She rallied herself and walked toward them. Her boots thudded on the floor; Eonan’s claws clicked. Those in front of her were simply clad, shirts, trousers, shoes on the men, a tunic on the zmay. She had expected them to be armed, as they were.
It flashed: Why did I think zmay, not ychan? And: They aren’t Dennitzans! None of them!
She slammed to a halt. The men differed widely, genes from every breed of mankind scrambled in chance combinations. So they could be from Terra—or a colony within the Empire—or—
Eonan left her side. The Merseian drew his pistol. “Hold,” he rapped. “You are under arrest.”
He called himself Glydh of the Vach Rueth, nicknamed Far-Farer, an afal of his navy’s Intelligence corps. His immediate assistant was a lanky, sallow, long-nosed man, introduced as Muhammad Snell but addressed by the superior officer as Kluwych. In the middle of wreck, Kossara could flickeringly wonder if the Eriau name had been given him by his parents, when he was born somewhere in the Roidhunate.
They took her to an office. On the way she passed through such space and among such personnel that she estimated the latter numbered about twenty, two or three of them Merseian by species, the rest human. That was probably all there were on Diomedes: sufficient to keep scores of native dupes like Eonan going, who in their turn led thousands.
Though are they dupes? she thought drearily. Merseia would like to see them unchained from the Empire.
No. That isn’t true. Merseia doesn’t give a curse. They’re cheap, expendable tools.
The office was cramped and bleak. “Sit,” Glydh ordered, pointing to a chair. He took a stool behind a desk. Snell settled on the left; his eyes licked her, centimeter by centimeter and back again.
“Khraich.” Glydh laid his hands flat on the desktop, broad and thick, strangler’s hands. “An astonishing turn of events. What shall we do with you?” His Anglic was excellent.
“Isn’t this, uh, Captain Flandry more urgent, sir?” his subordinate asked.
“Not much, I believe,” Glydh said. “True, from Vymezal’s account via Eonan, he appears to be capable. But what can he know? That she defected, presumably joining a remnant of the underground if she didn’t perish en route.” He pondered. “Maybe be isn’t capable, at that—since he let her go, trusting her mere self-interest to keep her on his side.”
Hoy? Chives said Flandry is famous … No. How many light-years, how many millions of minds can fame cover before it spreads vanishingly thin?
“Of course, we will have our cell in Thursday Landing keep him under surveillance, and alert our agents globally is he leaves there,” Glydh continued. “But I doubt he represents more than a blind stab on the part of somebody in the opposition. I don’t think he is worth the risk of trying to kidnap, or even kill.”
“We may find out otherwise, sir, when we interrogate Vymezal in detail,” said the man. He moistened his lips.
“Maybe. I leave that to you. Co-opt what helpers you need.”
“Um-m-m … procedures? Treatment? Final disposition?”
“No!” Kossara heard the yell and felt the leaping to her feet, as if from outside her body. This was not real, could not be, must not be, God and saints, no. “I am not a, a Terran agent—I came here to—at least I’m a prisoner of war!”
“Sit!” Glydh’s roar, and the gunshot slap of palm on desk, flung her back like a belly blow. She heard his basso through fever-dream distances and humming: “Don’t babble about military conventions. You are a slave, property we have acquired. If you do what you are told, there need not be pain. Else there will be, until you are broken to obedience. Do you hear me?”
Snell’s fingers twisted together. He breathed fast. “Sir,” he said, “it could be a long while before we get a chance to send a report offplanet and ask for instructions about her. So we have to use our own judgment, don’t we?”
“Yes,” Glydh answered.
“Well, considering what was originally intended for her, and the reason—sir, not a woman among us in this whole region—”
Glydh shrugged. His tone was faintly contemptuous. “Quiz her out first under narco. Afterward do what you like, short of disfiguring damage. Remember, we may find use for her later, and the nearest biosculp laboratory is parsecs hence.”
I will make them kill me! Even as she plunged toward Snell, fingernails out to hook his eyeballs, Kossara knew Glydh would seize her and not let her die.
The explosion threw her against a wall. It made a drum of her skull. The floor heaved and cracked. Snell went over backward. Glydh flailed about to keep his balance.
Faintly through the brief deafness that followed, she heard screams, running, bang and hiss of firearms. Ozone drifted acrid to her nostrils, smoke, smells of roastedness.
She was already out of the office, into the central chamber beyond. At its far end, through the passageway which gave on the garage, she saw how the main door lay blown off its trunnions, crumpled and red-hot. Beyond was the ruin of the cannon. Men boiled around or sprawled un-moving.
Enormous shone the bulk of a suit of combat armor. Bullets whanged off it, blaster bolts fountained. The wearer stood where he was, and his own weapon scythed.
As she broke into view—“Kossara!” Amplified from the helmet, his voice resounded like God’s. His free hand reached beneath a plate that protected his gravbelt. He rose and moved slowly toward her. Survivors fled.
Fingers closed on her arm. Around her shoulder she saw Glydh. He swung her before his body. “That’s not nice,” the oncoming invader pealed. He spun his blaster nozzle to needle beam, aimed, and fired.
Glydh’s brow spurted steam, brains, blood, shattered bone across Kossara. She knew a heartbeat’s marvel at that kind of precision shooting. But then the heavy corpse bore her down. Her head struck the floor. Lightning filled the universe.
The armored man reached her, stood over her, shielded her. A spacecraft’s flank appeared in the entry. It had sprouted a turret, whose gun sprayed every doorway where an enemy might lurk. Kossara let darkness flow free.
XI
A breath of air cool, pine-scented; all noises gone soft; a sense of muted energies everywhere around; a lessened weight—Kossara opened her eyes. She lay in bed, in her cabin aboard the Hooligan. Flandry sat alongside. He wore a plain coverall, his countenance was haggard and the gray gaze troubled. Nonetheless he smiled. “Hello, there,” he murmured. “How do you feel?”
Drowsy, altogether at ease, she asked, “Have we left Diomedes?”
“Yes. We’re bound for Dennitza.” He took her right hand between both of his. “Now listen. Everything is all right. You weren’t seriously harmed, but on examination we decided we’d better keep you under sleep induction awhile, with intravenous feeding and some medication. Look at your left wrist.” She did. It was bare. “Yes, the bracelet is off. As far as I’m concerned, you’re free, and I’ll take care of the technicalities as soon as possible. You’re going home, Kossara.”
Examination—She dropped her glance. A sheer nightgown covered her. “I’m sorry I never thought to bring anything more decorous for you to sleep in,” Flandry said. He appeared to be summoning courage. “Chives did the doctoring, the bathing, et cetera. Chives alone.” His mouth went wry. “You may or may not believe that. It’s true, but hell knows how much I’ve lied to you.”