As Teldin made his way down to Raven Stormwalker's quarters, he noted that he still had no idea who or what she might be, or what she wanted from him. At the moment, that hardly mattered. In Teldin's current frame of mind, those doubts put her on an equal footing with any of his most trusted friends.
Chapter Twelve
"How could such a thing happen?" thundered the scro general.
"There is a certain, unavoidable delay in getting information from the elven swan ship. Since our last dispatch, it seems that the human, Teldin Moore, changed the ship's destination from Lionheart to Radole," K'tide said. "It was most unexpected."
Grimnosh stopped his pacing to level an icy glare at the spy master. "I pay you to make sure I know what to expect. So far, your efforts have created little benefit and much potential for disaster."
"But our informant is still in place. In time, the elven ship will return to Lionheart-"
"We don't have time, you imbecilic insect," Grimnosh growled, thrusting a menacing forefinger into the spy master's chest. "Understand this: Lionheart is no longer the issue." He punctuated each word with a sharp stab, his claw banging painfully against K'tide's exoskeleton.
"But destroying the elven high command-"
"Was a pleasant fantasy," Grimnosh concluded firmly. He shook himself down as if to dispel both his rage and the notion of destroying Lionheart, and he strode purposefully over to his desk and lowered himself into his seat. "Now then. Under the circumstances, the Armistice project has become a problem. Given the elves' interest in Teldin Moore, as well as the fact that half the races of known space seem to be chasing the human's cloak, Winterspace soon will be infested with more ships than a bugbear has fleas." He paused to let K'tide absorb his words. "Now, where are the bionoid ships?"
K'tide blinked, startled. "Nearby. Why do you ask?"
"Summon them. Have them all land on the Elfsbane immediately."
"But that is impossible," the spy master stammered. "The bionoids work with me only with great reluctance. They will never take direct orders from you."
"Oh, come now, K'tide," Grimnosh chided. He folded his beautifully manicured hands on his desk. "Don't you think it's time we dispense with this ridiculous pretense?"
"But-"
"Call them!" thundered the scro.
Seeing that he had little choice, K'tide removed a small scrying globe from a pocket of his robe and sank deep into concentration. The telepathic argument was every bit as fierce as he'd anticipated, but finally he called upon the bionoids' pledge loyalty and demanded that they land on the dinotherium. Finally, feeling drained and depleted, he looked up at the glowering scro.
"It is done," he said.
"Excellent." Grimnosh turned to his ever-attentive adjutant. "Nimick, I want you to go to the landing deck. Wait for the shrike ships, then bring the officers to me at once."
"Sir?"
"The officers?" Grimnosh prodded, seeing that Nimick's astonishment had rendered him immobile. "I would like to see them? Here?"
The adjutant saluted and turned to carry out the order. "Oh, Nimick," Grimnosh drawled as if a new thought had just occurred to him. "You might stop by the barracks on your way. Select a dozen or so of my personal guard to help you escort our allies to my office. If some of our scro become overly conscientious in their duty, I should hate to have to break in a new adjutant."
Nimick disappeared through the doorway. "What is all this about?" K'tide demanded, rising from his chair and moving forward with several jerky strides.
"Sit."
The scro's suggestion was offered through a snarl of pure menace. K'tide took the chair Grimnosh pointedly indicated and waited for the bionoid officers.
Their approach was heralded long before their arrival; the presence of the guard did not prevent scro from shouting highly articulate, alliterative insults at their unlikely allies. The commotion grew progressively louder until Nimick's knock signaled their arrival.
"Enter," Grimnosh called sharply. He looked first to his adjutant. "Nimick, take the guard and inform the troops that this unseemly display is to stop immediately. The rest of you, please do come in."
"Leave you alone with them, sir?" the gray-green scro asked in disbelief.
"I'm touched by your solicitude, Nimick," Grimnosh said with dangerous calm. The adjutant saluted and shut the door behind him.
The scro general turned his attention to his allies, hiding his disdain for their elflike appearance only with great effort. He got the impression that the bionoids were struggling to maintain similar facades. There was little love lost between the scro and the bionoids at the best of times, but since times were not good for either race, they had decided to make a mutual exception.
"I have an assignment for you," he said, rising to his full seven feet so that he towered over the deceptively fragile creatures. Their leader, a male named Wynlar, cast a quick glance toward K'tide. "Since time is of the essence, perhaps we should discard the pretense of an intermediary," Grim-nosh said.
"As you wish," Wynlar replied in an even voice, meeting the sera's gaze squarely.
The general nodded slightly, pleased by the bionoid leader's control. Less disciplined were the other officers: a red-haired female's eyes flashed fire, another wench kept smoothing back her silver hair in an unconscious gesture of agitation, and their wizard looked as if he were ready to weep. It was hard to equate these wretched, elflike creatures with the magnificent fighting machines they could become at will, but, since one could not be had without the other, Grimnosh was prepared to make allowances.
"Some of your people have been following the elven vessel called Trumpeter, so you know that this ship soon will be entering Winterspace, bound for the planet Radole. On that ship is a human who is attracting an unseemly amount of interest. Rather than risk drawing attention to our work on Armistice, I want the human out of the picture. You will find his ship, board it, and retrieve him. I want him. Dead or alive makes no difference. His name is Teldin Moore, and he is distinguished by the long, dark cloak he wears."
"An easy task," Wynlar said, a question in his quiet voice.
"Make it look difficult," Grimnosh said flatly. "Take every ship you have. Make a display of force, as if the elves themselves are your primary target."
"And the elves?" asked Wynlar.
Grimnosh smiled, thinking that he understood the bionoid leader's concerns. The combined bionoid forces numbered more than a score, and the fierce creatures would hardly be content with a surgical strike. Under similar circumstances, he would be hard pressed to hold back scro warriors from seeking trophies, and he was prepared to be generous with his allies.
"Kill as many elves as amuses you. I want only the human.
Find him and bring him to me, Captain," Grimnosh said with quiet emphasis. "I want this group to see to the task | personally. The rest of your people need not know the true target of this attack." There was a warning in the gentle suggestion that the shrewd bionoid could not miss, and Wynlar nodded.
The scro spread his hands in dismissal. "That's all. See to it."
Without a word, the bionoids turned and filed from the room. Four officers, twenty-odd bionoids altogether, Grimnosh mused. That might seem a small band to send against an elven swan ship, but conventional military odds favored one bionoid against ten fully armed scro. The scrawny bunch that had just left his office probably could have the elven crew for dawnfry without breaking a sweat.