Judgment at Proteus

“What he arranged, and why he arranged it, are not important,” Emikai said, his voice dark and stiff. “A Filiaelian’s identity is in his heart, his mind, and his soul. By your actions and words, Usantra Wandek, you have forfeited the right to that name.”

Wandek spat. {And you think I find sorrow at that loss?} he said in Fili, the first hint of actual anger coloring his voice. {Be assured that the name I carry now will be far longer remembered.} He glared at Emikai another moment, then turned back to me. “Logra Emikai’s betrayal is to no end,” he said, switching back to English. “He carries an expander weapon, which has no capability to kill or even seriously injure.”

“I have an enforcement officer’s training,” Emikai said ominously, taking a step forward.

“Don’t try it,” I said quickly. “I’ve seen Shonkla-raa fight. Any one of them could cut you to ribbons.”

“So we reach the end,” Wandek said. “If you come quietly, Mr. Compton, I promise to spare the traitor and the cripple.”

“Who said the negotiations were over?” I countered. I’d achieved my first goal, that of getting Wandek to admit the truth about Terese’s treatment in Emikai’s presence. But there was still one crucial card I had to get Wandek to play if we were going to get out of this alive. “Logra Emikai’s gun may not kill, but I’ll bet a beanbag to the throat would put a serious damper on your ability to control the Modhri.”

Wandek sniffed. “Perhaps,” he conceded. “But he has only eight shots. Even added to your thirteen, that still leaves you woefully short.”

“Which will be of great comfort to the thirteen who’ll be dead and the eight who’ll be slowly suffocating with crushed throats,” I said. “You want to call for volunteers? Or shall we pick them ourselves?”

Wandek smiled. “As a matter of fact,” he said, “I believe I can furnish you with some volunteers.”

“Compton,” Minnario’s voice wheezed.

I turned my head. The Nemut was leaning sideways in his chair, his face and body racked with pain and frustration. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t … stop him. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the door behind the group of Shonkla-raa slide open.

And a line of watchdogs marched silently into the docking bay.

Beside me, I heard Bayta give an anguished choke. The animals threaded their way between the assembled Fillies, filed past Wandek and Terese, and arranged themselves in a semicircle centered on Bayta, Emikai, Wandek, and me. I waited, also silently, until the door was closed and the last of the animals took his place in Wandek’s new shock front. There were twenty of them, I noted, plus Doug and Ty. “There you are,” Wandek said equably. “Twenty-two msikai-dorosli. One for each of your shots, plus one left to tear Logra Emikai’s throat from his body.” He cocked his head. “Do you still wish to open fire?”

“Twenty of them here in just a couple of minutes,” I commented. “That’s very quick work. More of that fear and hopelessness thing you tried on me before?”

“I originally assembled them to deal with the Spiders who even now approach Kuzyatru Station,” Wandek said, eyeing me closely. “But I can bring more, if your plan was to deplete their numbers before the transport arrives.”

“Oh, no, I had no such plans,” I assured him. “I had wondered, though, how you knew which docking bay to come to. They called ahead to confirm their landing-bay assignment, didn’t they?”

“As must all ships approaching Kuzyatru Station,” Wandek said, his voice oddly distant, his blaze mottling. “Fear and hopelessness, you say, Compton. Yet I see neither in your eyes. Do you believe the Spiders aboard the transport can aid you in defeating me? If so, cleanse that hope from your mind. I’m quite certain that the same tone that commands the Modhri and freezes the alien female at your side will do similarly to them.”

“Actually, I wasn’t counting on the Spiders at all,” I said truthfully. “I think you aren’t seeing any hopelessness because you didn’t let me finish my question.”

He frowned. “What question?”

“The one I was starting to ask Logra Emikai a minute ago, before you brought in your Parade of the Watchdogs.” I raised my eyebrows. “May I?”

Still frowning, Wandek waved a hand in permission. “Thank you.” I turned to Emikai. “Tell me, what happened with the errand I sent you on earlier? The one in Tech Yleli’s neighborhood?”

Emikai’s eyes flicked to me, and for a pair of heartbeats his blaze darkened with confusion.

And then, I saw his face clear as he suddenly got it. “To the right,” he murmured. “Two o’clock.”

I nodded, my estimation of Emikai going up another notch at his use of that uniquely Human system of orientation, and turned my eyes in that direction.

There they were, just as I’d asked: eight large metal cylinders, stacked neatly together on their sides between a pair of equipment lockers.

I turned back to Wandek. “Before I forget, Usantra Wandek, I want to thank you for bringing Ms. German along,” I said, my eyes dipping briefly to the white-faced girl in front of him. “We wanted to get her off Proteus, but I had no idea where to even start looking. This simplifies things immensely.”

Wandek snorted. “You spoke earlier of fear and hopelessness,” he said. His earlier wariness was gone, replaced by a fresh wave of contempt. “I see now that you speak mostly of bluff.”

“Probably,” I agreed. “Do you know what I like about Filiaelians?”

The sudden change of topic seemed to throw him momentarily off balance. But he recovered quickly. “Tell me,” he invited.

“It’s the way our two cultures overlap, complimenting but not duplicating each other,” I said. “Take Tech Yleli’s funeral, for example. Do you know what Human children birthdays and Filiaelian funerals have in common?” I raised my eyebrows. “Helium balloons.”

And swiveling my Beretta to the two o’clock position, I emptied the magazine into the tanks of super- compressed helium.

The bursting metal sounded exactly like a cluster of bombs going off, which was exactly the way Wandek and the other Shonkla-raa reacted. Wandek dropped instantly into a crouch, dragging Terese down with him. The rest of the Shonkla-raa, apparently only now realizing how tempting a target their tight-packed group presented, began to spread out into the main part of the bay where the watchdogs held their stolid vigil. I stood motionless, my empty gun still pointed at the tanks, watching Wandek’s face, wondering distantly if this was actually going to work. A wave of coolness washed across my face as expansion-chilled helium mixed with the rest of the docking bay’s air.

And then, without warning, Bayta gave a choked gasp, her body sagging like a marionette with cut strings. “Frank—” she wheezed.

It was at that moment that Wandek realized what had happened. With a snarl, he jammed his hand into his tunic pocket and pulled out a small handgun I’d never seen him with before.

But he was too late. In unison, the whole group of watchdogs turned to their Shonkla-raa masters and attacked.

I leaped forward toward the sudden chaos, trying to get to Terese before Wandek got his gun into position. But I had barely started my charge when two of the watchdogs slammed in from opposite directions, nosing their way between Wandek and Terese and shoving them apart. Halfway through their charge, in perfect unison, the watchdog closest to Wandek turned violently into the Shonkla-raa, body-slamming him off his feet, while the other turned more gently but just as insistently the opposite direction to shove Terese into my arms. I grabbed her, spun her around, and shoved her in turn toward Bayta, then turned again to join the fight.

“No!” Minnario shouted over the oddly pitched cacophony of screams and shouts and snarls. “This is mine.”

And it was.

I’d been on the receiving end of Shonkla-raa hand-to-hand combat, and I knew how strong and cold and deadly they were. Their knife hands flashed as they fought against the watchdogs, jabbing through skin and scale and bone and sending their victims yipping and snarling to the deck to struggle weakly or to lie still in pools of blood.

But for once, all the Shonkla-raa’s strength of body and will wasn’t enough. Slowly, I backed up toward Bayta and Terese and Emikai, watching in fascinated horror as the watchdogs bled and died and yet systematically tore