The word INDEX—in English—appeared on the screen as Lessup punched another button, then disappeared. Rows of letters and numbers crawled upward, vanishing at the top of the screen. “The latest entries,” said Lessup and snorted in disgust.
“What a bunch of garbage.” The moving entries sped into a blur as he fingered another control.
After nearly a minute, he lifted his hand and the words froze on the screen. “Five years back,” he announced, pressing down again. More lines flew upwards on the screen, then suddenly disappeared entirely. The words LIMITED ACCESS MATERIAL flashed on. ENTER PHD #.
“Ah,” said Lessup. “We must be getting down to the good stuff.” He pulled on his lower lip, his other hand hovering nervously over the panel. “I’ll have to take a chance on this. I know it has to be seven digits—” He was talking only to himself, “—and I think it has to start with zero five.” He took a deep breath, then rapidly punched several buttons.
The words disappeared from the screen and, after a second of nothing but blankness, the lines of the index re-appeared. Lessup slumped with relief in the chair. He turned his head and smiled ingenuously at Daenek and Rennie. “I didn’t tell you that there’s an alarm wired into this thing. Goes off if you goof up suspiciously.” Turning back to the screen, his hands sought out the controls, and the rows of words and numbers flashed upward again.
Several minutes more passed, then Lessup slowed the index to a crawl. He leaned forward, studying the characters. “All right,” he said slowly. “This is just . . . about . . . the time of the coup against the thane.” The index froze as he lifted his hand from the control panel. “Now if I can find the right envelope . . .”
Another button, and the words TOPIC, GENERAL replaced the index. Letter by letter, the words EVENTS, POLITICAL, SEQUENCE appeared as Lessup pecked at the buttons. The screen went blank, then read RESTRICTED MATERIAL. ENTER PRIORITY #.
Lessup sat back in the chair and stared at the screen. “Damn,” he said. “I’ve never even heard of that.” Chewing his lip, he reached out to the panel, then jerked his hand back as if from a fire. “Well,” he said after several seconds, “here goes.” His hand moved along the controls again, slowly pressing a sequence of buttons.
The screen went blank. A long moment passed. “Maybe we’d better—” began Daenek, when words suddenly flashed on the screen again. SEQUENCE, SPECIFIC.
Smiling, Lessup tapped out THANE, REFERENCE TO. He turned and winked at Daenek and Rennie. “Now we’ve got it.”
Suddenly, as he faced the screen again, it went dead, devoid of even its constant faint-blue glow. Lessup whirled around, lifting himself out of the seat. His smile was replaced with fear-widened eyes.
“What’s the matter?” said Daenek.
“It suckered us.” Lessup’s voice was harsh with tension. “We tripped an alarm. I should’ve known there wasn’t any such thing as a priority—” He broke off, staring past them at the door.
Daenek thought he could hear a muffled, ringing noise outside the room, then the sound of running feet, coming closer. “Come on,” he snapped, pulling Lessup from the seat.
The door wouldn’t open when Daenek tugged at the handle.
The sound of men running was growing louder.
“We’ll have to try and get past them,” said Rennie. “Scatter if you make it, then try to find your way back to the air shaft.” She flattened herself against the wall by the door.
There was only the sound of their breathing for a few seconds, then the door slowly moved inward. Daenek grabbed the handle and pulled violently. A figure in a dark uniform tumbled into the room. Rennie dashed past him into a group of several more men.
There was the dull crack of fists against their flesh as she struggled furiously to get free of them.
Lessup and Daenek followed on her heels. The corridor seemed to be filled with black uniforms and hands reaching for them, pulling them down. Daenek saw Lessup fall to the floor, tackled around his waist by two of the men.
Somehow, Daenek managed to jerk himself loose from the nearest ones and slip beneath a thick arm that started to encircle his neck. He sprinted down the corridor, then glanced quickly over his shoulder as he ran. One of the black-uniformed men seemed to be pointing at him. A small flash of light from the man’s outstretched hand, and the corridor darkened as Daenek turned his head. The floor flew up at him but he never felt its impact.
Chapter XVIII
Consciousness surprised him. Daenek opened his eyes and lifted his head, then winced at a sudden pain in the side of his neck. He pressed his hand to it, then took it away. There was a tiny spot of blood on his fingers. That’s where the needle must have hit, he thought dully.
He was lying upon some type of low couch. He righted himself and set his feet upon the floor. The room was in darkness except for what looked to be a small lamp upon a desk some meters away. As Daenek leaned forward, trying to make out anything else, the lamp tilted towards him, blinding him for a moment.
“I’m glad to see you’re awake,” came a voice from behind the desk. “Please don’t get up.”
Daenek shaded his eyes. Behind the glare of the lamp he could detect the outlines of the man who had spoken but nothing of his face. “What happened to the others who were with me?” said Daenek. His throat ached when he talked.
“They’ve been taken care of.”
Regret and anger mingled in Daenek’s chest at what had happened to them. “What about me?”
“You have no cause to worry.” The voice remained smooth, emotionless. “I accord you some respect, as the son of a great man. A man whose downfall I had the misfortune of aiding.”
“You’re the Regent.”
“Yes.”
Daenek leaned back against the couch and dug his fingers into the soft upholstery. Tensing, he began to gauge the distance between himself and the desk, then stopped. More of the black-uniformed men, the Regent’s personal militia, were probably only a fraction of a second away. And even more important, the man behind the desk might be the last source left for the answers he had come so far to find. “What do you want with me?” he said, relaxing only a fraction.
The glare-obscured face made no movement. “To talk,” he said. “I’ve spent years thinking of what I would say to you, when you finally came.”
Daenek’s voice tightened into a rasp. “Is that why you ordered the subthane to kill me when I turned seventeen?”
An amused note crept into the other’s voice. “I knew that you’d only be worth talking to if you escaped and made your way here. That would show how much of your father was in you. And as it now seems . . . please relax your disguise.”
Squinting, Daenek tried to discern the expression on the Regent’s face, but his features were still hidden by the lamp’s glare. After a few seconds, Daenek concentrated, then relaxed, letting the muscles and sinews that formed his mask shift back into the contours of his own face.
“Thank you,” said the Regent. His voice was oddly respectful.
“Yes . . . it is his face. You are the son of a thane.”
The last few words seemed to burn into Daenek’s chest. He waited, saying nothing.
The Regent spoke again. “To this day I regret the necessity of his death. He wanted great things.”
“Why was he killed?” Daenek’s throat felt tight around his words.
“The things he wanted were inconvenient to some—the Academy. Fearful to others—most of the men he thought supported him. Between those his dreams were pressed to death.”