"Rotted Gods," Sinklar whispered, "and she's got that incredible sexual magnetism." He shook his head. "But Arta, why did you kill Gretta? I've seen the tapes. Gretta never did anything sexual to you. She came to help you! Why?"
Arta Fera's head lolled on the acceleration couch, drug heavy. "Regan. She's Regan." A hesitation as her lips moved. "Regans… raped me. Killed…. I killed them all. Will continue to kill them all. Forever. It's my duty. Kill those who rape. Kill those who touch me."
Ily's eyes slitted. "And what happens when a man touches you and you can't kill him? Hmm?"
"No!" Arta whimpered through a choked throat. "No!" Her voice tightened until she screamed hysterically, "No! No! NO!"
"Easy," Sinklar soothed, gut tight at the horror in her eyes. "No one will harm you here."
Arta Fera relaxed into a mumbling half-trance, her breasts heaving as she writhed in the binding straps. Mac's eyes kept straying to her wondrous body. He muttered under his breath and forced himself to look away.
Sinklar stepped back, propping himself against the bulkhead as he closed his eyes. Did the Seddi do that to my
parents? Were they sent to Rega as programmed biological machines? Blessed Gods, what sort of monsters are these Seddi?
Ily tilted her head, eyes glistening as she looked pensively at Sinklar. "Do I detect a wavering Lord Fist? Once, you simply wanted her to suffer eternally."
Sinklar opened his eyes, glaring acidly at the spot on the map which marked Makarta. He glanced over at Mac where he sat in the corner, pale, eyes pinned on Arta as he shook his head slowly.
"She's not responsible. She's a damned pawn! She's a Seddi victim. just like me. Just like all of us." Sink smacked a fist into his palm and looked at the map. "They started this whole mess? Why? All they've done is brought everyone misery."
"They've got to be stopped," Mac agreed, propping his elbows on his knees and staring down between his boots.
Ily pulled the shining black wealth of hair over her shoulder, observing Sinklar thoughtfully. "And this woman?"
Sinklar turned his attention to the assassin. "What do I do with her? I guess my anger is blunted, gone. She's a tool! Do I destroy a blaster because a man used it against me or the ones I loved? The Seddi are the responsible ones. this Bruen character."
He could hear Gretta's voice in his memories. Now you're thinking, Sink.
Making a decision, Ily suggested, "I could order her shipped to Rega."
"Why?" Sink, asked, suspicion flooding him. "What would you do with her Lord Minister?"
Ily stepped over to stare into Arta's slack face. "Send her to Rega. We have some of the best psychological technicians in Free Space. Perhaps we can counter some of the Seddi teachings." She looked up, a reserved light in her eyes. "Perhaps we could learn something about Seddi techniques."
"All right," Sinklar agreed wearily. Then he straightened. "I want her under the authority of Anatolia Daviura. She's not to be killed, not to be probed. Are we agreed?"
"Very well," Ily told him with a firm nod. "I'll see that the Emperor himself knows of her. and your wish for her disposition."
Sink locked eyes with Ily, seeing only cool appraisal. "I wouldn't want to learn later that anything had happened to
Fera.",
The corners of Ily's lips tightened. "I give you my word,
1 won't lay a finger on her. We can keep her in the detention center. I'd suggest, however, that you put female guards in charge of her."
Sink started to object, then bit it off. "Mac, contact Rysta. Tell her we need every LC that's available. I want us mobile and ready to move by tomorrow morning. Have Commander Braktov drop us new armor, and anything else the Section Armorers deem in need of repair or replacement. She's gonna buck and snort and hate it, but tell her to contact Ily if she has any questions."
Mac bounced to his feet, slapping an arm in salute. "What about the captured Divisions?" He shot a sidelong glance at Ily. "We taking them, too?"
Sink pursed his lips, staring at the map. "I don't think so. From Fera's admission, Makarta is lightly defended at best. The Seddi depend on secrecy and their tunnels for security. Too many soldiers, and we'd be tripping all over each other in those tunnels.
"And I want people I can trust for this one." He looked at Ily. "You'll back me on this?" She nodded. "I will Lord Siklar." "Get on it, Mac," Sinklar motioned his friend out and started to follow, stopping at the ramp and looking back as MacRuder trotted out into the sunlight. Sink turned, hanging to the hatch lip with one hand.
"Why do you call me Lord? I'm no such thing." She walked up to him, close enough that he could look up into her eyes and marvel at their cunning intelligence. He could smell the delicate scent of her body.
"We both know the answer to that," she said simply. "Can you think of anyone better suited to command the Regan military given the desperate days ahead? Does it serve any purpose to await Tybalt's decree?"
Sinkiar took a deep breath. "No, I suppose not. I presume you'll attend to laying the political groundwork? It would save having to take Rega with my Divisions." "I shall do so Lord." "Lord?" Sinklar murmured to himself as he ducked
through the hatch and started for the ramp. Even his own people didn't treat him the same anymore. They watched him with awe in their eyes. The old camaraderie had vanished like mist in the sun. Worse, when he became the commander of the Regan forces and stood at Tybalt's side, even Mac would grow distant. It's lonely," Sinklar whispered. "So very, very lonely."
Who would have guessed that such an incredible machine existed so far down in the rocky guts of Targa? Staffa stood in the rear of the room, watching the lights flicker on the Mag Comm. Despite his familiarity with the nanotechnological marvels his engineers created in the Itreatic Asteroids, he'd never seen anything as sophisticated as the giant machine that filled one side of the deep cavern under Makarta.
Seddi Initiates and Masters stood nervously before the machine, tension in the set of their shoulders. Bruen lay on the recliner, the curious golden helmet covering his bald scalp and obscuring most of his face.
Bruen's body suddenly went limp in the chair. Sweat poured from under the golden helmet to trickle down the Magister's ancient face. Wilm and Kaylla rushed forward to lift the helmet from the old man's head and pull him up from the chair. Staffa considered the machine's effect on Bruen. The Magister sucked in deep breaths, all his energy gone.
Staffa stepped over to stare up at the Mag Comm's glittering lights, aware on some subliminal level of the machine's power. He'd asked Bruen if he could see the machine, saying that perhaps with his advanced knowledge of computer manufacturing, he could gain some clue as to its origin. Now he shook his head slowly with the realization that nothing of current human manufacture could compare with this. He ran inquisitive fingers over the consoles, unable to fathom the material or the method of manufacture.
With curious hands, Staffa picked up the helmet and raised it above his head until he felt a faint prickling sensation. Warily, he replaced it on the holder and pulled at his chin, lost in thought.
"I… I don't know if I can go on," Bruen gasped and wheezed. "Each time, I… I…"
Kaylla shushed him lovingly and helped settle the old man on an antigrav.
Staffa squinted at the huge gray banks of the computer. Nonhuman technology? Or some relic of a mythological Earth? Is the secret to the Forbidden Borders here? I will come back to this room. In a somber mood, he turned and followed
the Seddi up the winding rocky corridor.
Bruen's room turned out to be just the sort of place Staffa expected it to be: nothing more than a spare cell hewn out of solid rock. A small sleeping pallet without a grav field had been cut into a wall. An illumination panel and a compact comm access for reading or study along with a handmade chair composed the remainder of the room's furnishings. Wilm and Kaylla crowded the room as they lifted Bruen off the antigrav stretcher. Staffa waited outside, his mind still on the Mag Comm — and the implications of its existence.