“Burning Sky! It is you.”
For an instant he seemed bereft of words. Here in the presence of so many powerful telepaths, Tach was discovering that her feeble skills seemed augmented. She could catch whispers, shadows of the thoughts around her. Bazzakra’s were of total confusion, a man trying to make sense out of too many horrifying factors.
Finally he shook his head and limited himself to a fervent, “The blood is well and truly flowing now.”
“Take me home, Baz. We’ll sort it out later.’
“If it can be,” Zabb offered cheerfully.
Baz’s face closed down. There was regret in the blue eyes, but also contempt. He turned to Zabb. “You understand, my lord -”
“That I’m an impotent bastard without a pedigree, and I can never, ever, ever go home. Yes, I know” He crossed to Tachyon and lifted her hand. “Goodbye, Tis. I hope you have a safe delivery. Whether back into your own form, or into the exalted ranks of motherhood.”
He leaned in and gave her the kiss between relatives, first on the forehead, then the lips. She was too clumsy to elude the embrace, and the contact left her shivering, her stomach reduced to a tight knot. Tach dragged the back of her hand across her mouth.
The soldiers closed ranks around Baz and the three travelers, and they moved swiftly through the lock. Tach noticed the guards never turned their backs on the Viand. She was certainly home. It was depressing.
The ship was a small, quick passenger shuttle. Bred for boring, repetitive work, it lacked the wit and sparkle of a ship like Tachyon’s stolen Baby. But its thoughts were welcoming, and it extruded more benches to accommodate the newcomers.
They began the uncoupling procedure. Tach sagged on a bench and tried not to fall asleep. Tried to plan. Tried to shut out Illyana. Tried to stop wondering what color her child’s eyes would be.
It was an alien emotion, but as the lock cycled shut, Zabb felt a fist close around his chest. He forced aside the homesickness, the sense of abandonment, and counted down the seconds. Far enough, but not too far. What he was about to try was utterly, totally, completely insane, but it would be a death to be sung, and whether he succeeded or failed, he would be out of the hands of the Network. He was going home.
Zabb drew in three panting breaths through his mouth, sucked in a lungful of air, and, drawing his weapon, blew out the lock. Alarms began sounding, the edges of the rift secreting material as the station fought to heal itself and stop the hemorrhage. None of this really registered with Zabb. He kicked off hard, like a runner at the start of a race. Across the floor of the docking bay. The mad sprint was burning air, but it couldn’t be helped. He needed the inertia. The outer hull lock was slowly shuttering closed.
Zabb hit the edge of the bay and jumped. The abrupt loss of gravity set his stomach rolling. He focused on the gray, rough hull of the Takisian shuttle to ease the nausea. He measured his progress toward that surface against his remaining air. The calculations were not encouraging.
Tachyon was jerked awake by the ship.
Master, an explosion has breached the integrity of the platform. Should I recouple?
No! On visual.
The ship obligingly offered them a view of the slowly retreating docking bay. Where the lock had been, there was a ragged hole. Tachyon lurched to her feet as she spotted the small figure in Network mufti diving slowly after the departing ship.
“Jesus Christ,” Jay breathed. “He’ll never make it.”
“No,” Mark said. “Inertia will carry him. If he can hold his breath long enough.”
The Viand were firing now, using their newly purchased weapons. They were lousy shots. High energy beams pulsing through the bay, light claws scratching at the fabric of space. Nothing came even close to Zabb.
“Motherless mudcrawlers! Fire on my ship! On a Takisian! Return fire!” Baz ordered.
Lasers lashed from the ship, and one of the Viand went down. Its pouch convulsed wildly, and the worm crawled free. There was an audible thump as Zabb hit the side of the ship.
Tach clutched Baz’s arm. “Don’t let him in.”
She “heard” Zabb’s preemptory command to the ship. Its acquiescence. Admiration for Zabb and a desire to obey Tachyon warred on Baz’s face. His hesitation made the decision for him. There was no time to countermand the order to the ship. The inner door flowered open, and Zabb tottered through. Collapsed.
Baz issued a telepathic command, and the ship leapt like a startled cat. Front heavy and awkward, Tach teetered, staggered backward. The bench caught her in the back of the knees, and she sprawled.
“Remember all that blood that was going to start flowing?” she said bitterly. “Well, it certainly will now. And it’s all going to be mine.”
Baz ignored her. In fact they all ignored her. Mark dropped to his knees beside the prone man and rolled him onto his back. Baz moved for a first-aid kit while Jay watched with bemused fascination. It was as piping female tones had no power to penetrate, the words held no meaning.
Regaining her feet, Tach walked over and stared down at the unconscious man. Zabb’s face was a brilliant red from burst capillaries. Blood flowed sluggishly from nose and ears. An array of complex emotions clawed at her – hate, fear, love, the memory of a childhood hero worship… admiration. She was still a Takisian, and not even four decades on an alien world could blunt her acceptance of that quintessential Takisian attitude known as virtu. To try to succeed brilliantly and flamboyantly. To try to fail brilliantly and flamboyantly. It was all the same to a psi lord, so long as his actions had an effect. This exploit would ring through the halls of the House Ilkazam. And all Tach had managed to do was get kidnapped and knocked up. She returned home a victim. Zabb a hero.
Baz administered an injection designed for just such mishaps – though normally such accidents occurred because of spacesuit failure. The compound was designed to carry oxygen more efficiently through the bloodstream. Seconds later the drug kicked in. Zabb shivered and began dragging in great, gasping lungfuls of air.
A moment later his eyes snapped open. He seemed confused, disoriented. Loudly he announced, “Consider the business relationship between the Network and myself to have been terminated.”
“A simple ‘I quit’ wouldn’t do?” muttered Jay. “Little drastic, I’d say.”
“How else do you renege on a lifetime contract except by running?” whispered Trips.
Baz assisted Zabb onto a bench. Tach leaned in, gathered the front of his Network uniform in both hands, and yanked him up until they were almost nose to nose.
“My sin was bringing the Network here in the first place.” She enunciated each word with exaggerated care, biting off the consonants as if they were enemies to be crushed between her teeth. “But you have compounded the transgression by ensuring that they shall never ever leave until we deliver your lifeless body to them.”
Zabb twisted his hand into her hair and pulled her even closer. “You’re welcome to try, cousin.”
Chapter Eighteen
Meadows kept talking. It was like listening to Carl Sagan on ludes. Relative mass, elliptical orbits, low density, probably metal poor, tossed and bumped like rudderless boats in the sea of technobabble pouring from the old hippie’s mouth. It didn’t mean jack shit to Jay. All he wanted was to look out the window (or whatever the hell it was on this low-flying ship critter) and watch the scenery flash by.
It was better than the observation cars on the old Broadway Limited of Jay’s youth. He’d loved to ride the trains, especially when his dad had taken a sleeper car. Lying in the upper bunk, swaying to the rhythm of the train as it raced down the track. The monotonous clicking of the wheels on the rails. The sudden flash of lights across the black glass of the window as they whipped through some small town. Jay always wondered who lived in those towns. How their lives differed from his. Well, that curiosity had carried him a shit load farther than the old Broadway Limited Chicago to visit Grandma.