The Only Game in the Galaxy (22 page)

Alisk had left the sounds of battle far behind.

She felt torn and diminished away from the others. She wasn’t entirely one of them either. For all their hideous transformation, they were Omegans. She was not. And they sensed it.

No matter. She was nearer her goal now. She could smell Him. He was here. Close. She moved faster. The thought of
Him
was a kernel inside the dark folds of a brain changed beyond recognition, yet the kernel shone out, radiating with a heat more intense than the gene-encoded neuronosis Black had implanted.

A tiny portion of the old Alisk, buried but not asleep, thought scornfully,
What would Nathaniel Brown know of love
?

She sniffed the air, felt wild elation overpower her, and picked up speed.

Deema consulted the map on the screen of her e-pad.

She was close. Another block and a half. Only there was a problem. That last block and a half was over exposed ground, no back ways, no slimy snaking alleyways to follow, hugging the shadows, staying small and unseen.

It was as if to meet her mother she must make a declaration, an entrance.

Well, if that’s how it was, then that’s how it would be.

She wasn’t aware of it, but she was experiencing Anneke’s certainty: she
knew
she would see her mother. She just didn’t know what lay in between.

Taking a deep breath, she hitched her backpack tighter, put away the e-pad, and stepped into the street. Sunlight struck her, warming her, and she took that as a good omen.

Nevertheless, she hurried, eyes darting to and fro.

The nearest battlefront was five city blocks away, shifting further northwards. She prayed that it would keep moving away. She hadn’t actually seen an Omegan, but she knew they were pretty horrible to look at, so horrible, grown men puked at the sight of them.

Her head whipped around at a noise.

The street was empty, but her heart hammered against her ribcage. Decorum and entrances were all very well, but not today. She broke into a headlong run …

… and skidded to a stop with a gulping shriek as six Omegans loped from a side street ahead of her. The Omegans stopped, transfixed.

Deema stood frozen.

Lotang temporarily lost sight of the girl. She’d entered a long straight alleyway that provided no cover for him. He was forced to wait till she vanished round the far corner, then he lumbered into a painful lurching run, made the corner, and cursed.

Where had she disappeared to? The girl was canny, as if she knew she was being followed – or simply assumed so.

Catching a reflection in a shop window, he grunted, and ran once again. Reaching the next bend, he pulled up abruptly.

One hundred metres away, Deema stood in the street surrounded by Omegans. Lotang raised his blaster, then dropped it with a curse. There was no clear shot. He couldn’t risk hitting the girl.

His heart sank. He was about to launch himself from his cover when another creature appeared from nowhere. Without hesitating, the newcomer hurled itself across the street and into the clot of Omegans. With wild cries, it attacked them, slashing, destroying, screeching.

Lotang had no idea what was happening and didn’t wait to find out. He charged into the melee.

Close, so close now.
He
was here, she could almost taste
Him
.

She shambled along, sniffing the air, taking this turn and then that. Suddenly she saw a little girl, rooted to the spot, Omegans hungrily circling her. Alisk recognised Deema, feeling old memories well up. This child was connected to her love. In another second the girl would be dead, torn limb from limb. She didn’t stop to think. Like a charging bull she threw herself across the street and attacked.

Taken by surprise, she killed two Omegans in her first assault then spun on the others, ripping into them with claw and tooth, snapping bones, screeching her rage.

Two more fell, but she was wounded. Howling, she held her hand to the great gash in her belly, glistening entrails visible through her fingers. She felt no pain, but a loss of something, a diminishment.

Then a human appeared, sword slashing. Alisk stumbled to the child who bubbled in terror. Alisk put her arms around her, dropping to her knees, blinking away darkness.

‘Dee-ma,’ said Alisk thickly. The girl looked at her with terrified eyes. ‘Dee-ma …’

The girl blinked, frowned, some of her terror abating.

The last two Omegans were down, dead. The man, badly wounded, raised his sword, but Deema stopped him with a frightened gesture. Lotang hesitated, meeting Alisk’s eyes. He fell to his knees beside her, staring, fighting back horror and pity, fighting back hope.

‘Alisk?’

Alisk nodded. She put out a hideous hand and gently touched his cheek. ‘Loob,’ she said with her remaining vocal chords.

Tears streaming down Lotang’s face, he opened his mouth to speak. Before he could utter a word there was an explosion of howls behind them.

Lotang slumped. A horde of twenty Omegans had burst into the street. He got to his feet, and gently helped Alisk to hers. ‘Deema, go girl! In there!’ he ordered, indicating the consulate, thirty metres away. ‘GO!’

But Deema stood, irresolute, afraid. She could see the other two were hurt, barely able to stand, let alone run.

‘Go to your mother, Deema.’

Alisk gave her a push. ‘Go!’ she croaked.

Deema turned and ran for the consulate. Behind her, she heard the triumphant howls of the Omegans, and turned, briefly, to look back, but she could see nothing of her friends. They had been swallowed up.

With a sob, she plunged into the Sentinel Consulate.

T
HE
scout ship had gone into auto-docking-approach minutes ago. Maximus sat with nothing to do but watch the stars and the great shadowy behemoths as they slid silently past.

He couldn’t stop shivering. It had begun soon after takeoff. He felt cold, terrifyingly small, which the star-field and looming ships did nothing to diminish.

They’re alive?

The ship docked in the starboard bay of the
Saviour
. Maximus went straight to the bridge, taking the captain’s seat without word. The captain, seeing the blood and the patched wound, sent for the medic. Maximus was hardly aware of the man’s ministrations, thoughts spinning around and around in his head.

What if it’s a trick?

The captain’s voice broke through. ‘This came for you, sir, from the surface. We scanned it for viruses. It’s clean.’

Maximus read the data package sent by Anneke, saw the DNA comparisons, recalled the quantum capsule on Jake Ferren’s desk, realising it was probably his own suggestions that had helped unlock it, and his past. The hair inside the capsule might well have yielded mitochondrial DNA, but more would have been found on other objects.

There was no doubt. He and Deema were siblings, and Mirella Quist was their mother. There was a photograph of them as children. Maximus saw himself as a six-year-old: thin and curious, with large dark eyes, holding his mother’s hand. His father wasn’t in the picture – presumably he’d been taking it.

The shivering returned. Fear flooded him. What if the Omegans rampaged that sector where his mother was and tore into the consulate?

‘Captain, I want you to beam down a prohibition – interdict the Sentinel Consulate, blockade the entire suburb. I don’t want any Omegans in there.’

The captain looked uncomfortable. ‘What is it?’ Maximus said.

‘Sir, the prohibitions aren’t working. They’ve been on the decline for some time now. The creatures are mutating. The gene-encoding is – being changed.’

‘How? How fast?’

The captain flinched. ‘The encoders figure you’ve got about twelve hours until the beasts are beyond control. A sample showed that the original virus is orchestrating the mutation, as if it’s – well … sentient …’

Maximus tapped his foot in annoyance. He’d obtained the original virus from Lob Lotang who had in turn acquired it from the planet of Arachnor …

The virus that was a descendant of the doomsday virus he’d tinkered with a thousand years ago. Was the past coming back to haunt him? He pushed that thought away. ‘So there’s no way to keep the Omegans out?’

‘Some will respond, others won’t, sir.’

Maximus sighed. ‘Do it anyway. See if we can amp up the signal strength.’

The captain strode off.

Maximus considered the problem. His mother was down on the planet, in a place where she could be killed at any moment – by the forces
he
had unleashed. His
mother
.

When the captain returned, Maximus asked for an update on the battle both ‘upstairs’ and ‘down’. When she’d finished he sat back, feeling no satisfaction that things were going his way.

Soon the Omegans would be inside the Fortress’ outer wall. A few hours after that, they would take the Fortress of Kestre itself, which had stood as a symbol of empire for over a thousand years – long after the empire itself had ceased.

Word came then that the IMC had suffered a devastating blow: the Myotan flagship, with its leader, Sasume, on board, had been destroyed. Immediately, twelve vessels that had sworn personal fealty to Sasume departed the field of battle, fatally weakening the defenders’ position in space. Maximus knew he could crush the remnants – nothing could stop him.

Nothing, except a middle-aged woman and a small girl, somewhere on Se’atma Minor.

‘Your orders, sir?’

‘Hold your positions.’

‘Sir? This is a golden opportunity to –’

‘I said, hold your positions, Captain. And have all my naval commanders report here for a briefing.’

Maximus rose, and strode from the room, his head whirling.

In his ready room, he began to pace. For the first time in his life he felt gnawing indecision, like a pain in his chest.

Esprin Harbage knew Black was back on board. Partly he was relieved – he wouldn’t die right away because of the antidote being withheld – and partly he was bitterly disappointed. He wanted Black dead more than he had wanted anything in all his life.

He paced his cabin, unaware that his persecutor did likewise elsewhere on the ship.

He had hit back at Black, though the man would not find out right away that it was he, Esprin, who had destroyed his deepest hopes – indeed, Black probably wasn’t even aware he held such desires. But Esprin knew. He had seen Black experiencing a rare naked moment – vulnerable, transparent, and unaware of Esprin’s perception.

If Black found out, he’d have Esprin murdered on the spot, but Esprin wanted him to know, wanted him to know he had done this to him, to his tormentor, to the man who had made him a traitor, who had used his cowardice for his own ends.

All that remained for him was to gather the courage to tell Black. Esprin had a plan for that, too. It involved an old RIM saying: The most dangerous man is he who has nothing left to lose.

In Esprin’s mind, most ‘dangerous’ was the same as ‘bravest’. And he would manufacture courage. He looked around the spare cabin. There was little there bearing his imprint. Some clothes, an e-pad he’d had since his training days. And a small framed photograph of his family.

He picked up the photograph and gazed at it, angry and wistful at the same time, before slipping it inside his tunic. He belted on his field-generator, took one last look around, then let himself out.

Maximus was still pacing.

His whole life had been shaped towards this moment, towards the resurrection of empire. To give it up now when he was so close … He could almost taste it …

What was his mother to him?

She had failed him once, allowing him to be taken by slavers. Who was to say she wouldn’t fail him again? It was a long time ago. A lifetime, it felt, had elapsed since then.

But what of Deema? She’d just been a baby. He couldn’t hold
her
accountable for his misfortunes. He wondered what it would be like to have a sister – to be part of a … family.

It was too much. He couldn’t decide.

His pacing grew frenzied; his stomach roiled. Then suddenly he made up his mind. To hell with them.

He buzzed the bridge.

‘Captain, put together a special assault team. I want them ready in one hour. Have them familiarise themselves with the area around the Sentinel Consulate.’

‘Yes, sir. What kind of mission is it?’

Maximus hesitated. ‘Extraction of personnel. And Captain. I’ll lead it.’

He cut the connection before she could reply. And just like that, a great burden lifted from him. He could breathe again, and the gnawing pain in his chest vanished. Maximus laughed. He would make peace with Anneke Longshadow. Collapsing on the divan, exhausted, he dropped into a light doze. His face, in sleep, was more relaxed than it had ever been.

Esprin remembered his training.

Though a poor pupil, he had absorbed was that the best way to carry out a mission such as this was with boldness, confidence and doing everything in plain sight as if he had a right to do it.

And it worked. No one questioned him, no one stopped him, no one averted the disaster to come.

Esprin had taken advantage of Black’s absence to familiarise himself with the ship’s systems. He was as far advanced as anyone else, the old empire dreadnoughts being an unknown quantity. Esprin marvelled that he had lived to see one, to board one of the great myths of his time!

Pity he was going to destroy it.

In his wanderings he had discovered the ship’s stockpile of nuclear warheads. So far, Black had refrained from using them, probably because Se’atma Minor was more useful to him intact and radiation-free, but also because he would never be forgiven for such a transgression.

Empire building was one thing, Esprin mused, but politics was politics.

Esprin moved aft, nodding cheerfully to all he met. He tried not to think of all the lives that could be lost. It was war, and not one that his side had started. Nevertheless, he intended to provide a warning. He had satisfied himself that there were sufficient lifeboats to get everybody off.

Just not Black.

Maintaining his course, Esprin entered engineering territory, veering off before he hit the power room. He navigated a maze of access corridors and disused companionways, coming finally to the door he wanted. There he stopped, taking several gasping gulps, like a fish suddenly beached.

He seized the manual door clamp, feeling the cold metal in his fist. Sweat dripped from his brow into his eyes, dripped from the end of his nose.

‘You can do it,’ he whispered to himself. ‘You can do this …’

He rotated the clamp, stepped inside, and locked the door behind him.

Maximus woke suddenly and leapt to his feet. He felt refreshed, and amazed he’d slept – actually
slept
. An old emperor – Nero? – had played an archaic string instrument while his empire burned. And Maximus got some shuteye while men and women on Se’atma died.