A little black cylinder bounced up onto the platform and before anyone could react, exploded. A web of glittering silver filaments sprayed out, tangling Gretchen, Sahane, and the Prince. Xochitl cursed in two languages as he struggled to draw a monofilament knife.
The gray-eyed navigator from the Moulins appeared in Gretchen’s field of view. Absurdly, she was relieved to see no trace of a golden glow emanating from his helmet. A regular old human, thank Christ the Sacrifice!
Piet gave her an evaluating look, swinging a short-barreled assault rifle in her direction, but when his eyes fell upon the Mexica-still struggling to cut away the webbing-his face contorted into open hatred and the Frisian squeezed off a burst into the Prince’s faceplate. At such short range Xochitl’s glassite faceplate shattered as the armor-piercing rounds struck, spraying blood across Sahane’s helmet. The Prince’s corpse contorted violently, but the Mexica’s last movements barely moved the tangleweb. The Hjo squealed, as though he were the one who had been murdered. Gretchen felt a paralyzing shock run through her body.
That was as cold and calculated an execution as I ever pray to see.
Two more crewmen from the Moulins appeared. They quartered the platform, checking the bodies of the fallen marines in a businesslike way. Their battle-armor was scarred and pitted, but seemed to have held up far better than that of the dead Imperials. Their insignia-a red cross formed of three smaller crosses surmounting a descending spike-gleamed hot in the pale light of the accretion jet. Now, seeing them in motion with arms, armor, and heraldry revealed, Anderssen grasped who they were: Knights of the Order of the Temple of Jerusalem-the Templars of New Malta! But-they’re allies of the Empire, servants of the Emperor-aren’t they?
Though her abdomen was beginning to warm, her z-suit working overtime to replace the heat lost through the punctured chestplate, she felt a chill memory surface. The Jehanan warred upon one another, each clan seeking to seize the false secrets of the Kalpataru for themselves, and so their unity was destroyed and-in time-their civilization fell into ruin, burned away by thermonuclear fire.
“Which one do we need?” Piet inquired of his companions. His rifle muzzle indicated Gretchen and Sahane in turn. “Her… or him?”
“I suggest you keep both of them alive,” the voice of Green Hummingbird urged over the comm. The old Nahuatl stepped up onto the platform, tattered brown cloak drifting behind him. “Particularly now that the Prince is dead. You will need this Hjogadim to explain why Xochitl had to be killed. The Grand Master will want to know the Tlatocapilli was sent to seize this place for the Empire in defiance of the Pact.”
Three black-snouted rifles swung ’round, fixing on the old man. The nauallis nodded genially to the Templars. “Though my lord Sahane is entirely competent for the task at hand, Miss Anderssen has your master’s tablet in her safekeeping. Help her to a console, if you will.”
That’s Mrs. Anderssen to you, Crow, Gretchen thought blackly, refusing to budge from the nice comfortable floor even when the tangleweb strands were cut away. Hummingbird and the wavering ghost-image of the serpent-headed Hjogadim Lord interpenetrated in her Sight. At that moment she perceived they were cut much of the same cloth, though they stood millennia apart. Equally calculating and barren of compassion, using entire civilizations as their… what did Sahane call us? As their toys?
Piet reached down and dragged her up, grimacing at the ruin of her chestplate, now bubbled shut with quickseal foam. “She’s been shot,” he said in an annoyed snarl.
Hummingbird was at Gretchen’s side in an instant. He gently prodded at her z-suit, checking the med readout. She met his gaze with a cold, angry stare. He drew back minutely. She felt his thumb, hidden under her arm, adjusting the channel on her suit comm.
“I’m sorry, Anderssen,” he said, face turned away from the three Europeans. “But these men have not the least respect for my authority.”
“I’ll bet,” Gretchen growled, feeling faint. The ghostly Hjogadim lord was stalking amongst his servants, and the entire great chamber was lit from below by a wavering bronze-colored fire. Even without looking over the edge, she knew every Hjo body in every cradle was yielding up its guest, a serpentine ribbon of living flame, all of them flowing into the thread leading down into the singularity. “That was a dirty trick with the tablet…”
“I warned you the first time we met,” Hummingbird said, voice tinged with melancholy. “There are many things best left undisturbed.”
“Will she live?” Piet broke in, leaning over the old man’s shoulder.
“She will,” Hummingbird said. Gretchen realized he had switched the comm channel back. “But she is badly wounded…”
“Give me the Old One’s tablet, then,” the pilot said eagerly. “I can serve as his messenger, if she cannot.”
Gretchen managed a sickly grin, and on the other side of the shaft, Sahane made a barking sound like a dog choking on a too-large bone. Was that laughter?
“Tablet?” she said innocently. “I don’t have any tablet.”
Piet went quite still. Hummingbird’s eyes did not leave her face, but they grew large with surprise.
“ Kyo?”
Susan opened her eyes, alarmed that she’d fallen asleep in her shockchair. Oc Chac and Pucatli were at the Comms console, and the Sho-sa seemed quite agitated.
“What has happened?” Kosho sat up, feeling every bone and sinew complain.
“Our remote at the Pinhole is gone.” Pucatli shook his head in disgust. “We’ve some telemetry from the aperture right before we lost contact, but it makes no sense.”
“Show me.” Susan rolled her neck and flexed her fingers, trying to force some warmth back into them. Secondary Command seemed to have lost pressure and temperature control while she’d been sleeping. Oc Chac rotated a large v-pane towards her, and then tapped up a series of glyphs to replay the feed.
“We’d picked up what seems to be a Khaid light cruiser about sixty minutes ago.” The Mayan’s stylus indicated a faint outline against the riot of color glowing from the Barrier clouds. “Lying dark, under full emissions control. Watching the back trail of the main squadron, of course. Doing a good job, too-the Thai-i only caught him out by replaying the gravity plot from our passage through the region.”
Oc Chac patted Pucatli on the shoulder. “Then we get a gravity-spike from the Pinhole-see, here? Massing like a dreadnaught, kyo. As though the Tlemitl picked herself up and came after us. But then-wait, I’ll rewind again.” Susan had started, watching the emissions signature on the plot suddenly break apart.
“Not one ship, but hundreds of smaller ones.” The Sho-sa shook his head in puzzlement. “Look at all the drive flares! Like they came in packed together, then deployed in a cloudburst. We’re still crunching the signatures in comp, trying to match a known profile but-”
Susan’s eyes narrowed in speculation, a fingertip drifting across a line of metrics displayed on the console. “I’ve seen that kind of signature once before, Sho-sa, but not in such numbers. This is something like a Maltese assault carrier launching its complement. But I’ve never heard the Knights had something which could simultaneously deploy over three hundred fighters!”
“Don’t know, kyo.” Pucatli grimaced, indicating the flood of contacts now racing across the plot. “But they’re at high-v and rolling right down the drive plume laid by the Khaid battlegroup!”
“Huh!” Kosho’s attention switched to the Khaid light cruiser, which had suddenly exposed a pinpoint hot-spot on its shipskin. “We’re in line with a comm laser?”
Oc Chac nodded, keying up a directional indicator. “Snap transmit to the main fleet, Chu-sa, but see-it’s already too late.”
A brace of drive signatures suddenly flickered into view on the telemetry; ships a fraction the size of the Khaid light cruiser racing past the long black hull, and then the stuttering flare of shipkiller detonations rippled from one end of the warship to the other. In the remote’s camera view, a flurry of white-hot pinpoints appeared in the darkness and then the bright, sudden blossom of the cruiser’s containment failing enveloped the ship.