Amos glanced at his escort. Four of them; all were young. And untried, he thought, realizing for the first time that they might well die today. Regret and anger washed through him. He'd chosen youngsters because he wanted to expose as many of the young as he could to Central Worlds culture, because that was their future. Just as these vibrant young men were meant to be Bethel's.
Joseph, my brother, if I ever see you again I shall allow you to scold me for as long as pleases you about my foolishness; and in future I will bow to your will. He would let Joseph boot his Prophetic arse, for that matter, if he lived past this day.
"Benisur, I'm afraid they may be after you. There's nothing else on the ship that would be worth their trouble."
Nothing, unless the pirates were after a cargo of sun-dried tomatoes, dates, goat cheese, leather handicrafts, and preserved meats. Valuable enough on SSS-900-C, with its rich manufactories and well-paid, highly-trained inhabitants. Not the sort of thing which pirates selected for their raids.
Amos nodded. "My thinking exactly, Captain."
He paused. Pirates would squeeze Bethel for a ransom it could ill afford.
"I am reluctant to place your people or your ship in any greater danger, Captain, but I believe we must consider resisting. After all, if I am the object of this exercise, then they cannot risk firing on the ship and possibly killing me. So that is one danger we need not fear. And as they are in a small ship, how many of them could there be? Ten perhaps? Fifteen?"
The Captain shrugged. "Fifteen tops, more would overtax life support."
"So we outnumber them as well. Let them come aboard, lure them in and when they are in far enough, strike, and take hostage any survivors. What do you say?" Amos glanced at his young Caladin, courteously including him in their council.
"I had not even considered surrendering you to them, Benisur." Samuel's brown eyes held an innocent bravery.
"I'm no soldier, Benisur," Sung said, and pulled on his lower lip. "But I like your plan a whole lot better than just letting these animals grab my ship and take you off it." He nodded decisively: "We'll do it."
There was a slight quaver in Sung's voice as he issued orders to break out the arms. He glanced at Amos to see if it had been noticed. But Amos was studying the monitor showing the lock through which the pirates would enter.
An echoing clang resounded through the ship as the pirates extended a caterpillar lock to connect them to the Sunwise.
Amos looked up from the screen to watch the crewmen depart for their ambush site and murmured a blessing over them, knowing that most of them would neither understand nor thank him for it. But the eyes of the four Bethelites showed gratitude as they ceremoniously touched forehead, lips, and heart.
Then he watched as the Captain keyed the monitors that covered his crew's progress under the direction of the Bethelite soldiers.
The camera trained on the main lock showed the hatch recessing. Air hissed as pressures equalized; Bethel's was well below the Earth-derived standard the Central Worlds used.
A long second's pause. Two men in black space armor swung out from the airlock, crouching, plasma rifles up. After a moment one of them signaled and five more swept out. Three split off and moved carefully towards engineering, the other four, hugging the walls and moving with extreme caution, headed for the bridge.
Amos's stomach knotted. Their armor was too much like the Kolnari's-though a stripped down version of it-and their movements were too professional, too disciplined, for mere criminals. If the Kolnari were so reduced as to use outsiders… mercenaries… But no, surely they would despise and avoid such creatures.
Yet these men behaved like the product of intensive Kolnari training-that was an inhumanly businesslike civilization.
He opened his mouth to advise the Captain to call off the ambush, when a final invader left the airlock and entered the ship.
A foot, clad in massive black battle armor, hit the Sunwise's deck with a crash that seemed to move the ship. Slowly-majestic as an eclipse-the Kolnari entered, turned, and marched towards the bridge.
Amos could not speak. For a moment his throat was paralyzed, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't move. It was unexpected, to be so overwhelmed by horror at seeing one of them again, for he was no coward. But an evil that had almost destroyed his people had returned; the nightmare was marching again-coming to collect him personally.
"Captain!" Amos managed to choke out. "Call off the ambush, call it off or they'll kill you all!"
The Captain stared for a moment as though he hadn't understood, then activated the com and spoke, just as Samuel, the Bethelite Caladin, fired on the invaders.
"Stand down! Stand down! Lay down your weapons and fall back!"
Some of the crew heard him, reacting with confusion at first, looking around to see if anyone else had heard the order, lowering their rifles, backing off. But Amos's guards engaged the enemy-too intent on battle to listen-certain that if the Benisur Amos wished them to hold their fire his voice would have told them so.
One crewman stood up, his hands lifted in surrender and died for it, a steaming hole blasted in his chest by a plasma rifle.
The doubtful broke then and fled, while the others fought and retreated, and died, one by one. Retreat turned to slaughter.
Amos was thrown with bruising force at the feet of Belazir t'Marid and lay face down, unmoving, on a rough carpet made from the scaly hide of a great beast. Behind him, he heard the gentle whir of servos as the battle-armored Kolnari lowered the arm that had flung him here. He heard soft grunts as his companions, Captain Sung and Soamosa were tossed to the floor beside him.
Soamosa, her blond hair freed from confinement and her gown much torn, clung to Amos's arm, burying her face against him and trembling.
"Look at me, Benisur," purred a voice silky with satisfaction.
Amos raised himself onto his elbows and slowly lifted his head. Belazir grinned down at him, white teeth gleaming in a predator's snarl from a face as black as a starless night. He has aged, Amos thought, shocked.
The hawklike nose was more prominent and the flesh hung on his face like slightly melted tallow. But the golden eyes were as bright and cruel as they had ever been; though now they held the glint of sheer mad glee, where before there had only been a lazy amusement.
"So good to see you," Belazir continued, almost whispering.
The control room was centered on his chair, like a massive throne set among control consoles and display screens. The Kolnari lord wore only a white silk loincloth and jeweled belt, besides his ornaments; he lolled like a resting tiger between guards in powered armor, his own suit standing empty and waiting. Behind him a holograph showed a nighted landscape where armored plants grew and moved and fought slow vegetable battles with spikes of organic steel. In the distance a nuclear volcano spat fire that red-lighted the undersides of acid clouds. A giant beast with sapphire scales trumpeted its agony at the sky as six-legged wolves leaped and clung and tore at its adamantine sides. Thick purple blood rilled towards the ground, and the very grass writhed to drink of it.
Kolnar, Amos knew with a shudder. Antechamber of hell. Belazir had never seen the planet that bred his kind, but it lived in his genes.
"So good to see you like this," Belazir said. He slowly clenched his hand. "You are in my fist," he explained, as though Amos might not know it. "You and your companions." He grinned at them and indicated the Captain. "And who have we here? Captain Sung, I presume?"