hesh dur bek, Tea'va," she said. "Now is your chance."

"Zoelle?" Gr'el said, his words muffled by his broken jaw. "Traitor. Kill her. Kill the Scientists."

The Mothers raised their rifles, turning them toward the Juliets.
 

Tea'va sprang at Gr'el, kicking him in the face before he could recover and sending him rolling across the floor.
 

Gabriel pushed aside his shock, forcing himself to his feet.
 

Zoelle turned on the closest Mother, punching her hard in the stomach, and then in the face, knocking her down.

The plasma followed, Mothers and Scientists shooting at one another at point-blank range. Gabriel didn't know what the difference was between like clones, but Zoelle not only held herself as superior, she clearly was. She danced to the side as a plasma bolt skimmed her robes, twirling and moving forward, grabbing the Mother's arms and lifting them, so the next shot went to the ceiling. She turned again, gathering the Mother's weight and pulling, throwing her over her shoulder while capturing her rifle. The Mother tried to get up, but couldn't before Zoelle shot her.

A second Mother was lining up a shot behind Zoelle. Gabriel stumbled forward, slamming into the clone and falling on top of her. She struggled beneath him while he tried to pin her arms. She pushed back, throwing him aside with a strength he couldn't believe.