Part 15 (1/2)

It took him only a moment to realize something was wrong. But in that moment Turak moved free of the cage's confines and into the open, and with a steady hand directed his stun at his father's chest.

Sechaveh was careful not to move. There was no weapon he could reach faster than his son could shoot, although he was, as usual, armed. ”Well,” he said quietly, his voice unusually calm for a man about to die. ”Not badly managed.

Lord Dumar, if I don't mistake it?”

Turak nodded. With his beard clipped short and his hair curled tighter and his makeup designed accordingly, he was a fair duplicate for Dumar. His father, of course, recognized him, but it was doubtful that strangers would. ”If anyone who's seen me speaks, the trail will lead back to him.”

”Not badly planned.” The Kaim'era's tone was frankly appreciative, although he was careful not to jar Turak into firing with any unexpected movements. ”A little elementary, but you definitely have a grasp on the concept of the thing. Do share the rest of it,” he urged.

He did so, proudly. ”Mashak's hatred of you causes him to make an unfortunate decision, and he attempts to take your life on this platform. That attempt fails.

There is a struggle, the bodies are tipped over the edge while moving. . . .” He shrugged, implying the rest with the coldness of the gesture. ”Two bodies in Vineshadow, and I doubt they'll salvage enough to draw any useful conclusions from the remains.”

”And if anyone remembers you being here, they'll have the wrong description.

Not bad, Turak. Dumar isn't my worthiest rival, but he will do. You sent a note to Mashak?”

”Yes.” He smiled, pleased at his workmans.h.i.+p. ”I used Dumar's access code and sent it from a neighboring system where he is presently vacationing. Where a woman I hired will keep him occupied and alone during the time he was supposed to be here.”

”And she?”

”The Black Death.”

Sechaveh smiled, relis.h.i.+ng the image. ”Ah. I take back what I said, Turak- excellently done, down to the last aesthetic detail. A job to make me proud. And I am. Provided you yourself are covered-”

He smiled triumphantly. ”Of course.”

”Is that all, then?”

Turak raised his weapon higher, fingering the trigger with obvious relish. ”Not quite. The forcefield surrounding this platform has been sabotaged, of course.

The forceshears that did the work were discarded as the saboteur left the city.”

”And can be traced to-”

”The city of a rival Vinemaster.”

”Superb!” Sechaveh did not look at all like a man about to die, nor did he sound like one. ”Well, Turak, I'm very impressed by all this. A good plan, well executed, a little bit raw about the edges perhaps, but it definitely shows promise. That bit about the local rivalry is particularly nice-it'll give the Kaim'eri someone to punish who isn't of their own Race.”

Turak's face was set. ”I'm glad you appreciate it.” He aimed, and the arm that would fire tensed. ”One thing more.”

”Get it over with!”

Sechaveh's expression was enigmatic, unnerving. ”You've overlooked one important detail.”

”You can't bluff me out of this,” he warned.

”How Braxana . . . I do believe you would kill me, Turak. How refres.h.i.+ng! Few of us dare to actually take the lives of our enemies, in this day and age.” He paused. ”I have something for you, before you fire.”

”What is it?”

Slowly, careful not to alarm his son, Sechaveh moved one hand to the other and worked loose a wide gold band from his left forefinger. He made as if to throw it, then reconsidered- the cage was directly behind Turak-and, dropping it to the platform, pushed it with the tip of his boot until it slid to Turak's feet.

”What is it?” the young man repeated, less sure of himself.

”Your inheritance.” The stun wavered.

”I antic.i.p.ated you, you see. You can't kill me, of course. I've made certain my colleagues know of our enmity. Yes, Turak, always remember that even I have allies, and I've kept track of your actions for the past few years. So shoot me, if you wish-but only if you don't value your own life.”

His arm lowered somewhat; the motion was unconscious, neither planned nor noticed. ”You're bluffing,” he accused, clearly uncertain.

”Am I? Then kill me, Turak. I shall die with the pleasure of knowing you'll be punished for it-very probably on the equipment I designed for just such a purpose.”

Bless you! the younger man cursed inwardly. His hatred surged to new heights, his anguish also, but he dared not shoot. ”Why this, then?” he demanded. He pointed a jerky finger at the ring by his feet.

”Because you've earned it, Turak. You've proven yourself a man. A Braxana should be willing to destroy anyone who stands between him and his pleasure- even if that someone is another of his Race. Even his own father.” His expression darkened. ”There are others who call themselves Braxana, but they don't comprehend what that t.i.tle means, much less are they deserving of it. But you, my son-you, whom I have trained . . . you are Braxana. At last.” And now his eyes sparkled, and a smile, both amused and s.a.d.i.s.tic, danced across his face. ”It took you long enough.”

Shaking with shame and rage, Turak lowered his weapon to his side.

”Very practical,” the Kaim'era approved. ”A fine mixture of the barbarian and the statesman. Eager to kill, but able to recognize the limitations of his political environment. You'll make a fine adult, Turak.”

”I hate you,” he answered venemously. ”You've had the better of me this time, but I swear, Kaim'era-”

”Of course you do.” He cut off the next sentence also; ”And of course you really mean it. I have no doubts about that. You'll have to wait, of course, until you're sure I'm not still watching you. It could be a while. But a man grows wise from enmity.” He bowed slightly, very slightly, more out of humor than respect, but not entirely lacking in the latter. ”I've waited a long time for this, Turak.

Congratulations. Now, if you will excuse me, I'm on a tight schedule. . . .”

He would have fired-he should have fired-but reality bound his hand and he couldn't find the trigger that would commit not only Sechaveh but himself to death. Helplessly he watched as the shuttle lifted itself from the platform and rose slowly into the sheetwinds of the stratosphere, and beyond. Floating youthblossoms marked its wake.

Just wait, Turak thought. Someday.

He remembered to take the ring.

Viton: For the true warrior, friends.h.i.+p is disarming and security is deadly.

Both weaken a man by giving him the illusion of might, when in fact they undermine the very foundations of his own power by causing him to rely upon others. Anything that distracts a man from his chosen course is abhorrent to one who values his own strength.

Nine.