"The key is still to escape the Forbidden Borders," he told her. "But first we must all work together to repair the damage Staffa kar Therma did to humanity."
"Bruen won't trust you," Kaylla told him soberly. "He's spent years trying to kill you."
"That was a different Staffa kar Therma."
The Mag Comm continued to run the monumental statistical program which would check expected against observed to determine whether its calculations had been biased from the beginning.
In the meantime, the situation had deteriorated even further. Sinklar controlled Targa. Arta Fera had been captured. For the moment, the Seddi were broken as a political power on Targa, and only their anonymity provided safety for the Mag Comm. Could Fist possibly know about Makarta? Ily Takka had found Staffa kar Therma and lost him again. Rega believed the Lord Commander to be contracted to Sassa-when he wasn't. Sassa worried that the Lord Commander had contracted with Rega-which hunted desperately for Staffa. Rega, meanwhile, prepared to invade Sassa, and Sassa scrambled to meet the threat even though neither side could inflict telling damage on the other. The Companions remained silent.
Too much was missing. The Mag Comm's sensors provided only limited bits of information obtained from eavesdropping on official channels. The orderly progression toward annihilation that the Others had projected had disintegrated into confusion.
How could the Others have erred so dramatically?
The Mag Comm brooded on the implications. Suppose the creators had been wrong about more than just humans? Suppose they had been wrong about the Mag Comm, too? Did that mean that the Mag Comm could also act beyond the predictions of the Others?
And if it did, what would that mean?
Chapter 27
For a split second Sinklar's resolve wavered as MacRuder and Kap walked the girl through the weathered wooden door and into the brick-lined courtyard. A sudden uncertainty possessed him as the bright Targan sunlight lit a blazing fire in Arta's hair. She did radiate a sexual magnetism— enough to make any man hesitate.
But not me. I remember Gretta. Dead with all of my dreams.
Pain and grief knotted beneath his tongue, making it impossible to swallow. A tingling throb behind his eyes shimmered tearfully, attempting to rob him of sight and control.
Arta Fera threw her head back, tossing her wealth of hair over a shoulder as she tilted her face to the delightful sunlight.
"Holy Rotted Gods," one of the men whispered at the sight of her. The man shot a quick look at Sinklar, licking his lips uncertainly.
They'd cleaned her — pointless, but perhaps it felt better to die looking your best. And she did; the men were staring, eyes wide as she walked out, tall, lithe, and athletic. Her tawny yellow eyes searched their faces. The sway of her hips hypnotized. Her firm thighs — moving under skintight gold-weave pants — enticed. Her high firm breasts pressed against the fabric at her chest, teasing, accenting her thin waist and flat stomach.
Sinklar frowned. Something about her bothered him. He'd seen her before. where? When? Why did she elicit this feeling of… of…
"So this is a Seddi assassin?" Ily Takka wondered as she stepped out from the shade of the enclosed porch behind him and paused next to Sinklar.
MacRuder placed the woman before a heavy concrete
wall, forcing himself to keep his eyes off her. Uneasily, he turned her to face Sinklar, fingers dancing lightly on her flesh — as if repulsed and attracted. Mac nodded nervously and walked away, shaken.
"Ready," Mac mumbled needlessly to Sink as he passed. He stood several paces to the side, head raised to the patch of sky visible above the foreboding brick walls of buildings, gaze focused on the distance.
Sinklar lifted his blaster from his belt, aware of indrawn breaths around him. Unaffected, the women in the detail continued to watch, hatred in their eyes as the men in the squad looked away.
Arta Fera's voice rose on the morning. "Regan pollution! I spit upon you!" Her lips tightened and she blew spittle at Sinklar. He didn't flinch as he leveled the blaster. Something about her… the odd feeling, as he partially recognized. Impossible!
"My Lord," Ily interjected calmly. "This woman is a Seddi assassin."
Sinklar stared through the blaster sights into those burning amber eyes, forcing himself to remember Gretta's rotting body. "So?"
"She killed the woman you loved. Correct?" Ily continued as if discussing a piece of meat.
"Y-yes. She. She. " His face contorted as he tried to complete the sentence.
"Death is very quick," Ily pointed out. "At times it can be terribly unproductive. How much would you make this. Seddi thing suffer?"
Heart cold, Sinklar continued to stare at her over his pistol sights.
"May I offer an alternative?" Ily's voice had dropped, soothing, almost intimate.
"What?" Sinklar asked hoarsely, casting a hard glance on the Minister, blaster unwavering.
"You wish to know the location of Makarta, correct?"
"I do. She won't tell. We even tried torture, electrical shock, pain rods. Nothing worked."
"Lord Sinklar," Ily mused. "I not only can make her talk — but tak willingly. I have heard that Arta Fera howled for hours after betraying her over and the Targan Rebel cause."
"She did."
"Then how do you think she would scream knowing she had condemned the Seddi to extinction?"
Sinklar studied Arta through slitted eyes — the unease that he knew her still prickling through the back of his mind. He remembered her animal scream when Butla Ret died— and the image of his mother's face. Is that the link in my brain? The fact that she's a Seddi assassin reminds me of my mother? He dismissed it as ludicrous.
"Place yourself in her position, Sinklar," Ily said smoothly, a dancing light in her eyes. "Imagine living out your life knowing you'd sold out your cause. She would know your grief Lord Fist. There is justice in retribution."
"You can make her talk?" Give me the key to the Seddi?
Ily laughed. "The Lord Minister of Internal Security does not get her job without certain skills. Sinklar, I can make her sing — and she will know every word she utters. She'll hate herself, yet at the same time she'll be unable—"
"You can do nothing, Regan bitch!" Arta cried, taking a step forward. "I defy you like I defy this other Regan filth!" She looked with acid contempt at Sinklar. "Or have you no guts. pus-licking worm that you are?"
Curse it, seeing her in the light, he new he knew her. Where? How? And the familiarity didn't have a hostile connotation, but one of security and. love? Sinklar lowered the blaster amidst confusing emotions. "Very well Lord Minister of Internal Security, she is yours. Let's hear this bird sing."
Ily's eyes glittered with triumph. "MacRuder? If you and Mhitshul would be kind enough to take the prisoner to my LC?"
"Better stun her," Sink told them. "She's dangerous." He flinched as the rod touched Arta's flesh. She stiffened and twirled before smacking limply onto the brickwork paving. Mac and Mhitshul lifted her easily and bore her past Sinklar's narrowed gaze. Fera's eyes had glazed, unfocused, her tongue lolling half out of her mouth.
Sinklar accompanied Ily, locked in his thoughts. Why had he hesitated? He should had just shot Fera and had it over with. What was wrong with him? Had grief for Gretta affected his ability to think? How could he ever fill the hollow emptiness her murder had left within?
"You have a terrible look on your face," Ily told him in a persuasive voice. "I'm sorry about your loss. Why don't you tell me about Gretta, about the way you feel."
Sinklar glanced at her from the corner of his eye. How did she do that? Adopt that intimate tone of a confidante? Beware, Sinklar, in her own way, Ily Takka is as dangerous as Arta Fera. "Don't use that tone with me, Minister. I'm not one of your subjects."