so she wheeled about and trained her PRIS in that direction.

  Nothing.

  Realizing that what she'd seen conformed—at least outwardly— to Brother Anthony's description of a nightjack, Zorn decided this was a potentially dangerous situation and activated her maser link with Newton in the dark G-carrier behind and below her.

  "Newton, this is Zorn. Come in."

  "Newton here. Captain. Co ahead."

  "Is Red there?"

  "Affirmative. The captain is resting in the passenger section. Shall I awaken her?"

  "Maybe you should."

  "Stand by."

  A few seconds later, Coeur came to the maser link.

  "Red Sun here. Go ahead."

  "Just thought you'd like to know something I saw. Red. Seems something grabbed one of the peasants a few minutes ago and disappeared without anyone seeing it—including me."

  "Oh, hell."

  "Of course, it doesn't look like it stopped the farming. The tractor bosses have got the peasants moving again."

  "Real considerate, "Coeur said. "Hey, hold on a moment...."

  Hearing the line go dead, Zorn expected the delay would be momentary. But when it ran to several seconds, she began to suspect that something was up.

  "Zorn, I'm back. There's trouble."

  "What?"

  "We can't find the technarchs. I asked Brother Anthony and Vink, but they were asleep, too."

  "Oh crap. What about Physic?"

  "She's over in the ship's boat—she didn't see anything."

  "All right. Hold on a minute, and I'll look around your camp."

  It took less than a minute for Zorn to find the technarchs. Just as she turned toward the camp, a silent shape flashed past behind her—causing her to fall back around and train her PRIS on it. it was a broomstick, and both of the junior technarchs were aboard.

  "Red? I think I found'em."

  "What? Where?"

  "It looks like they're on a broomstick and making like holy hell for the center of the city."

  The pause in Coeur's response, Zorn supposed, was almost certainly Coeur verifying that the one broomstick aboard was missing.

  "Damn it! I knew I shouldn't have let those two down here!"

  "I think it's a little late for that, "Zorn said. "If one of the Marine teams doesn't stop them, they're going downtown."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bela Masaryk had known about this contingency for months— the possibility that he and An-Wing would have to separate from the Aubani on Mexit and meet with the government themselves—but he wasn't entirely sure this was the right time to do it. Quite apart from the fact that he disliked the prospect of a long ride on a broomstick, Masaryk was concerned that Liu An-Wing had gravely miscalculated the wisdom of rushing to negotiate with the unstable Emperor Brak.

  "Really, Bela, "An-Wing said, from the front seat of their highflying broomstick, "I thought we'd gone over all this. We can't trust the motives of Aubaine, right?"

  "Right."

  "And it was our citizens who were lost here, right?"

  "Well, yes, but..."

  "But what? I'm sick of these Aubani thinking they run they entire Coalition, getting all the breaks and pushing us aside as a second-class planet. It's about time we took matters into our own hands."

  Masaryk paused before answering. Given his discomfort with air travel, he found his breath coming shallow whenever he glanced below the broomstick at the intermittent lights of Albegar rolling past 100 meters below, and it didn't help that the broomstick pitched violently whenever it ran into turbulence in the chill air over Soledad.

  "You all right, Bela?"

  "Oh, sure, "Masaryk replied, unconvincingly.

  'Try looking at my back instead of the ground."

  "Check."

  Amazingly, that worked pretty well.

  "Better?"

  "Better."

  "So when we get to the Federal District we'll present a unified front?"

  "Of course, Liu. It's just that—I think we should have left a message for Red Sun, something to tell her where we're going."

  "We couldn't risk that, Bela. Red Sun would just have made us stay there."

  "But, Liu, how can you be so sure this Brak fellow is really sane?"

  "Oh, Bela, don't be so naive. It's an act, see? Brak probably just acts crazy to throw his opponents off balance. But I'll wager he knows where the depot is, and he's just waiting for the best possible offer for its contents."

  "How do you explain Zero, then?"

  "Zero was never a good bargainer, "An-Wing said. "He always was too greedy."

  "And we're not?"

  "Not greedy, Bela—practical. Oriflamme needs that depot, and we're going to get it for her."

  Presently, they flew into the darkness beyond Albegar and lost the spirit for conversation. Silent minutes followed where their thoughts turned inward and unknown to each other.

  Then, at last, the glowing edge of the Federal District shone ahead. A short time later, as she steered toward the center of the city, An-Wing spotted a patrolling grav vehicle that she took for a tank (although it was actually a light support sled) and moved into plain view of its forward sensors.

  "Ah... hello there, "An-Wing said, hailing the vehicle on the Coalition distress frequency. "You in the tank, are you receiving us?"

  Implacably, the tank continued closing.

  "Damn it, "An-Wing said to Masaryk, "I'm using the distress frequency, so why doesn't he answer?"

  "Actually, they might use a different distress frequency here, "Masaryk said, sweating from his forehead despite the chill air. "Maybe we should just leave...."

  The support sled cut that option off a moment later, with the clatter of its turret-mounted coaxial machinegun. Ducking from its tracers—spraying without apparent aim overhead—An-Wing unwittingly threw the broomstick into a spin that she barely recovered from a few meters above the corrugated steel of a factory roof.

  The support sled followed them down, and its commander threw open its top hatch when he saw that both An-Wing and Masaryk had their hands up.

  "Attention, alien craft! "the black-jacketed man announced, with the aid of a bullhorn. "You will land immediately or be destroyed!"

  The commander then looked on with satisfaction as An-Wing offered her profuse apologies and landed hastily on a nearby sidewalk.

  Contact had been made.

  ***

  Having studied Coalition briefings about various TEDs in the Wilds, An-Wing ful. "y expected that a period of indeterminate incarceration would follow their landing inside the Federal District. She was also just as certain that the incarceration would end when she established her knowledge of Zero and explained just how profitable it would be to give Oriflamme's Council of Technarchs exclusive access to the depot.

  Seemingly verifying this wisdom, then, An-Wing and Masaryk were only briefly held in detention. Two unarmored soldiers soon came to escort them out of a cell on the ground floor of the titanic defense ministry and up through a maglev elevator to an audience chamber adorned in gold and marble fittings.

  Given the presence of a dais, throne and various hanging flags, the junior technarchs realized that this was likely the chamber of Brak himself and stood at attention before their guards had a chance to order them to do so. Soon, the thunder of armored feet in adjoining corridors told them of powered troopers approaching, and An-Wing began to formulate her best pitch.

  First onto the dais, however, was a man whom An-Wing took for some sort of minister because of his formal dress and red sash. Carrying a computer under his arm, he spoke in a loud and booming voice without looking directly at the Oriflammen.

  "All kneel before His Most Exalted Highness, Emperor Brak the First!"

  The Oriflammen knelt and, taking a cue from their guards, looked humbly at the floor.

  "Arise."

  Lifting their heads, they saw at last what they had come for, the resplendent figure of Emperor Brak, whom they recognized from his portrait on the side of this and various other buildings. An imposing figure, the mustached and block-jawed man wore nothing so simple as robes or a military tunic, striding into the chamber instead in unhelmeted gold and silver battle dress, gleaming brightly beside two escorts in helmeted, flat-black armor.

  Resplendent as Brak was, though, there was subtle evidence that he and his followers had difficulty maintaining their equipment. The servos in their relic battle dress wheezed and groaned noisily in protest at the loads they labored under, and from time to time the battle dress limbs would freeze in awkward posi-

  tions—surely a liability in combat.

  But then it couldn't be too much of a liability, An-Wing reasoned, since Brak was still alive.

  "I take it, "Brak rumbled, with the same imperious tone he used on the radio, "that you are from Oriflamme."

  "Yes, your highness, "An-Wing said. "My name is Liu An-Wing, and this is my associate, Bela Masaryk. We representative the Council of Technarchs of Oriflamme."

  'The same Oriflamme that the crew of Crazy Jane was from?"

  'That is correct, Your Highness."

  "Were you not informed, "Brak said, "of the proper time and place for a meeting?"

  "Well, yes, but we felt it would be better to come here beforehand, to avoid the awkward confrontation that probably would have happened if you met with our captain tomorrow."

  "What? Are you not the captain of the Technarch?"

  "Ah—no. Actually, Junior Technarch Masaryk and I are from Oriflamme, but we came to this world aboard another starship, the Hornet, from Aubaine. But Aubaine is a greedy, selfish little planet that you really shouldn't worry yourself about They came here with the intention of taking your depot for themselves, but we came ahead of them to warn you and bid for access to the depot at a fair price."

  Upon hearing this, Brak grew livid with rage and strode down the steps of the dais with surprising speed and agility.

  "Bid? "he thundered, grasping Masaryk by his right forearm and shaking him like a little child. "Bid! What kind of idiot do you take me for?"

  Caught between confusion and concern for Masaryk, An-Wing elected not to answer. This only seemed to enrage Brak further, however, and he crushed the bones of Masaryk's forearm in his steel grip.

  Likely inured to such casual violence, the unpowered guards moved to block An-Wing's possible escape—an increasingly attractive option as Brak kept the wincing Masaryk in his grip for a long moment At length, he turned Masaryk loose, and An-Wing went to him as he crumpled to the floor.

  "I am not a violent man, "Brak said, In answer to the mix of shock and confusion on the junior technarchs' faces, "but I grow impatient with the ruses and deceptions of your people. Now tell me where the depot is!"

  "Tell you? "An-Wing said.

  "Yes. Now."

  "I don't know what you're talking about! I assumed you controlled the depot...."

  Brak growled deep in his throat, making An-Wing shrink back with Masaryk, but the emperor stopped short of another exhibition of torture. Instead, he collected himself and strode back to the dais.

  "Ms. An-Wing, I can see that we are not communicating clearly, so you'll just have to spend some time in our prison to help you refresh your memory. For you and your friend's sake, I hope it helps."

  ***

  Although Masaryk was clearly in agony—barely able to stumble toward the elevator bank with An-Wing's help, An-Wing's exhortations for medical aid met only with rigid refusal. Emperor Brak, they were told, would not allow it.

  "Will you at least get me a splint for his arm, then? "An-Wing snapped, stopping herself and Masaryk short of their destination elevator and apparently warding off a butt stock beating by the sheer strength of her voice.

  The private—the younger of the two men—finally relented after a hesitant moment, walking down the hallway to a small dispensary. When he returned some seconds later, he brought a curved slab of plastic expressly designed for use as a brace.

  "Thank you, "An-Wing said, grateful for the gesture but still unable to keep the bite completely out of her voice.

  Impatient with both An-Wing and the private, the older sergeant abruptly pushed the junior technarchs into the nearest elevator cab, delaying An-Wing's effort to help Masaryk until after they were inside. There An-Wing summoned enough of her memories of first aid classes in the junior Pathfinders to sit Masaryk on the elevator floor and secure the splint to his arm with strips of material torn from her vest lining before using the vest itself as a sling. Since her pockets had been emptied earlier in a thorough search, the clothes on her back were literally all she had to work with, but she did a good enough job to at least let Masaryk stand unaided.

  "Oh, Bela, "An-Wing whispered, "I'm so sorry—I didn't think this was going to happen."

  "It's all right, "Beia answered, wincing. "You didn't twist my arm to come."

  No, An-Wing thought, I just got it broken.

  Seconds later, the elevator arrived in the very bowels of the building—the lowermost of three basement levels where the prison was housed. Well below the street level cell where the junior technarchs were held before, it was a cold and forbidding place that instantly quashed any hope that An-Wing might have held out for rescue or escape. After checking in at a wire-cage security station staffed by dour men and women, the private and sergeant subjected the junior Oriflammen to another rigorous search and then lead them down a silent concrete corridor lit by caged electric bulbs and partitioned by steel doors doubtless wired to slam shut at any alarm or cut in power.

  Since the clatter of the guards' heavy boots attracted hooting and cat calls from certain of the windowless, steel-doored cells, An-Wing surmised that those might hold the rebel prisoners that Coeur was keen to spring, but she was a I a loss to see how it could be managed. When the door of the unnumbered cell that was their destination was unlocked by the old sergeant, An-Wing saw that both the door and the wall were over a half-meter thick.

  While the older guard was unlocking the door, however, a strange thing happened. The younger guard, with a wary glance at his companion, dropped something into a pocket of An-Wing's culottes, just before pushing her and Masaryk into the poorly lit cell.

  Wary that a camera might be inside the cell, An-Wing resisted the urge to look into her pocket immediately. Instead, she focused her attention on the prisoner already in the cell. Even as the door slammed, that other Prisoner—a vaguely familiar blonde woman of perhaps 20—came forward to help Masaryk to the cell's other cot. Despite the bruises and burn marks on her face and arms, her expression was sympathetic, and that keyed An-Wing's recognition of the woman a moment later.

  "Oh my God. You're Cari Becker!"

  "Sure am, "Zorn's boat pilot said. "Afraid I don't know you two, though."

  "We!!, we haven’t met, "An-Wing said, helping Carl settle Masaryk into a more-or-less comfortable sitting position against the wall, "but we've seen your picture. Your Captain Zorn gave it to us to study."

  "Zorn? "Cart asked, pouring water from a corroded tap into a cup for Masaryk and then returning to her cot.

  "Oh yes, "An-Wing said, sitting near Masaryk on the other cot. "She's linked up with our expedition from the Coalition and helped set up a base camp in the Lomarica Hills."

  Suddenly, Cari gritted her teeth and made an exasperated growl.

  "What? "An-Wing asked.

  "You should be careful what you talk about, girl. This room is probably wired for sound."

  "Makes sense, "Masaryk gasped. "Why else would they put us together, except to catch something we're hiding?"

  "Exactly, "Carl said.

  "Well, excuse me, "An-Wing said icily. "It's not like I've had an easy day myself."

  An-Wing's weary and haggard companions didn't dignify that with an answer.

  "What? "An-Wing challenged them.

  "Forget it, "Cari conceded. "You're right. We've all had a hard time of it"

  "Yeah, "An-Wing muttered, "a hard time. We give this backwater buffoon Brak a fair business proposition, and he throws us in a dungeon for our trouble."

  "Let me guess, "Cari said. "All he wanted to know was where the depot was."

  "That's right, "An-Wing said. "We thought he controlled it, but when I tried to ask him about it, he went nuts."

  "I think that's all because of Zero. They asked... they asked Katzel a lot of questions about him."

  "Your cousin, "An-Wing said,

  "Yes, my cousin."

  "Is he in another cell?"

  "No, Katzel is dead. He died yesterday, after his last beating."

  Involuntarily, An-Wing gasped.

  And Masaryk threw up.

  "I'm sorry, "he said afterward, trying to wipe off his mouth with his good left arm. "1 just don't want to get hurt any more."

  "Oh, Bela, "An-Wing crooned, moving up to cradle a comforting arm around Masaryk's back.

  What have I done?

  An-Wing then remembered the mysterious thing in her pocket and reached her free right hand down to fish it out Well, I'll be damned, An-Wing thought, reflecting on the plastic cylinder in her cupped hand and the label alerting her to its contents.

  "What do you have there? "Cari asked.

  "Oh, nothing" An-Wing said, wary of alerting anyone listening in. She did, however, show the bottle to an amazed Carl.

  A bottle of morphine tabled.

  ***

  Although An-Wing had hoped Carl's burns and bruises were from the church fire, not from torture, that was not the case. Though the Emperor Brak refrained from having his thugs bludgeon women, his sense of gallantry did not exclude the application of electric shock, with voltages calculated to inflict pain without inducing unconsciousness.

  Nearly three days of this treatment had reduced Cari to the point of permanent exhaustion, and she collapsed into fitful sleep not long after the junior technarchs arrived—a sleep made easier by one of An-Wing's proffered pills.

  "I really shouldn't, "Cari had said, moving her lips to make the words but not uttering the sounds. "They'll know."

  "Take it, "An-Wing replied. "How many breaks do you get here?"

  Ironically, Masaryk agreed with Cari, but the magnitude of their discomfort was such that both were easily persuaded to take the pills. Not long afterward, both were asleep, and An Wing was left alone with her guilt.

 

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