“He’s a citizen of the Terran Confederation,” Applegate said, refusing to shrivel. “As such, he has certain rights.”
“You may lodge a protest when this is over,” the Peer said, motioning to the two soldiers flanking the door. “Guards: Remove his vac suit.” He cocked his head thoughtfully. “And the female’s suit, as well.”
“I can find him for you,” Bayta spoke up as the two soldiers started forward.
All eyes turned to her. “You mean Fayr?” Prif Klas asked.
“Yes,” she said. Her voice was tight, her expression that of someone facing a firing squad. “I just need the reader from my carrybag.”
I frowned, trying to read past the taut skin and haunted eyes. There couldn’t possibly be anything on her reader that would tell her where Fayr was. What was she up to?
“Very well,” Prif Klas said slowly, standing up. Turning her carry-bag on its side, he popped it open.
And then, with a sudden rush of heat across my face, I understood. Rather than let them make me touch the coral, she was going to trigger the Saarix-5.
I looked back at Prif Klas as he rummaged through Bayta’s carry-bag, freshly aware of the gentle weight of the vac helmet hanging from my shoulder clip. Depending on the poison’s dispersion radius, Bayta and I might be able to get our helmets on and sealed before the Saarix reached us. Applegate might possibly manage it, too, if he figured it out and reacted quickly enough.
But that left all the others.
What was my obligation to them? Certainly none of them had threatened us or made any other move that justified deadly force. How could I just sit by and let Bayta murder them?
Prif Klas had the reader out now, fingering it as he eyed Bayta suspiciously across the table. He wasn’t fooled; he knew something here was off-key. “Very well,” he said at last. “But first, you and Compton will remove your vac suits.”
The skin of Bayta’s face went even tighter. She shot a look at me—
“Well, come on,” I seconded, putting a little impatience into my voice. “Get it off and tell them what they want to know so we can get out of here.”
For a split second she just stared at me, a whole series of emotions flicking across her face. Then, with a final twitch of her lip, her expression went back to its usual wooden flatness.
A flatness I was doing my best to emulate… because in order to remove our vac suits, the Halkas were first going to have to take off our wristcuffs.
Of course, that would still leave a ratio of two Halkan soldiers plus a major to one of me. But it was still our best chance. Probably our only chance.
The two soldiers stepped to either side of Bayta and hauled her to her feet. I watched their procedure, planning when and how I would make my move when it was my turn.
And then, as one of the soldiers reached for the fasteners at her collar, the conference door slid open behind them.
Both soldiers spun around, hands dropping automatically to their weapons. But it was only a Cimma in a bright orange vac suit, his faceplate darkened as if he’d just come in from outside but his pear shape unmistakable as he waddled into the room. He saw us and came to an abrupt halt. “Does this be the ski instruction group?” he asked tentatively, his gravelly voice through his helmet sounding like it was coming from a deep pit.
“You have the wrong room,” Prif Klas said tartly.
Keeping my upper body motionless, I gathered my feet beneath me. One did not turn down a gift from heaven, and with the Cimma’s appearance my odds had suddenly improved. The two soldiers now had their backs to me, and the others had at least part of their attention distracted toward the end of the room.
It was time to make my move.
The two soldiers were the obvious targets. But with Applegate and most of the table between us, I knew I’d never reach them in time.
But Mahf was another story. He was sitting directly across from me, his status guns gleaming in their shoulder holsters. If I could get across the table fast enough, I might be able to grab one of those guns before he could react. Getting a grip on the edge of the table, I eased my weight off the chair, preparing to kick it backward out of my way.
“My apologies,” the Cimma said, bowing low and stretching his arms out as if preparing to bless us. I caught a glimpse of a pair of slender orange tubes fastened to the undersides of each of his forearms—
And with a double snap like the breaking of small branches, a pair of projectiles shot out to catch the two Halkan soldiers squarely in their torsos.
They staggered back into the table, clutching at their chests and fumbling for their guns. A quarter second later their legs folded beneath them, dropping them onto the floor, even as the major seated beside Bayta caught a round of his own and collapsed onto the table. Across from me, Mahf snarled a curse, shoving his chair violently backward and throwing himself after it as he grabbed for his guns. But the Cimma was already tracking his movement, and again the wrist guns snapped, turning the dive into a crumple and sending his guns skittering uselessly away across the floor.
Prif Klas and the Peer, older and more cultured and far less accustomed to sudden and violent action, didn’t even make it out of their chairs.
Which left just Bayta, Applegate, and me. “Easy,” I cautioned, holding my cuffed hands up for the Cimma’s inspection. “We may be on the same side here.”
“Perhaps,” the other said. “One moment, if you please.”
Keeping one of his wrist guns pointed at Applegate, he systematically fired three more rounds with the other into each of the figures already sprawled in chairs or on the floor. “It requires more than one snoozer to put a walker completely to sleep,” he commented. With his one hand still trained on Applegate, he reached up now with the other and touched his faceplate control. The darkening cleared away …
And to my complete lack of surprise, I found
“You were in need of assistance,” he said, eyeing Bayta and Applegate. “These are trusted colleagues?”
“Bayta is,” I said, bending the truth only a little. “I’m afraid I can’t vouch for Mr. Applegate.”
Applegate sent me a surprised look. “Well, thank you,” he growled. “Thank you very much.”
“Nothing personal,” I assured him as I lowered my wrists to my lap and started working my fingers along the edges. “Right now I don’t trust much of anyone on this rock.”
“Unless they’re renegade Bellidos, of course,” Applegate countered tartly, brushing my fingers aside and starting to work on the cuffs himself.
“Who said I trust them, either?” I said, looking back at Fayr. He was busily stripping the sleeping Halkan soldiers of guns and comms, the orange of his chameleon vac suit fading rapidly to dark green and the pear-shaped lower bulge collapsing in on itself as it reconfigured from its Cimman profile. “And I think it’s about time someone told me what exactly is going on.”
Fayr’s eyes flicked to Applegate. “Later.”
“Or I could just tell you now,” Applegate offered, still fiddling with my cuffs. “It turns out that Modhran coral has some properties the Halkas have been careful not to mention to the rest of us. To be specific, chemicals in the shell material that create a mild narcotic effect in most species. For a small percentage of the populace, it can be as addicting as heroin-3 or Redpeace.” He looked over at Fayr. “We’re not
“Never mind the loop,” I growled. As bad as heroin-3? “And they’ve been shipping this stuff across the galaxy for
“The officials claim they didn’t know,” Applegate said. “Maybe they didn’t. But someone’s been using the coral to manipulate people. Important people, corporations—maybe even entire governments.”
“Including some in the Estates-General?” I suggested, lifting my eyebrows at Fayr.
Fayr didn’t reply, but Applegate nodded. “There’s a fair chance of it. Those who’ve been caught, needless to say, haven’t been very forthcoming.”
“So who’s behind it?” I asked.
Applegate shrugged. “Some secret group calling themselves the Modhri,” he said. “Whoever they are, the source of their power is sitting right here, a kilometer below our feet. Destroy that, and they’re finished.”
