The Zygan Emprise: Renegade Paladins and Abyssal Redemption (13 page)

“Are you all right?”

I strained to open my eyes and gazing at him
with a wan smile. “Thanks for waiting for me.”

He nodded and reached out his arms to help me
up. The soreness and stiffness would take a very long time to fade.
I leaned against him, relaxing in his embrace as we X-fanned back
to Matshi’s lair.

* * *

In Matshi’s kalyvi, our meeting room seemed
sadly bereft without the Chidurian and his late partner. The rest
of the group greeted us warmly, but it was disconcerting to see,
with my peripheral vision, worried eyes studying me when my gaze
was supposedly turned away. The Omega Archon’s harsh code of
justice was certainly a reason a couple of them had opted to wash
out of catascope training.

So it didn’t surprise me when Nephil Stratum
pulled me aside to a corner of the chamber beyond prying ears.

“I am so sorry,” she said as he handed me a
cup of Chidurian ale and massaged my back with her soothing
tufts.

“I’m okay. Really.” Especially after the
first few sips of the healing drink.

“That’s good. But I meant that I didn’t get
you the training.”

I frowned. “What training?”

She wrapped her cooling tufts around me,
calming my sore muscles. “In case there’s a next time. Helps you
fight off the pain. While you’re waiting for Forensics to finish
the autopsies, you may be able to learn it. Ka’vyr.”

“Sounds Ifestian,” I ventured, hearing the
name. Ifestians were renowned for their study of philosophy and
logic, but tended to avoid mingling in the bustling Zygan
Federation melting pot.

“Yes. It’s a kind of auto-telepathy. Neural
self-control.”

Ifestian high priests
were
rumored to
have telepathic skills, but with little inclination to advertise or
share their knowledge. “And Ifestians are going to tutor me
because…?” My tone was wary.

“I’ll make the arrangements,” Nephil Stratum
reassured me without further elaboration. “For you, and Escott,
too. As catascopes, you never know when ka’vyr might come in
handy.”

* * *

As Nephil Stratum had instructed us, Spud and
I Ergaled to the M-fan portal in the Ifestio Enclave, a destination
well off the Zygan tourist map, where recreational pursuits were
and uninvited visitors, to put it mildly, not encouraged. Ifestians
tended to favor a monastic lifestyle, more attractive to those with
a deep intellectual or spiritual calling. Of course, I’d never been
there before.

Dressed in the standard brightly-colored
Ifestian robes decorated with indecipherable runic characters, we
silently walked the 2.67 kilometers in the searing heat to the
Xtmprsqzntwlfd
^xvii
estate. After
baking in Sidon, Matshi’s Enclave, and now Ifestio’s, I longed for
a journey to a more temperate climate and actually began to look
forward to my return to Los Angeles, vowing never to complain about
the hot, dry Santa Ana winds again.

The gates of the stately manor opened as we
approached. I didn’t see a camera or sensor system anywhere.
Perhaps we’d just had a live demonstration of reputed Ifestian
telepathy.

We carefully climbed up the rocky path to the
mansion. Hematite columns gave the circular, red-tinged structure
the look of a rusty Stonehenge. As had the gates, the building’s
entry portal opened by itself as we approached, and we gratefully
stepped inside to a surprisingly cool atrium.

T’Fal welcomed us with traditional Ifestian
reserve, and led us directly to a small, soundproofed room, where
she instructed us to sit, cross-legged, on the floor cushions she
had provided. Then, without small talk, she got right down to
business.

“You are here to learn telepathic
resistance.” It was not a question.

We nodded.

She stared intently at each of us for several
minutes—did I catch a look of dismay in her stern features?—and
then ordered, “Close your eyes. We shall begin.”

* * *

Spud was a much better
student than me, I’m afraid, but I did pick up the basics of ka’vyr
after a few hours of practice. I can’t say I was exactly eager to
test my skills with the Omega Archon, but I felt that I’d at least
be able to
chorize
without
giving myself away.
Chorizing
is a ka’vyr technique that allows you to split away from a
situation and watch yourself as an observer, sort of like looking
at yourself in the third person. I could now try to use ka’vyr to
separate myself from the Omega Archon’s Hellish pain if I had the
misfortune to be called on the carpet again in the
future.

“I’ve got to come back here someday,” I said
to Spud as we reached the exit portal of the Ifestian Enclave. “I
can learn so much more from T’Fal.”

“Bollocks,” Spud snorted. “I doubt she thinks
so …,” and the rest of his sentence, along with my snide reply, was
lost as we X-fanned back to the Chidurian Enclave.

* * *

The Ytrans had already left for their own
enclave when we returned and Eikhus was eager to return to the
Kharybdian Enclave as soon as possible. His sister had reported a
massive hailstorm was due to arrive in less than a day, and damage
to their thal was a distinct possibility.

Eikhus did hope to stop in and see Matshi at
Nejinsen first, and I offered to accompany him to Aheya, Zyga’s
second-largest city, where the acclaimed medical center was
located.

“Autopsy on Sutherland’s finished,” Nephil
Stratum informed us as she entered the meeting room. “The report
reads: death due to exsanguination from a laceration of the carotid
artery. He bled out.”

“Is our story flying?” I asked. Juan de la
Cruz was less terrifying than the Omega Archon, but he had the
authority to wash us out of Zygint if he suspected we’d spun an
imaginative tale.

“Sounds like it.”

“Call your boss and see if you still have a
job,” Sarion teased.

“He is expecting us back on Earth for a
debriefing this evening in fact,” Spud interjected. Then he added
to Eikhus, “I’m afraid we can’t make Nejinsen.”

I spun around and faced him. “I’m afraid we
can’t not. Matshi went out on a limb for us—”

“More like his limbs went out for you!” joked
Sarion.

We all turned to the Megaran and yelled, in
unison, “Shut up!”

I put an arm on Eikhus and said forcefully,
“Nejinsen. Who’s going with me?”

Everyone but Spud raised a hand.

“Thank you.” I faced Spud, expectant.

Finally, and sullenly, he broke. “Oh, all
right.”

* * *

Nejinsen Medical Center is literally in the
Center of Aheya, nestled among libraries and museums in Zyga’s most
beautiful city. The 476 storey (Base Twelve, of course) hospital
houses many of the top medical specialists in the Universe, and
provides health and repair services for thousands of species and
millions of cultures.

Medicine at Nejinsen is nothing like medicine
on Earth. Why even anastasis,
^xviii
reawakening from death, is practiced in rare cases; through
neurocache transplants, I’ve been told. Most Zygan doctors,
however, prefer to use cellular regeneration techniques to avoid
the complications of death completely. The average Zygan can
practically live as long as he, she, it, or they want, but most
Zygans choose to move on to Level Three, the world beyond, after
living a few thousand years or so.

A few cultures in Zygfed eschew modern
science, and practice shamanic rituals of varied effectiveness.
Some even worship the Transition to Level Three, and honor those
who die for a noble cause as demi-gods. Frankly, if you ask me, I’d
rather choose life over deification, but, please, I pray you don’t
ask.

But Izmalis like Ulenem’s family would no
doubt be singing his praises at the Transition ceremony next week.
His baba had arranged for his body to be transported back to Orion
Alpha with a hero’s welcome, and at least half the population of
his hometown of Madai was expected to attend his funeral. Ulenem’s
family reportedly had already begun building a majestic temple to
honor their fallen warrior’s memory.

As our lift levved to Matshi’s room, I
wondered if the Chidurian would be well enough to attend the
ceremony. The loss of his lifelong friend had obviously devastated
him. Matshi had once admitted to me that he was not convinced of
the existence of Level Three, or even of any life after death. I
was certain that the Chidurian’s … lack of faith … would make his
loss even more painful.

We entered Matshi’s room with some
trepidation. Matshi was resting quietly in a large suite that
resembled his Chidurian kalyvi. He’d regained some of his deep
purplish hue, and his regenerating limbs had grown to almost half
their adult size. I couldn’t resist giving him another hug.

He winced when I touched his maturing arm,
then, with a nod at Sarion, joked, “Growing pains.” Matshi wasn’t
typically a warm, fuzzy kind of guy, but I think he was genuinely
happy to see us. Only when we tried to catch him up on the
Sutherland autopsy did his expression alter. He put up a hand, and
asked us to change the subject.

I went with the first thought that popped in
my head. Was he going to Orion Alpha for Ulenem’s Transition? I
instantly regretted my question when Matshi responded with a
Chidurian curse.

We all saw Spud frown. I was ready to
apologize for bringing up a painful memory when Spud cut me off,
asking Matshi abruptly, “Why did you kill him?”

I looked at Spud in confusion. Matshi had
already told us that Ulenem had been attacked by Sutherland and had
been killed defending himself, so why did Spud—

Another Chidurian curse preceded Matshi’s
surprising lunge from his seat. Fortunately, Spud was quick on his
feet, and his Ergal, and quickly levved out of Matshi’s reach. From
the ceiling of the suite, Spud whipped out his stun gun and aimed
it at the Chidurian.

“Do not make me stun you. Just tell us what
happened.”

As Eikhus, Sarion, and I stared, bewildered;
Matshi glared at Spud for a few moments. Obviously in pain, he
limped back to his chair, and muttered a hoarse, “You bastard!”

Spud still kept his distance a few feet off
the ground as Matshi spat a violet liquid onto the floor, leaned
back, and, avoiding our eyes, began to tell the truth.

* * *

Our trip back to Earth was subdued. We’d
gotten word that Zygint had arrested Wart and Carlton Platt, now
that we’d publicly blown their covers, and charged them with
treason. Platt deserved it, but I’d miss Wart. He’d been a great
mentor for us ‘greenhorns’, unlike Gary the aesthete and dorky
Ev.

And Ulenem. What could possibly have
motivated him to turn against Zygfed? He didn’t need the money. His
family was among the richest in Madai. Nationalism? Unlikely. Orion
Alpha had been loyal to Zygfed for several millennia, possibly even
before the extinction. Then, why?

Troubled, I turned to Spud, who was sprawled
in his seat, his eyes closed. I didn’t think he was really
asleep.

“Ulenem,” I whispered.

One eye opened and found mine.

“How did you guess that Matshi had, uh…?” I
prodded.

Spud stretched and yawned. “How did I
guess
? Really, Rush.”

I apologized. “Deduce. How did you
deduce?”

“Belatedly,” he responded, sitting up with a
grunt. “I had neglected to properly interpret the pattern of the
knife wounds on the body.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, then,
seeing my puzzled expression, sighed. “The outline of the stabs,
their size, spacing, angulation, hinted at an arthropodal,
eight-limbed species,” he added. “Except for two perplexing
irregular concavities. I had, regretfully, overlooked the temporary
absence of two of Matshi’s arms and legs.”

He shrugged. “At any rate, it is of no longer
of consequence … we have a more important question to
address.”

“Why Ulenem, uh, went to the other side?”

Spud favored me with a patronizing frown.
“Yeshua. Where is he?”

Yeshua. I had almost forgotten. “Matshi’s
convinced he didn’t burn in the fire.”

“Exactly. So, did he get out of the temple?
And if so, how? The attic’s only exit apparently was the flaming
staircase.”

I sighed. Looks like we didn’t have a choice.
“So we go back to Tyre?”

He hesitated. “No. I have a theory.” He sat
up and faced me. “And we do not want to lead the pirates to the
gold.”

“What do you mean?”

“Suppose, simply suppose, we are being
tracked. We find Yeshua again, but at the same time lead our
trackers right to him.”

“Good point,” I admitted. “But who are these
trackers? We turned in Wart and Platt.”

Spud nodded. “And caught Sutherland.
Theoretically, we should be home free. Yeshua is safe and, as far
as I, and the Temporal Disturbance Analysis Unit, can determine,
Earth’s timeline has not been affected.”

“Makes sense to me.” Unfortunately, helping
humanity avoid or prevent two millennia of wars, plagues, and
holocausts was, by order of the Omega Archon, not part of our job
description.

“But is that
really
why Sutherland, or
Benedict, was after Yeshua?” Spud persisted. “To devastate Earth’s
timeline?”

I frowned. “You mean there’s something Gary
didn’t tell us?”

“Very possibly.” Spud stroked his chin.
“Before we head back to Phoenicia, we’d better be sure what
Sutherland and Benedict were really trying to do.”

Spud leaned back in his seat and closed his
eyes once again, obviously unwilling to say anything more. I was
even more perplexed by his questions. I liked my assignments clean
and neat, like … rescuing cats out of trees.