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Authors: Sherwood Smith, Dave Trowbridge
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hyperwave-equipped vessel stationed at Qoholeth, through
which Thuriol’s messages been transmitted to Cheruld. While he waited, his mind
spun in wild surmise. The revenge message, whatever it had been, had been
acknowledged two weeks previously, but Barrodagh would have heard immediately
had there been any interruption in message traffic through Cheruld. Morrighon had
said “system acknowledgement,” an automated process. Could Cheruld somehow have
overlooked the message? Its content would likely have been quite oblique, to
protect Thuriol in the event the worm was discovered before it was triggered.
Could Cheruld have misunderstood it?
You’re grasping at Minea’s tattered hem , he told
himself. He had to be prepared for the worst, or he would be swept away by
events.
The console windowed up the face of the Catennach comm
officer on the Altar of Dol .
“Senz-lo Barrodagh,” the woman said as memory supplied her
name: Dulathor .
“I require an immediate status report on Martin Cheruld.”
Dulathor nodded officiously. “He was observed trying to
board an out-system shuttle.”
Hope died and terror clawed its way up inside Barrodagh. He
did get the message! What has he been doing for the past two weeks? At
least the Heart of Kronos was still safe in the ParcelNet.
Dulathor’s lack of surprise meant that she assumed he’d
found out about Cheruld’s defection by other means. He would not disabuse her
of the notion—the reputation for omniscience he’d long cultivated was a strong
disincentive to betrayal. But he needed to know more.
“I assume you have followed your standing orders?” He let
nothing of his urgency into his voice.
“Yes, senz-lo Barrodagh.” Her voice took on the flat cadence
of a report. “We observed him covertly, moving in only when he tried to leave.
We apprehended him and activated the backup message routing. I was just
preparing a message to inform you that we have him safely on-board, and have
tested him for serum allergies. He is safe for veritonin, with an estimated
tolerance of one hour.”
“That is well. I will personally interrogate him via
hyperwave.” He fixed Dulathor with a minatory stare. “There is to be no observation
or recording of the interrogation; this touches the will of the Avatar.” The
Qoholeth team knew nothing of Cheruld’s operations and he had no intention of
letting them find out.
The woman’s face tightened, and her eyes flickered at the
mention of the word ‘Avatar.’ “It shall be as you command. We will have him
ready within fifteen minutes.”
o0o
Never had one-quarter hour passed more slowly for Barrodagh.
But the next hour, until the veritonin killed Cheruld, passed all too
quickly—had he learned all he could? Had he overlooked a question, failed to
probe an implication? The hours afterward, while he strove to understand and
contain the disaster that had overtaken him, had seemed to pass even faster.
Barrodagh rose from his desk and walked shakily to the door,
moving as slowly as though he were already outside in the high-gee corridor.
Long habit halted him within the half-circle inlaid in the
carpet. He braced himself with his hands on either side of the doorframe. He
barely noticed the familiar sense of upward acceleration as full Dol’jharian
gravity gripped him. He now weighed thirty percent more than normal, and a fall
would almost certainly mean broken bones, if not worse.
The gray-clad conscript outside came to attention as the
door slid open and Barrodagh shuffled out, and then stiffened even more as he
saw the expression on the Bori’s face. Apparently what he himself knew to be
overwhelming fatigue appeared as mere displeasure to the Dol’jharian.
The faces carved in riotous profusion in the stone of the
corridor walls seemed to leer at him as he passed in the slow shuffle-walk that
was a Bori’s best speed on this miserable planet, their eyes mocking as he
remembered the triumphant mood of earlier that day. In
which Thuriol’s messages been transmitted to Cheruld. While he waited, his mind
spun in wild surmise. The revenge message, whatever it had been, had been
acknowledged two weeks previously, but Barrodagh would have heard immediately
had there been any interruption in message traffic through Cheruld. Morrighon had
said “system acknowledgement,” an automated process. Could Cheruld somehow have
overlooked the message? Its content would likely have been quite oblique, to
protect Thuriol in the event the worm was discovered before it was triggered.
Could Cheruld have misunderstood it?
You’re grasping at Minea’s tattered hem , he told
himself. He had to be prepared for the worst, or he would be swept away by
events.
The console windowed up the face of the Catennach comm
officer on the Altar of Dol .
“Senz-lo Barrodagh,” the woman said as memory supplied her
name: Dulathor .
“I require an immediate status report on Martin Cheruld.”
Dulathor nodded officiously. “He was observed trying to
board an out-system shuttle.”
Hope died and terror clawed its way up inside Barrodagh. He
did get the message! What has he been doing for the past two weeks? At
least the Heart of Kronos was still safe in the ParcelNet.
Dulathor’s lack of surprise meant that she assumed he’d
found out about Cheruld’s defection by other means. He would not disabuse her
of the notion—the reputation for omniscience he’d long cultivated was a strong
disincentive to betrayal. But he needed to know more.
“I assume you have followed your standing orders?” He let
nothing of his urgency into his voice.
“Yes, senz-lo Barrodagh.” Her voice took on the flat cadence
of a report. “We observed him covertly, moving in only when he tried to leave.
We apprehended him and activated the backup message routing. I was just
preparing a message to inform you that we have him safely on-board, and have
tested him for serum allergies. He is safe for veritonin, with an estimated
tolerance of one hour.”
“That is well. I will personally interrogate him via
hyperwave.” He fixed Dulathor with a minatory stare. “There is to be no observation
or recording of the interrogation; this touches the will of the Avatar.” The
Qoholeth team knew nothing of Cheruld’s operations and he had no intention of
letting them find out.
The woman’s face tightened, and her eyes flickered at the
mention of the word ‘Avatar.’ “It shall be as you command. We will have him
ready within fifteen minutes.”
o0o
Never had one-quarter hour passed more slowly for Barrodagh.
But the next hour, until the veritonin killed Cheruld, passed all too
quickly—had he learned all he could? Had he overlooked a question, failed to
probe an implication? The hours afterward, while he strove to understand and
contain the disaster that had overtaken him, had seemed to pass even faster.
Barrodagh rose from his desk and walked shakily to the door,
moving as slowly as though he were already outside in the high-gee corridor.
Long habit halted him within the half-circle inlaid in the
carpet. He braced himself with his hands on either side of the doorframe. He
barely noticed the familiar sense of upward acceleration as full Dol’jharian
gravity gripped him. He now weighed thirty percent more than normal, and a fall
would almost certainly mean broken bones, if not worse.
The gray-clad conscript outside came to attention as the
door slid open and Barrodagh shuffled out, and then stiffened even more as he
saw the expression on the Bori’s face. Apparently what he himself knew to be
overwhelming fatigue appeared as mere displeasure to the Dol’jharian.
The faces carved in riotous profusion in the stone of the
corridor walls seemed to leer at him as he passed in the slow shuffle-walk that
was a Bori’s best speed on this miserable planet, their eyes mocking as he
remembered the triumphant mood of earlier that day. In
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