Part 29 (1/2)
”They'll all be at the negotiations. When she dies-” and he stressed when as if emphasizing that he had not said if ”-they'll see the opportunity for what it is.
We can talk then.”
”I am pleased.” He glanced at the physician, who had extracted a small chip from his arm and closed up the wound again. He looked puzzled. ”What is it?”
”Writing, my Lord. In Braxin-a sort of primitive Basic Mode.”
”Read it.”
”It says-'Did you really think I would risk the indignation of the Braxana by implanting an explosive in one of their number?'-Sky ve”
Zatar laughed. ”Ah, so instead he subjects me to unnecessary surgery. Much better.”
”Less risk, however,” Yiril pointed out.
”Is there? Even an outlaw and a killer can have a sense of humor. And the humor of Tirrah can be deadly.” He looked at the surgeon. ”Send that off the s.h.i.+p and far away. I expect, eventually, it will explode.”
Eventually, on schedule, it did.
They made ready for conference.
4 ”What I can't figure out is why they want this treaty, anyway. It's clear why it would be to our advantage, but what's in it for them?”
Her second-in-command asked, ”Are you going to negotiate it, then?”
”I have little choice, Zeine. The Emperor wants peace. But once I've got enough authority at the Border I tell you it won't be this easy for them. It's a delaying tactic, that's all, and I'm tired of retiring from my offensives to-” Tau entered.
”h.e.l.lo.” He was loudly in need of her attention. ”What is it?”
”I need you to come to the medical level.” His voice was tight. ”Now.”
She read his fear, touched his intensity, and nodded. ”Take over for me,” she said, sliding out of her seat. She followed the physician into the nearest tube.
”What is it?”
He looked at her. He was trying so hard not to let his feelings overwhelm her that he was almost making it worse. ”Not yet,” he muttered. ”In the lab. I'll tell you there.”
She followed him down through the corridors of the medical section and to the door of his private laboratory, which opened as they approached- -and the screams of something dying could be heard, but they were nothing compared to the waves of agony that beat against her, driving her back from the room. He had to take her arm and drag her forward, and in doing so he shared the pain himself.
”I thought you were being overcautious.” There was sweat on his forehead as he tried to ignore the alien sensations he was picking up through her. ”I really did.
I'm sorry.”
There was a clear tank in the corner of the laboratory in which a small animal was-or had been. Now there was only a mound of seething blackness with the last terrible whimpers of something that had once been alive, and the emanations of an agony more intense than a creature could know and survive.
The Black Death. Anzha felt faint. ”How long?” she forced out.
”In you? At least two Standard Days, maybe three.” He was leading her to a table and she let him guide her, helpless to shut out the animal's pain because it came so close to having been her own. ”I thought you were crazy,” he told her, apologizing, ”but I ran the samples through it anyway, any time you'd been off the s.h.i.+p. Its metabolism was faster than yours and its biochemistry such that the poison would act in it before it did in you.”
She lay down on the surface he indicated and shut her eyes. ”What are the odds?”
”If it's still in your blood, good.” He hesitated. ”If it's lodged in muscle, which it well might be by now . . . I don't know. It's never been done before. There's never been enough advance warning.”
”Let's make it a first,” she whispered tightly.
His a.s.sistants were bringing him instruments. He had designed them under her direction and the s.h.i.+p had made them, but he had never used them and had hoped he never would have to. How was he going to find the d.a.m.n stuff without radiation, which could spark the terminal mutation? He was glad that her own fears kept her cut off from his.
His hands worked quickly and automatically to attach the experimental instruments. No anesthetic; they all speeded the fatal reaction, he knew that. At least the creature was finally dead, although the poison wasn't yet in its inert phase. She would have only her own pain to deal with from now on.
”Tau?”
”What is it?”
”Do you have a more specific estimate on when this was due to strike?”
”Why?”
”I have a suspicion. Tell me.”
He nodded for his a.s.sistant to get the figure. ”I wouldn't bet your life on it, Anzha.”
”I don't intend to. Have it . . . have it translated into the Braxin calendrical system for me, would you?”
He did. ”Tenday, eightzhent.”
”Hasha. . . .”
”What is it?”
”That's when they called the truce for. It's all making a terrible kind of sense, now. Tau, get me through this. I don't know who did this to me, but I don't appreciate his timing or his sense of humor one bit. Keep me alive to have it out with him.”
”I'll do my best,” he promised, and attached the first of the filters.
She said something later, half-whispered, that he barely caught and didn't understand at all. For a moment he laid his hand on her forehead in the hope that she might project the thought, but apparently it wasn't meant for him-either that or she was past the point of telepathic subtlety. But the words stayed with him as he worked. ”That's two. ...”
5.
Truce Station IV was typical of its kind, a featureless creation set in orbit around an unclaimed sun somewhere in the dark expanse of the War Zone. Now, as s.h.i.+ps from both sides appeared to make use of it, its facilities became more obvious: the protective field which required Azean and Braxin frequency-codes, transmitted simultaneously, to unlock it; the dual-culture design of the satellite itself, with equal halves dedicated to the service of each of the starfaring powers, in equal proportion throughout but of entirely distinct design. Of all the truce stations this was the largest, and it easily held the seven wars.h.i.+ps that each side supplied for this meeting.
”Blessed waste of firepower,” Zatar muttered. ”Six of these could be off taking a planet somewhere.”
”And then what would we do if the treaty failed?”
He looked at Yiril in amazement. ”Kaim'era, the treaty's not going to 'fail' unless we break it. But I know what you mean.” He sighed, and turned back to the viewscreen. ”Tradition is tradition.”
The Sentira pulled into place on the Braxiside deck and affixed itself with an energy lock. Two dozen Braxins came forth from the great s.h.i.+p, among them the seven Kaim'eri. The other wars.h.i.+ps were there for image only and would supply no negotiators-and the same was true, Zatar a.s.sumed, among the Azean s.h.i.+ps.