Moon Shadows Chapter 3
Bialar Crais was no stranger to pain. The aurora chair. Cybernetic bleedback. He had been stabbed, shot and beaten more times than he could remember. Yet, he would never forget the pain in his head that morning.
He avoided the light, rolled onto his side and curled into a ball with the quilt pulled across his face. It was the same quilt whose sweet, subtle scent he had enjoyed the previous morning. How he came to be under it again was a mystery. Footsteps sounded close by, followed by voices that grew steadily, painfully louder. A hand gripped his shoulder and gave it a shake. He groaned and clutched the blanket as someone tried to pull it away.
"We got to get going. Come on, Bialar, get up." The voice belonged to Ke'air Masahje.
Crais sat up suddenly, breathing deeply though his mouth. He felt unwell. His mouth began to water and he felt a slight tremble. Masahje stood alongside the bed, hands on his hips, staring down at him.
"Your color is not good, my brother," he noted. "Are you ailing?"
"Have you no sense at all?" Toma asked angrily. "You know that it is not allowed. What if you were seen?"
"I say the same thing as yesterday. He got himself knocked out." Ke'air shrugged. "It was first light. No one saw nothing."
She pushed her brother out of the way and slapped a metal pan down in front of Crais, who was sitting upright with his eyes closed. She pulled his hair back and held it with one hand behind his head. "Might as well get this over with," she grumbled, waving an emetic capsule beneath his nose with her other hand. The results were spontaneous. Before he could catch his breath, she shoved the emetic in his face again and again, until it finally had no effect. Toma quickly took the pan outside, while Crais flopped back onto the bed.
"We better get going," Masahje said. "It will take us over two arns to get to the ruins and two more to get back."
Crais' eyes blinked open. He sat partially upright, propped up on his elbows. "You will return me to my ship immediately."
"That is not our agreement."
"We *have* no agreement."
"Bialar-"
"My name is Crais," he snapped, wincing from the effort. "Do you understand? Crais!"
"Last night you said I should call you Bialar."
"I most certainly did not."
"Did not what?" Toma asked, returning from outside.
Masahje stood at the end of the bed, frowning, arms folded across his chest. "Bialar does not want to honor our agreement. He wishes to return to his ship."
He knew by the way her eyes and nostrils flared that he was in serious trouble. She moved in a slow, measured gait toward the bed and then glared at him, silent, nodding slightly. He lifted the quilt and glanced beneath it, somehow not surprised to see that his clothing had all been removed again. Although his head felt considerably better after he vomited, arguing was the last thing he wanted to do now, especially with these two.
"If you would be so kind as to get my clothing," he asked, voice subdued, purposefully avoiding her gaze.
She stood stock-still. "Ke'air tells me that you are a man of science. And that you offered to accompany him to the ruins to-"
"Your brother is mistaken. I did no such thing. "
"Then you do not know science?"
He sighed, uncertain of how to answer. "I have some experience in the field of genetics and cross proliferation, however I am not primarily a scientist. I doubt I would be of any assistance to you."
"Did you offer last night to help?"
Again, a deep breath prefaced his reply. "I would not have made that promise."
Toma bent down, her face close to his. "You don't remember, do you?"
"It is true, I am vague on some of what-"
"So, you *don't* remember."
"I remember everything," Ke'air chimed in. "You said even if the laboratory was destroyed, the vid chips with the information might still be intact, and maybe the data scanner from your ship could read that information." He went to the counter and returned with the transport's portable scanner, which he held out to Crais.
"Is he making this up too?" Toma asked.
"If we leave now you will be back to your ship before dusk. You can take off first thing in the morning."
Crais shook his head unhappily. "I suppose you will refuse to return me to my ship if I do not agree to this."
Toma took a seat on the bed and with her hand turned his chin toward her, holding it there. Her voice was controlled, precise, yet barely above a whisper. "Ke'air will take you to your ship, Bialar Crais, if that is what you choose to do. The lives of several hundred thousand Tah are not your concern. We were destined to die before you came. Perhaps you can manage to save yourself." She released his chin indelicately, stood and walked toward the door. "I'll get your clothing."
He sank back into the pillow, closing his eyes for a microt. When he opened them, Ke'air Masahje was still looking at him, his expression questioning. "Very well, I will accompany you to these ruins, but you will tell me one thing in return. Did I really say that I would or did you make it up?"
Ke'air cocked his head and rolled his eyes in thought, a thin smile resulting. "You said plenty last night, Bialar. I'm pretty certain that you did."
"Here are your things. Now get out of my bed." Toma threw his clothing at him and turned to Ke'air, "You take him back to his ship and this time you *leave* him there."
"But Toma, he has changed his mind. We are going to the ruins just as I told you."
She glanced at Crais, still irritated and then turned to face her brother. "Are you certain it will be safe? What if the Draeg are watching that building? Maybe it is a trap. Maybe you should not go. This way we still have a little time left together."
He rested his hands on her shoulders, his eyes alone conveying the message.
She nodded. "I'll make something for you to take and eat later." She was halfway to the kitchen counter when she turned back to the men, her voice suddenly cheerful and unnecessarily loud. "Unless you are hungry now, Bialar Crais. I would be glad to make you a nice big breakfast. You like some eggs, maybe?"
He dressed slowly and without response.
# # #
The sun slipped past the colorless morning clouds to burn hot and bright overhead. Although he would have preferred to sleep it off, the fresh air helped to clear his head. The drone of the aquaflyer prohibited conversation, which was just fine with him; Crais had no doubt that he had already done far too much talking. Cinched securely in the safety harness, head back, eyes closed, the whir of the prop lulled him to the edge of wakefulness, a painless, welcome place.
He was unaware of the passage of time or distance until a hand swatted his chest. Ke'air pointed to a dark, jagged mass on the horizon, clearly not a haven. As they drew near, he could only imagine what the city of Shuleye- Shulah must have looked like prior to the attack. Even in almost total collapse, its massive stone pillars still supported the riddled remains of floors and walls that stretched some twenty stories above the ground. The stark, skeletal lines of scorched concrete and metal in tedious shades of gray cut a sharp contrast against the crisp, blue sky. They were still a metra from the building when piles of debris prevented them from approaching closer with the flyer. Masahje cut the engine and coasted inside the hollow, burnt out wreckage of a civilian transport train.
"We have to go the rest of the way by foot. Research was always done on the upper floors, so we've got to climb. Some of the stairs are still there, but many are gone." He pulled a heavy rope with gaff hooks from beneath his seat, which drew a scowl from Crais. "Don't think I'm pulling you up either. There's another under your seat."
Crais was uncertain which was worse, climbing across the wreckage, most of it rusted and unstable, or Ke'air's constant explanation of the obvious. Thankfully, despite his ongoing dissertation, not one word of the previous night's conversation, the *missing* part, had came up. He was curious to know what he might have revealed, yet not enough to ask. He assumed he had not divulged too much of his past, since the Tah was still speaking to him, in fact, more than he would have preferred.
Although the transport scanner could pick up information signatures from a distance of ten microns, the chips still had to be located in the rubbish and inserted into the reader. Crais doubted much had survived the devastation. On the lower floors a few vids with fragmented information remained; store inventories, receipts, supply orders, personnel records . . . nothing of value.
It had taken them three arns to cover the first six floors. After digging for another half arn to unearth a chip that produced theatre schedules, Crais slumped to a seat on the floor, his elbows rested on bent knees. Ke'air, who had finally stopped talking, continued to sort through rubble, looking over a few times before closing the distance between them. He settled onto the floor across from Crais and slid off his pack.
"We've got five more arns, before we have to start back." His expression seemed weighted as he removed a bundle from the pack and unwrapped it. "Brown bread stuffed with cheese," he said, offering one of the loaves across.
Crais glanced up and waved it off.
"Come on, take it. This will make you feel better," he insisted, offering the bread again. "Been drunk on that stuff enough times myself to know. Besides, this is real food, not that stock fodder you fed me."
Aware that the rumbling in his stomach might have more to do with hunger than the slail, Crais accepted the bread. He broke off a corner and chewed it slowly, nodding in response to his companion's questioning look. "We will never find whatever it is that you're looking for," he said matter-of- factly. "More than half the building's upper tiers are completely gone. How do you know this project wasn't on one of those?"
"Everything past the fifteenth level was living quarters," he explained. "The first five levels were marketplace . . . shops, entertainment. Everything else was in the middle: research facilities, places of high learning, factories . . . hospitals. It is possible they were all working together on the plan."
"It is also possible they had no *plan* at all," Crais said, enjoying a larger bite of bread.
"This information was passed to us by soldiers who were stationed outside Shuleye-Shulah when the attack came. There *was* a plan, but it had to be very secretive because they did not want to provoke the Draegen."
"Well, that part certainly did not work."
Ke'air stuffed the last of his bread into his mouth, stood and offered his hand to Crais. "As a soldier I must do whatever I can to defeat them."
"You?" Crais asked, being pulled to his feet. "A soldier?"
"Of course I am. What do you think this is for?" He ran a hand back across his sleek head, lifted his ponytail and let the long, black hair slide across his fingers.
Crais' expression confirmed he had no clue.
"We do not have money or time for uniforms. This is how we are identified." He grinned big and winked. "It was my idea."
Crais grinned also, for an entirely different reason. "So cutting your hair in this manner is all it takes to become a soldier? Like the boy, Nimm?"
"Nimm's papa, Jjorn was the best frelling pilot I ever seen. Taught him how to fly when he was probably seven or eight cycles. That *boy* can patch a ship together with nothing more than some spit n' a ball of string, and fly it better than anybody." Ke'air shouldered his pack and stared out a gaping hole in the side of the building for a microt. "He's going to die here with the rest of us whether he hides behind his mama's skirt or gets flamed by a Draeg Firebug. Does it matter which?"
"I suppose not."
Ke'air climbed atop the remains of what was once a refrigeration unit and surveyed the exposed beams for a place to toss the gaff. The hook held fast on his second throw. He secured the rope and then motioned Crais over, arm extended. "Give me your rope. I'll go up a couple of stories and see if there's anything recognizable. You finish this floor and then start on the next. Comm me if you find something."
Crais pitched the rope up and nodded. It made sense to split up, although he doubted it would make a difference. Even if they found something, what difference would it make? Any hope for the Tah disappeared three cycles ago with the stilted cities. Their political leaders, scientists, educators, along with 70 percent of the population died within the first six monens. Only the residents of the green havens still survived: farmers, fishermen, the uneducated and the elderly, plus bits and pieces of a shattered military.
He checked the remainder of the floor and then climbed the rope to the next tier. So far he had the transport scanner set to locate data chips. It occurred to him that higher security areas might have a higher concentration of hydrohonium and other protective metals than unclassified areas, so he changed the setting and made another sweep. The scan detected a significant concentration of hydrohonium particles in the northeast corner of the building.
An unfamiliar power reading blinked sporadically. He tuned in the signature and advanced toward it until the flashing became a steady stream of light. The source was quite unusual. He kept walking and tracking the power frequency until he rounded a corner and came face to face with the source. Incredible as it seemed, some manner of droid had escaped the destruction.
Its gray metallic surface glistened, a narrow black band at the top of its head swiveling to watch him. Larger than a DRD, the waist high automaton's two arms had three lengthy digits and two separate jointed legs versus rollers. It chirped at him, no doubt confused by his Sebacean readings. Crais circled, keeping his distance. The droid turned with him and stopped when he did. Curious . . . the scanner identified it as a life form.
Crais stopped, his eyes lifting slowly from the scanner. The black band rolled back to reveal two sphere-shaped, amber eyes and mouth rimmed with needle-thin pointed teeth. It hissed. He took a step back, slowly lowering his hand toward his pulse pistol. The creature raised an arm, fingers still dangling downward. Crais saw the red beam target him from a metal cylinder fixed atop its wrist. He dove for cover.
He heard the explosion and rolled to see pieces of the creature flying, a thin spray of milky goo splattered everywhere. Microts later Ke'air Masahje grabbed him by the arm and jerked him to his feet.
"What the frell is the matter with you?"
"I was trying to get a reading on whatever that was," Crais snapped, yanking his arm free.
"A reading? I'll give you a reading. That was a Draeg, you idiot. What were you thinking to do? Introduce yourself?"
"I did not-"
"Hello Mister Draegen! I am Bialar Crais . . . eema."
Crais' cast a dark, cautionary look. He wiped a smattering of Draeg from his face onto his shirtsleeve and, feeling a bit foolish, turned his attention quickly back to the scanner.
"Did you find something?" Ke'air asked, his voice clipped, yet even.
"Hydrohoniun. There are increased levels in this direction. It could indicate protective casings, possibly a vault."
The Tah nodded and motioned him to lead the way. "We will stay together from now on."
"That is not necessary."
"We will stay together," Ke'air repeated.
The scraps of metal that the scanner led them to bore little resemblance to laboratory equipment, yet Crais continued to adjust the settings, intent on one section of about fifty square microns. Sensing the Sebacean's interest, Ke'air began to pitch chunks of concrete out of the way. Once Crais narrowed the search, he too began to dig. They tossed desks, tables and countertops, all fused in the explosion, out over the edge of the building.
"That's enough," Crais cautioned. He knelt to study a thin strip of synthetic laminate front and back before discarding it. Smoothing the remaining fragments with his hand, he picked out and scrutinized several wires and pieces from a melted circuit board.
"Did you find something?" Ke'air asked.
Crais knew he had, yet purposely ignored the question and continued to sift through the pile looking for the data stores that the readings said should also be there. Knowing it was useless to ask a second time, Ke'air also continued to search, glancing frequently at Crais for reaction. Satisfied he had made his point, the Sebacean relented.
"This looks like what's left of a stochastic decentralizer, and not a small one either. A unit of this power and speed would be used for running hypothetical results, and would be sophisticated enough to calculate any margin of error and compensate. Very impressive."
"So what exactly does that mean?"
"Science," Crais replied curtly. "This was once a laboratory. And judging by the sophistication of the equipment, a very well supplied one."
"The plan?"
"No, not yet."
It took another half an arn to locate the data stores. Of a single tray containing eight chips, three still had uncorrupted data which Crais immediately connected to *the plan* Masahje kept referring to. The analytics panel aboard the transport pod could decipher and display the information on the chips in a fraction of the time it would take Crais with the portable scanner. With less than two arns left to unlock the answer, they left Shuleye-Shulah and headed for the ship.
# # #
As the pieces fell together, Crais found himself admiring those who had devised Dark Blossom, the project's code name. It would have worked, given time. And though not a soldier by his definition of the word, he gave Ke'air Masahje credit for trying. The Tah were beaten, yet even in defeat the young man clung to a single shred of hope.the plan. Crais knew he now had the unenviable task of destroying that hope.
"I have it," he said simply, and put the results on visual.
Masahje was unexpectedly quiet.
"The plan was called Dark Blossom. It was quite ingenious, actually. A viral strain, lethal to both Tah and Draegen was to be released into the atmosphere through a common microsporangium. Pollen. In a fairly short period of time, the planet's entire atmosphere would become contaminated.
"Kill our people?" Ke'air blurted.
Crais shook his head. "A vaccine, one which would require several monen to become effective had been developed to administer to the Tah. Once the pollens were released this whole planet would have become poisonous to the Draegen. It probably would have prevented any further aggression on their part for at least another fifty cycles. By that time the Tah would have likely developed complete immunity to the initial strain and if need be, created another."
"Then the plan will still work."
He hesitated and then met Ke'air's gaze directly. "No, the germination process takes place over three growing seasons. The treated bulbs were to be sown now, in the planting season. After lying dormant for the next four monens the virus is activated and released in the spores as pollen during the harvest season. Because the bacteria actually mutates and becomes virulent during this final period, the virus remains undetectable during all but the late blooming stage. The vaccine would have to be administered three to four monen prior to the virus becoming airborne." He gave a light shrug. "It was believed the Draegen would continue to negotiate for at least a cycle before launching any kind of attack. As you said, they want the planet undamaged."
The realization flickered in the young man's eyes. "But we do not have six monens."
"Unfortunately . . . no."
Ke'air gave a slow solemn nod, staring absently at the display screen. "But we could still kill them after we are gone."
Crais' brow arched as he considered the possibility. "Yes, I imagine that is a consideration. If you could treat and sow enough bulbs before the dormant period, in another six or seven monen the Draegen on this planet would be dropping like . . . well, arthropods. If any of your people could manage to survive-"
"They would need this vaccine?"
"Yes." Crais displayed the formula on visual. "The vaccine was completed and tested extensively through the stochastic decentralizer with results of over ninety-nine percent effectiveness. Without the time for clinical testing, I believe they were willing to take the risk." He wrapped a stack of data chips and shrink slides inside a sheet of vellum and handed it to Ke'air. "I have replicated the stores and reproduced the data on slide. Both the virus and vaccine can be manufactured within a weeken. The elements are reasonably common or easily created. A technician should be able to complete the process for you."
Ke'air stared at length at the package of discs in his hand and then at Crais. "A technician?"
"Yes, the research on Dark Blossom had been completed. With those stores and slides, a technician should be able to create the virus, as well as the vaccine, if you choose."
"Could you make this?" he asked, watching him closely.
"I could, but I will not. That was not our agreement."
"We are not technicians."
"But members of your military, those who escaped to the havens, are. You have communication with all the inhabited areas, plus ships to transport your people and materials. If you wish to implement this plan, I suggest you begin immediately." Crais popped the hatch and stepped out onto the ramp.
Ke'air followed him out and offered his hand, which Crais accepted. "Wait for a cluster of moon shadows to pass overhead. Position yourself to takeoff and accelerate directly toward them, not at an angle. If you make it that far, tuck in and use them as a shield."
"Moon shadows?"
"Lunar debris. There is a great deal of it in orbit between Tah and Draegen."
"Of course . . . the asteroid belt." Crais nodded and turned to enter the shuttle.
"If you survive, Bialar Crais, I hope you find what you're looking for," Ke'air called after him.
He hesitated and then stepped inside.
# # #
The lack of sleep weighted his eyes. He thought the aftereffects of the slail and the effort spent sorting through rubble at Shuleye-Shulah might afford him a good night's rest. Instead of passing quickly, the arns had lingered.
Death.
He knew it waited for him again today somewhere above the blue-gray morning sky, and like the people of Tah, he had resigned himself to it. It was unconscionable to fear what a mere child had flown headlong into at his command. Still, this time it felt strange to him. There was no hatred, no cause . . . no revenge. He was to die at the hands of an enemy who would dispatch him with complete indifference. It seemed odd that death should be so lacking in passion.
Following the course he laid in arns earlier, the transport powered up and glided swiftly above the surface the short distance to the coordinates. Choices. At times he wondered if he had any part in them at all.
He eased back on the control lever as the transport slowed and sank down into the water. Although it was inevitable, dying was not urgent. It could wait another day or two. He waited while the residents of Anjeluh drew back the camouflage panels and then slowly maneuvered the transport inside the haven.
Bialar Crais was no stranger to pain. The aurora chair. Cybernetic bleedback. He had been stabbed, shot and beaten more times than he could remember. Yet, he would never forget the pain in his head that morning.
He avoided the light, rolled onto his side and curled into a ball with the quilt pulled across his face. It was the same quilt whose sweet, subtle scent he had enjoyed the previous morning. How he came to be under it again was a mystery. Footsteps sounded close by, followed by voices that grew steadily, painfully louder. A hand gripped his shoulder and gave it a shake. He groaned and clutched the blanket as someone tried to pull it away.
"We got to get going. Come on, Bialar, get up." The voice belonged to Ke'air Masahje.
Crais sat up suddenly, breathing deeply though his mouth. He felt unwell. His mouth began to water and he felt a slight tremble. Masahje stood alongside the bed, hands on his hips, staring down at him.
"Your color is not good, my brother," he noted. "Are you ailing?"
"Have you no sense at all?" Toma asked angrily. "You know that it is not allowed. What if you were seen?"
"I say the same thing as yesterday. He got himself knocked out." Ke'air shrugged. "It was first light. No one saw nothing."
She pushed her brother out of the way and slapped a metal pan down in front of Crais, who was sitting upright with his eyes closed. She pulled his hair back and held it with one hand behind his head. "Might as well get this over with," she grumbled, waving an emetic capsule beneath his nose with her other hand. The results were spontaneous. Before he could catch his breath, she shoved the emetic in his face again and again, until it finally had no effect. Toma quickly took the pan outside, while Crais flopped back onto the bed.
"We better get going," Masahje said. "It will take us over two arns to get to the ruins and two more to get back."
Crais' eyes blinked open. He sat partially upright, propped up on his elbows. "You will return me to my ship immediately."
"That is not our agreement."
"We *have* no agreement."
"Bialar-"
"My name is Crais," he snapped, wincing from the effort. "Do you understand? Crais!"
"Last night you said I should call you Bialar."
"I most certainly did not."
"Did not what?" Toma asked, returning from outside.
Masahje stood at the end of the bed, frowning, arms folded across his chest. "Bialar does not want to honor our agreement. He wishes to return to his ship."
He knew by the way her eyes and nostrils flared that he was in serious trouble. She moved in a slow, measured gait toward the bed and then glared at him, silent, nodding slightly. He lifted the quilt and glanced beneath it, somehow not surprised to see that his clothing had all been removed again. Although his head felt considerably better after he vomited, arguing was the last thing he wanted to do now, especially with these two.
"If you would be so kind as to get my clothing," he asked, voice subdued, purposefully avoiding her gaze.
She stood stock-still. "Ke'air tells me that you are a man of science. And that you offered to accompany him to the ruins to-"
"Your brother is mistaken. I did no such thing. "
"Then you do not know science?"
He sighed, uncertain of how to answer. "I have some experience in the field of genetics and cross proliferation, however I am not primarily a scientist. I doubt I would be of any assistance to you."
"Did you offer last night to help?"
Again, a deep breath prefaced his reply. "I would not have made that promise."
Toma bent down, her face close to his. "You don't remember, do you?"
"It is true, I am vague on some of what-"
"So, you *don't* remember."
"I remember everything," Ke'air chimed in. "You said even if the laboratory was destroyed, the vid chips with the information might still be intact, and maybe the data scanner from your ship could read that information." He went to the counter and returned with the transport's portable scanner, which he held out to Crais.
"Is he making this up too?" Toma asked.
"If we leave now you will be back to your ship before dusk. You can take off first thing in the morning."
Crais shook his head unhappily. "I suppose you will refuse to return me to my ship if I do not agree to this."
Toma took a seat on the bed and with her hand turned his chin toward her, holding it there. Her voice was controlled, precise, yet barely above a whisper. "Ke'air will take you to your ship, Bialar Crais, if that is what you choose to do. The lives of several hundred thousand Tah are not your concern. We were destined to die before you came. Perhaps you can manage to save yourself." She released his chin indelicately, stood and walked toward the door. "I'll get your clothing."
He sank back into the pillow, closing his eyes for a microt. When he opened them, Ke'air Masahje was still looking at him, his expression questioning. "Very well, I will accompany you to these ruins, but you will tell me one thing in return. Did I really say that I would or did you make it up?"
Ke'air cocked his head and rolled his eyes in thought, a thin smile resulting. "You said plenty last night, Bialar. I'm pretty certain that you did."
"Here are your things. Now get out of my bed." Toma threw his clothing at him and turned to Ke'air, "You take him back to his ship and this time you *leave* him there."
"But Toma, he has changed his mind. We are going to the ruins just as I told you."
She glanced at Crais, still irritated and then turned to face her brother. "Are you certain it will be safe? What if the Draeg are watching that building? Maybe it is a trap. Maybe you should not go. This way we still have a little time left together."
He rested his hands on her shoulders, his eyes alone conveying the message.
She nodded. "I'll make something for you to take and eat later." She was halfway to the kitchen counter when she turned back to the men, her voice suddenly cheerful and unnecessarily loud. "Unless you are hungry now, Bialar Crais. I would be glad to make you a nice big breakfast. You like some eggs, maybe?"
He dressed slowly and without response.
# # #
The sun slipped past the colorless morning clouds to burn hot and bright overhead. Although he would have preferred to sleep it off, the fresh air helped to clear his head. The drone of the aquaflyer prohibited conversation, which was just fine with him; Crais had no doubt that he had already done far too much talking. Cinched securely in the safety harness, head back, eyes closed, the whir of the prop lulled him to the edge of wakefulness, a painless, welcome place.
He was unaware of the passage of time or distance until a hand swatted his chest. Ke'air pointed to a dark, jagged mass on the horizon, clearly not a haven. As they drew near, he could only imagine what the city of Shuleye- Shulah must have looked like prior to the attack. Even in almost total collapse, its massive stone pillars still supported the riddled remains of floors and walls that stretched some twenty stories above the ground. The stark, skeletal lines of scorched concrete and metal in tedious shades of gray cut a sharp contrast against the crisp, blue sky. They were still a metra from the building when piles of debris prevented them from approaching closer with the flyer. Masahje cut the engine and coasted inside the hollow, burnt out wreckage of a civilian transport train.
"We have to go the rest of the way by foot. Research was always done on the upper floors, so we've got to climb. Some of the stairs are still there, but many are gone." He pulled a heavy rope with gaff hooks from beneath his seat, which drew a scowl from Crais. "Don't think I'm pulling you up either. There's another under your seat."
Crais was uncertain which was worse, climbing across the wreckage, most of it rusted and unstable, or Ke'air's constant explanation of the obvious. Thankfully, despite his ongoing dissertation, not one word of the previous night's conversation, the *missing* part, had came up. He was curious to know what he might have revealed, yet not enough to ask. He assumed he had not divulged too much of his past, since the Tah was still speaking to him, in fact, more than he would have preferred.
Although the transport scanner could pick up information signatures from a distance of ten microns, the chips still had to be located in the rubbish and inserted into the reader. Crais doubted much had survived the devastation. On the lower floors a few vids with fragmented information remained; store inventories, receipts, supply orders, personnel records . . . nothing of value.
It had taken them three arns to cover the first six floors. After digging for another half arn to unearth a chip that produced theatre schedules, Crais slumped to a seat on the floor, his elbows rested on bent knees. Ke'air, who had finally stopped talking, continued to sort through rubble, looking over a few times before closing the distance between them. He settled onto the floor across from Crais and slid off his pack.
"We've got five more arns, before we have to start back." His expression seemed weighted as he removed a bundle from the pack and unwrapped it. "Brown bread stuffed with cheese," he said, offering one of the loaves across.
Crais glanced up and waved it off.
"Come on, take it. This will make you feel better," he insisted, offering the bread again. "Been drunk on that stuff enough times myself to know. Besides, this is real food, not that stock fodder you fed me."
Aware that the rumbling in his stomach might have more to do with hunger than the slail, Crais accepted the bread. He broke off a corner and chewed it slowly, nodding in response to his companion's questioning look. "We will never find whatever it is that you're looking for," he said matter-of- factly. "More than half the building's upper tiers are completely gone. How do you know this project wasn't on one of those?"
"Everything past the fifteenth level was living quarters," he explained. "The first five levels were marketplace . . . shops, entertainment. Everything else was in the middle: research facilities, places of high learning, factories . . . hospitals. It is possible they were all working together on the plan."
"It is also possible they had no *plan* at all," Crais said, enjoying a larger bite of bread.
"This information was passed to us by soldiers who were stationed outside Shuleye-Shulah when the attack came. There *was* a plan, but it had to be very secretive because they did not want to provoke the Draegen."
"Well, that part certainly did not work."
Ke'air stuffed the last of his bread into his mouth, stood and offered his hand to Crais. "As a soldier I must do whatever I can to defeat them."
"You?" Crais asked, being pulled to his feet. "A soldier?"
"Of course I am. What do you think this is for?" He ran a hand back across his sleek head, lifted his ponytail and let the long, black hair slide across his fingers.
Crais' expression confirmed he had no clue.
"We do not have money or time for uniforms. This is how we are identified." He grinned big and winked. "It was my idea."
Crais grinned also, for an entirely different reason. "So cutting your hair in this manner is all it takes to become a soldier? Like the boy, Nimm?"
"Nimm's papa, Jjorn was the best frelling pilot I ever seen. Taught him how to fly when he was probably seven or eight cycles. That *boy* can patch a ship together with nothing more than some spit n' a ball of string, and fly it better than anybody." Ke'air shouldered his pack and stared out a gaping hole in the side of the building for a microt. "He's going to die here with the rest of us whether he hides behind his mama's skirt or gets flamed by a Draeg Firebug. Does it matter which?"
"I suppose not."
Ke'air climbed atop the remains of what was once a refrigeration unit and surveyed the exposed beams for a place to toss the gaff. The hook held fast on his second throw. He secured the rope and then motioned Crais over, arm extended. "Give me your rope. I'll go up a couple of stories and see if there's anything recognizable. You finish this floor and then start on the next. Comm me if you find something."
Crais pitched the rope up and nodded. It made sense to split up, although he doubted it would make a difference. Even if they found something, what difference would it make? Any hope for the Tah disappeared three cycles ago with the stilted cities. Their political leaders, scientists, educators, along with 70 percent of the population died within the first six monens. Only the residents of the green havens still survived: farmers, fishermen, the uneducated and the elderly, plus bits and pieces of a shattered military.
He checked the remainder of the floor and then climbed the rope to the next tier. So far he had the transport scanner set to locate data chips. It occurred to him that higher security areas might have a higher concentration of hydrohonium and other protective metals than unclassified areas, so he changed the setting and made another sweep. The scan detected a significant concentration of hydrohonium particles in the northeast corner of the building.
An unfamiliar power reading blinked sporadically. He tuned in the signature and advanced toward it until the flashing became a steady stream of light. The source was quite unusual. He kept walking and tracking the power frequency until he rounded a corner and came face to face with the source. Incredible as it seemed, some manner of droid had escaped the destruction.
Its gray metallic surface glistened, a narrow black band at the top of its head swiveling to watch him. Larger than a DRD, the waist high automaton's two arms had three lengthy digits and two separate jointed legs versus rollers. It chirped at him, no doubt confused by his Sebacean readings. Crais circled, keeping his distance. The droid turned with him and stopped when he did. Curious . . . the scanner identified it as a life form.
Crais stopped, his eyes lifting slowly from the scanner. The black band rolled back to reveal two sphere-shaped, amber eyes and mouth rimmed with needle-thin pointed teeth. It hissed. He took a step back, slowly lowering his hand toward his pulse pistol. The creature raised an arm, fingers still dangling downward. Crais saw the red beam target him from a metal cylinder fixed atop its wrist. He dove for cover.
He heard the explosion and rolled to see pieces of the creature flying, a thin spray of milky goo splattered everywhere. Microts later Ke'air Masahje grabbed him by the arm and jerked him to his feet.
"What the frell is the matter with you?"
"I was trying to get a reading on whatever that was," Crais snapped, yanking his arm free.
"A reading? I'll give you a reading. That was a Draeg, you idiot. What were you thinking to do? Introduce yourself?"
"I did not-"
"Hello Mister Draegen! I am Bialar Crais . . . eema."
Crais' cast a dark, cautionary look. He wiped a smattering of Draeg from his face onto his shirtsleeve and, feeling a bit foolish, turned his attention quickly back to the scanner.
"Did you find something?" Ke'air asked, his voice clipped, yet even.
"Hydrohoniun. There are increased levels in this direction. It could indicate protective casings, possibly a vault."
The Tah nodded and motioned him to lead the way. "We will stay together from now on."
"That is not necessary."
"We will stay together," Ke'air repeated.
The scraps of metal that the scanner led them to bore little resemblance to laboratory equipment, yet Crais continued to adjust the settings, intent on one section of about fifty square microns. Sensing the Sebacean's interest, Ke'air began to pitch chunks of concrete out of the way. Once Crais narrowed the search, he too began to dig. They tossed desks, tables and countertops, all fused in the explosion, out over the edge of the building.
"That's enough," Crais cautioned. He knelt to study a thin strip of synthetic laminate front and back before discarding it. Smoothing the remaining fragments with his hand, he picked out and scrutinized several wires and pieces from a melted circuit board.
"Did you find something?" Ke'air asked.
Crais knew he had, yet purposely ignored the question and continued to sift through the pile looking for the data stores that the readings said should also be there. Knowing it was useless to ask a second time, Ke'air also continued to search, glancing frequently at Crais for reaction. Satisfied he had made his point, the Sebacean relented.
"This looks like what's left of a stochastic decentralizer, and not a small one either. A unit of this power and speed would be used for running hypothetical results, and would be sophisticated enough to calculate any margin of error and compensate. Very impressive."
"So what exactly does that mean?"
"Science," Crais replied curtly. "This was once a laboratory. And judging by the sophistication of the equipment, a very well supplied one."
"The plan?"
"No, not yet."
It took another half an arn to locate the data stores. Of a single tray containing eight chips, three still had uncorrupted data which Crais immediately connected to *the plan* Masahje kept referring to. The analytics panel aboard the transport pod could decipher and display the information on the chips in a fraction of the time it would take Crais with the portable scanner. With less than two arns left to unlock the answer, they left Shuleye-Shulah and headed for the ship.
# # #
As the pieces fell together, Crais found himself admiring those who had devised Dark Blossom, the project's code name. It would have worked, given time. And though not a soldier by his definition of the word, he gave Ke'air Masahje credit for trying. The Tah were beaten, yet even in defeat the young man clung to a single shred of hope.the plan. Crais knew he now had the unenviable task of destroying that hope.
"I have it," he said simply, and put the results on visual.
Masahje was unexpectedly quiet.
"The plan was called Dark Blossom. It was quite ingenious, actually. A viral strain, lethal to both Tah and Draegen was to be released into the atmosphere through a common microsporangium. Pollen. In a fairly short period of time, the planet's entire atmosphere would become contaminated.
"Kill our people?" Ke'air blurted.
Crais shook his head. "A vaccine, one which would require several monen to become effective had been developed to administer to the Tah. Once the pollens were released this whole planet would have become poisonous to the Draegen. It probably would have prevented any further aggression on their part for at least another fifty cycles. By that time the Tah would have likely developed complete immunity to the initial strain and if need be, created another."
"Then the plan will still work."
He hesitated and then met Ke'air's gaze directly. "No, the germination process takes place over three growing seasons. The treated bulbs were to be sown now, in the planting season. After lying dormant for the next four monens the virus is activated and released in the spores as pollen during the harvest season. Because the bacteria actually mutates and becomes virulent during this final period, the virus remains undetectable during all but the late blooming stage. The vaccine would have to be administered three to four monen prior to the virus becoming airborne." He gave a light shrug. "It was believed the Draegen would continue to negotiate for at least a cycle before launching any kind of attack. As you said, they want the planet undamaged."
The realization flickered in the young man's eyes. "But we do not have six monens."
"Unfortunately . . . no."
Ke'air gave a slow solemn nod, staring absently at the display screen. "But we could still kill them after we are gone."
Crais' brow arched as he considered the possibility. "Yes, I imagine that is a consideration. If you could treat and sow enough bulbs before the dormant period, in another six or seven monen the Draegen on this planet would be dropping like . . . well, arthropods. If any of your people could manage to survive-"
"They would need this vaccine?"
"Yes." Crais displayed the formula on visual. "The vaccine was completed and tested extensively through the stochastic decentralizer with results of over ninety-nine percent effectiveness. Without the time for clinical testing, I believe they were willing to take the risk." He wrapped a stack of data chips and shrink slides inside a sheet of vellum and handed it to Ke'air. "I have replicated the stores and reproduced the data on slide. Both the virus and vaccine can be manufactured within a weeken. The elements are reasonably common or easily created. A technician should be able to complete the process for you."
Ke'air stared at length at the package of discs in his hand and then at Crais. "A technician?"
"Yes, the research on Dark Blossom had been completed. With those stores and slides, a technician should be able to create the virus, as well as the vaccine, if you choose."
"Could you make this?" he asked, watching him closely.
"I could, but I will not. That was not our agreement."
"We are not technicians."
"But members of your military, those who escaped to the havens, are. You have communication with all the inhabited areas, plus ships to transport your people and materials. If you wish to implement this plan, I suggest you begin immediately." Crais popped the hatch and stepped out onto the ramp.
Ke'air followed him out and offered his hand, which Crais accepted. "Wait for a cluster of moon shadows to pass overhead. Position yourself to takeoff and accelerate directly toward them, not at an angle. If you make it that far, tuck in and use them as a shield."
"Moon shadows?"
"Lunar debris. There is a great deal of it in orbit between Tah and Draegen."
"Of course . . . the asteroid belt." Crais nodded and turned to enter the shuttle.
"If you survive, Bialar Crais, I hope you find what you're looking for," Ke'air called after him.
He hesitated and then stepped inside.
# # #
The lack of sleep weighted his eyes. He thought the aftereffects of the slail and the effort spent sorting through rubble at Shuleye-Shulah might afford him a good night's rest. Instead of passing quickly, the arns had lingered.
Death.
He knew it waited for him again today somewhere above the blue-gray morning sky, and like the people of Tah, he had resigned himself to it. It was unconscionable to fear what a mere child had flown headlong into at his command. Still, this time it felt strange to him. There was no hatred, no cause . . . no revenge. He was to die at the hands of an enemy who would dispatch him with complete indifference. It seemed odd that death should be so lacking in passion.
Following the course he laid in arns earlier, the transport powered up and glided swiftly above the surface the short distance to the coordinates. Choices. At times he wondered if he had any part in them at all.
He eased back on the control lever as the transport slowed and sank down into the water. Although it was inevitable, dying was not urgent. It could wait another day or two. He waited while the residents of Anjeluh drew back the camouflage panels and then slowly maneuvered the transport inside the haven.