onorail that empty arteries. They seldom used the single in
ran between Kaspa and the hidden chambers of Makarta. Seddi resources had been funneled into other causes through the years and if the one car should fail, well, there were worse deaths than starving in the blackness of the tunnels, though not many. Sending out a rescue party would take weeks.
The hiss of the approaching car grew louder until it pulled into the lighted chamber. Butla Ret glanced up as he rocked to a stop and turned off the motor. He puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled and shook his head. "I'd started to wonder if I'd ever get here. "
"So had we," Bruen greeted.
Ret climbed out of the vehicle and followed Bruen through a winding maze of corridors hewn out of the rock. They entered a lighted room filled with monitors, several tables, and a couch where Magister Hyde lay under a warmer. Butla went over to take Hyde's weak hand.
Bruen ignored them as he walked to the pine table. Finally he turned. "I guess you know why we wanted to see you, Butla. "
The big assassin gave Hyde one last encouraging smile and moved into the center of the room. "I think so, Magister. "
"You have made a decision?"
Butla rubbed his hands together and nodded. "Yes, Magister Bruen. I will accept. It seems there is no other way. 11
Bruen cleared his throat. "Then you are now formally in command of the field operations of the Targan resistance." Hyde nodded in somber agreement from the couch where
he lay. His flesh had sunk around the skull like a death mask. "The quanta are making fools of us all, Butla. We thought the Star Butcher would be our greatest threat, and now he may be in the clutches of Ily Takka. Who knows what that might mean. Nothing is proceeding as we had planned. All of our predictive models are on hold. This new general of the First Assault Division is completely—"
"This Sinklar Fist?" Butla frowned. "He was promoted from sergeant. How could he…"
/ can't tell him who Sinklar Fist is, or about his heritage. "We don't know." Bruen lied as he lowered himself carefully into a chair. "At the time he was appointed, we were hesitant. Apparently the Regan Minister of Defense abandoned Fist to his destruction in the mountains between Kaspa and Vespa. Fist has turned the tables. We had begun massing in the hills around his position — but he evacuated, on mining equipment, of all things, before we could launch a strike. He not only refused to be destroyed, he took Vespa, butchered our counterattack with almost no losses, and has, through some magic of his own, incorporated the prisoners he took into his own corps of loyal irregulars."
Bruen avoided Ret's questioning gaze and pulled at his ear. Of course, we knew he was brilliant. After all, he's probably the most incredible mix of genetic material to come along in the eight hundred years of Free Space.
"There is always assassination," Butla mentioned casually. "Now that she's contacted me, I could send Arta after him — or go myself."
Bruen lifted an eyebrow. What are you hiding, Butla? You now something we don't. Why don't you speak? Or don't you trust us anymore? "Perhaps. Let us keep that option open. On the other hand, he will be most difficult to get to. His people are very loyal,"
"Perhaps," Butla's deep bass rumbled. "For the moment, the Targan forces are scattered, morale is down. I will repair that damage and then we shall see to this Sinklar Fist. and his First Division."
"We are placing our trust in you, Butla Ret," Hyde added, voice barely audible. "And perhaps. our last hope."
What do I do now? How will things work out on Etarus. Is there truly any hope for an alliance with the Companions? This is all changing too rapidly. We're on a wild ride, and the coaster is out of control.
Chapter 19
"She comes with me," Staffa insisted, arms crossed resolutely as they stood in the burning Etarian sands.
Ily lifted a questioning eyebrow. The Lord Commander wanted her, a work-toughened cock-pinch? The brownhaired slave woman was filthy — not that Staffa looked any cleaner. Ily could see a bruise healing on her cheek, and a man had obviously been sucking at her neck from the fading purple splotches. Why, she'd probably been had by every man in Etarus — and in every orifice! True, she exhibited a curious animal magnetism in the way the muscles rolled under that tanned flesh. Was she what he'd been screwing out here?
Ily took the time to get a good look at Staffa. He was dirty. Even in the dry hot air, his body reeked of sweat and his personal odor, unwashed these many days. The sun had blackened his skin and a wealth of old scars stood out pinkish-white along his massively muscled chest, shoulders, and arms. He, too, she noted, carried bruises — especially around his swollen throat. His eyes never left hers, measuring and wary, suspicious of her next move. He kept the override box gripped tightly in his battered hand.
Ily experienced a slight flush as she met those gray eyes. Here, by the Rotted Gods, stood a man! She looked on a feral male, one she could respect. Nevertheless, he had changed. The haughty arrogance had vanished to be replaced by something else, some dangerous cunning coupled with an unnamed anguish. What had the cursed Warden done to him?
"Very well, Lord Commander, you may bring her. But what, pray tell, will you do with her?" Ily gestured for the aircar, aware of Tyklat's spongelike attention. He hadn't missed a word, not a single nuance. A very bright young
man, this Tyklat. He would have to be used carefully — and watched vigilantly.
Ily heard Staffa say to the woman, "I made you a promise. I can't change the past… no matter how much I would like to. I also gave you my word that I would free you if I could."
Ily speculated as the slave woman shrank from Staffa's touch and climbed unevenly to her feet. She walked suspiciously toward the approaching aircar, silent, ignoring Staffa who still stood there with a dumb misery in his eyes. Most interesting! The Lord Commander could be hurt through this woman. Who was she? How could she be used?
Ily reached for Staffa's hand and almost jerked back. His flesh felt like wood! She noted the scabs where they had cracked and sand now caked the coagulated blood. "Come, Staffa, a cool shower and clean clothes await you. We will discuss our business, and then you may be free to go."
His deadly gray eyes met hers and he nodded, voice raspy as he said, "After you Minister," and gestured, his long black hair flipping and twisting barbarically in the searing wind.
Tyklat took the front seat next to the slave woman. Ily switched on the privacy shield as the vehicle rose from the swirling sand. She analyzed Staffa's slit-eyed stare as they rose over the pile of corpses pulled from the collapsed dune. For a split second, she caught a glimmer of rage in his expression as he looked down at the long length of pipe reflecting brightly in the sun.
"Lord Commander," she asked in her most sympathetic voice. "How did you come to be sold like a common criminal? The Empire is terribly embarrassed by the entire incident."
As they moved beyond sight of the pipeline, he turned, and she experienced a thrill at the brute power in his eyes.
"You must have found the case records. and the Judicial Magistrate, if you found me."
"How would you like the matter to be handled? The Emperor will want your every wish accorded to." She settled herself and pulled the flask from the seat beside her. His sharpened expression cued her and she graciously handed him the energy-rich rehydrating fluid.
"Drink it, I believe you need it more than I." She smiled,
letting her lids drop &ver so slightly, her mouth set in the practiced half-smile that enticed and invited.
He drank but half, handing the flask forward. The slave woman, Ily noted, might not be interested in acknowledging the Lord Commander, but she finished the flask. Evidently, in the desert, water overrode social concerns.