Страница 69 из 71
Fifty-Seven: 3032 AD
Deeth waited till the woman was a step away, swinging her knife. He blocked the blow, stepped inside, sank his own blade into her chest. She clawed at his face as she went down.
He stood over her, watching her die. His stroke had been the only one he had struck himself. This was the first death he had dealt personally since he had killed the old man in the cave.
He felt no special satisfaction or joy. He felt almost nothing. The lack surprised him for only an instant. He never had been enthusiastic about fulfilling his father's plans.
What now? The Norbon revenge was nearly complete. The debt was almost paid. The final act, under Michael's direction, was beyond his participation. There was nothing left but to evade the fleet now passing the Fortress, pursuing his raidships.
Nothing remained but the mundanity of Norbon directorship. A huge loathing welled up within him. He never had wanted to be Head. He no longer needed the position's power. And without Rhafu, feeling the way he felt now, he might not be able to hold on.
He stalked through the Fortress of Iron, a thoughtful specter silently prowling a tomb. He paused in Storm's study, slowly poked through his enemy's effects. He began to feel a sense of spiritual kinship, to scent out a kindred loneliness. The man was not entirely alien. He was as much out of tune with humanity as his enemy was with his own people.
He found several undamaged, space-ready singleships on the shiplock level. He considered them. They were slow, but could travel almost indefinitely, seizing their power from the binding energy of the universe itself. A man who had the time could ride one forever.
Deeth summoned his remaining raidmaster, gave him a letter for his cousin Taake. It assigned Taake the duties of Head till his own return. The raidmaster glanced at it. "Where will you be, sir?"
"I'm going to make a pilgrimage."
"Sir?"
Deeth waved him away. "Go. Go on. Get out before they send someone back to check this place out."
Still not sure what he would do, Deeth boarded the ship he had chosen. It was a fat, slow vessel that had done small-time raven work. It carried both medicare cradles and cryobiological storage units. But no instel. Even the Legion had been unable to afford instel for all its ships.
The raidmaster spaced. Deeth spent more hours wandering the ruins of his enemy's home, wondering, at times, if Boris Storm and Thaddeus Walters had done the same after silencing the Norbon station. He finally took space himself, cutting a hyper arc for the center of the galaxy. He had no intention of going that far, only of ru
His course sloped through the Centerward March of Ulant. He dropped hyper long enough to gather news of what had happened on Blackworld.
He could not be sure. It sounded like he had failed.
Without Rhafu there to push him he could not care. It no longer seemed to matter.
He apologized to his father's ghost, set his drives on auto, sealed himself into a cryo storage unit.
Someday the drive would fail and he would fall into normspace. Then he would waken and look out at a whole new universe... Or the ship might plow through the heart of a sun, where the field stresses were so great they would yank the vessel out of hyper. Or...
He did not care.
Staying alive did not much matter either.
Fifty-Eight: 3032 AD
Mouse sat in the crawler operator's seat, watching Cassius and Pollya
Mouse was a little surprised at Walters too. Cassius never thought out loud. Not about the way he felt.
Walters asked Pollya
"Shylock."
"Yeah. Shylock. That's me. I'm like him. I've got a right to be human too. It's just that I'm so old and been in this business so long that I don't show it anymore."
"But that wasn't what Shylock was really talking about. He was just trying to rationalize the revenge he was taking on... " She shut up.
Mouse did not know Shakespeare, but he got the feeling Pollya
"Me? Never. I may not be completely happy with my life, but I sure as hell plan to stick around as long as I can. No, I've been thinking about getting out of the mainstream. If this kind of life has been in it. I might become a crazy old hermit on a mountain somewhere, coming down to prophesy at the villagers once a year. Or run off to the Starfishers. Or become a McGraw or a Freehauler. Anything to get away from the past. I'd just as soon do my fade before Confederation starts investigating the Shadowline, too. I don't have the patience to deal with those people. That's why I left the Corps."
"Somehow," Mouse said, "I can't picture you being anything but what you are. What about those bombs? Wouldn't you say Michael's had enough time to decide?"
Dee, still standing in the middle of the cabin, had not spoken for a long tune. Only his eyes had moved, watching every muscle in Cassius, Mouse, and Pollya
"Now, if it was up to me and I could do what I want," Cassius replied, "I'd kill you. But I won't. Unless you don't start talking about those damned bombs. You've had your time. Talk. And talk straight, because you're going to be out there beside me when we disarm them. How are they armed? How did you plan to set them off?"
The tractor's comm buzzed, demanding attention. "Mouse, get that. Michael, start talking."
"Guarantees, Cassius. I want guarantees," Dee countered. "You don't know what he's like. You don't know what he'll do if I don't set them off."
"Who?" Mouse asked.
Dee ignored him. "He'd destroy the whole universe to get you and the Storms. He's been a raving madman since you killed Rhafu."
"All right, damn it. I'll keep you in my closet if I have to. Just tell me how to get rid of those bombs."
"Your word?"
"What do you want? Me to cut my wrist and write it in blood? You're getting too good a deal now, and you know it."
"They're radio-controlled. My driver has the trigger."
"How long before he pushes the button?"
"He won't. He doesn't know he has it. I screwed up. I was too sure I'd find Gneaus here."
"Ah." Cassius chuckled evilly. "Fooled you."
"You promised."
"Cassius," Mouse said, "here's a little something to brighten your day. Helga's surrendered Festung Todesangst."
"What?" Michael demanded.
"That's the word from Naval Intelligence."
"For God's sake, why?" Dee demanded. "I don't believe it. She would have blown her scuttles... "
"I don't know why," Mouse said. "The report came from the Corps, filtered through Intelligence. They didn't explain. They just said it was a standoff, with Helga threatening to blow the scuttles and the Marines hanging on but not pushing her so hard she'd really do it. Maybe she got wind of what happened at Twilight and decided it wasn't worth it anymore. She suddenly just gave up."
Michael frowned and shook his head. "What the hell's the matter with her?" he muttered to himself. "The spoiled, self-centered twit. Just because she got what she wanted. We needed... "
Cassius was frowning, too. "It's got to be a trick. She put the bombs on timer or something. Dees are always up to tricks."