Pawn Page 8

  There, to her relief, was Bungie. He was still alive, seemingly still even uninjured, crawling stealthily toward the blazing battle.

  A second later the utter irrationality of that struck her. He was crawling toward the battle?

  He’d gone insane. That was the only explanation. Sometime in the past minute, the strain of being attacked by alien weasels had pushed him over the edge.

  Maybe he even thought he was one of them. There was some sort of thing like that, she remembered hearing once, where people who had been kidnapped changed sides and joined them or something. “Bungie!” she hissed toward him, trying to pitch her voice so that only he would hear her. “Bungie, come back. Bungie!”

  “Quiet,” he snarled back, pausing his crawl long enough to turn around and glare at her. “You want to get me killed?”

  Nicole blinked in confusion as he resumed his crawling advance. This made no sense. If he didn’t want to get killed …

  And then, like a kick in the gut, she got it.

  Bungie hadn’t gone crazy, and he wasn’t trying to join the battle. He was trying to get to the three weasels who’d been killed in that first attack.

  He was going for a gun.

  Nicole cursed under her breath. Bungie still groused twice a week about how he still didn’t have a clue about where Plato had stashed the gun he’d brought with him. With three exotic weapons just lying there being ignored, of course he would go after them.

  “You,” an unfamiliar voice said quietly from behind her. “Blue-clad.”

  Frowning, Nicole turned her head.

  The weasel she’d seen shooting and rolling around earlier had moved to the very edge of the line of bushes, to a spot where he could see Nicole but couldn’t be seen by the people in the stone building. He was staring at her, his eyes unblinking.

  And he seemed to be talking to her. “Wha-what do you want?” she stammered.

  The weasel gave out a series of quiet squeaks, barely audible over the muffled noise of the battle. “The other,” the translator built into Nicole’s head murmured. “Does he hope to steal the weapons of our lost companions?”

  A quick lie came reflexively to Nicole’s lips. But it would be a waste of breath. A few more seconds and it would be obvious what Bungie was up to. “He isn’t going to shoot at you or your friends,” she assured him, wondering belatedly if he could even understand her. Had whoever was running the Fyrantha given these creatures translators, too?

  Apparently so. “Then why does he want them?” the weasel asked.

  How was she supposed to answer that one? “There are some … disputes … between us,” she said, picking her words carefully. For all she knew, this could be some scheme Plato had set up to get Bungie to do something wrong. They did elaborate cons like this all the time on TV. “He just wants the gun to make sure people will listen to what he has to say.”

  The weasel’s ears twitched and he squeaked again. “If he touches one of the weapons, I will kill him.”

  “You’ll kill him?” Nicole echoed, wondering if she’d actually heard that right. “But why? I said he wasn’t going to hurt your friends.”

  “He will not take our weapon,” the weasel said. “I will not say more.”

  “But I can’t stop him,” Nicole pleaded. “He won’t listen to me.”

  “Then he will die,” the weasel said. “If you wish to preserve his life, you must find a way to keep him from the weapons.”

  Nicole turned back. Bungie was nearly to the crumpled bodies. Somehow, she had to crawl through the storm of green fire, get to him, and persuade, or force, him to stop.

  Or she could stay where she was, protect herself as best she could from the battle, and call the weasel’s bluff.

  Or watch Bungie die.

  Maybe if he hadn’t been so rotten to her back in Philadelphia she would have been more willing to take the risk. Or if he hadn’t been so nasty to everyone here. Besides, this mess was all his fault. He’d fiddled with the door, he’d dragged her into the middle of this, and he’d decided to steal a gun. Whatever happened now was his fault.

  He was nearly to the bodies and weapons now. Nicole watched as he crawled those last few feet, her chest tight, wondering if the weasel behind her would have a clear shot or if her own head or shoulder might be in his way. Maybe she should move a little farther to her left, where she’d be safer. Easing up onto her elbows, she started sidling across the grass—

  And dropped flat onto her face again as something huge suddenly blew past her from behind. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of Kahkitah’s back as the Ghorf disappeared from view. There was a yelp and a strangled curse from that direction, followed by a loud rustle of something plowing headlong through the grass. Even as Nicole tried to figure out the odd sound, Kahkitah reappeared, dragging a cursing Bungie behind him by one leg. As they passed, Kahkitah flicked his free hand toward Nicole. “Come now,” he ordered. “Come quickly.”

  Nicole looked over her other shoulder at the weasel. He was watching her closely but didn’t seem inclined to interfere. Swallowing hard, she got gingerly to her feet and headed off after Kahkitah, keeping hunched over and as low to the ground as she could. Once again, her back tingled with the expectation of a burning blast of green fire.

  Once again, nothing happened. A dozen agonized seconds later, with Bungie still swearing, they escaped back through the door.

  five

  Plato, to no one’s surprise, was furious.

  “I should have you whipped,” he bit out as he paced back and forth across the treatment room. There wasn’t much space for pacing, really, not with Nicole, Bungie, Sam, and Allyce all in there with him. But Plato didn’t seem concerned about the possibility of running one of them down. “Or even thrown out an airlock. What in the name of hell did you think you were doing?”

  “Yeah, go ahead—throw us outside,” Bungie snarled back. “Just give me my gun first and watch what happens.” He jabbed a hand behind him in the direction of the ship’s front. “Squirrel brains splattered all over the place. That’s what happens.”

  “Hold still,” Sam ordered, grabbing for Bungie’s gesturing hand.

  “And you can just get the hell away from me,” Bungie snapped, yanking the hand out of his reach. “I don’t need you pawing at me like some—”

  “He said hold still!” Plato thundered.

  For a couple of heartbeats he and Bungie glared at each other. Then, reluctantly, Bungie let Sam pull his arm back down onto the treatment table. “Fine,” he muttered. “Whatever.”

  “You’re a fool, Bungie,” Plato said contemptuously. “A stupid fool. Those cuts could be infected, or laced with poison. It would serve you right if I let you refuse treatment.”

  Nicole looked down at her own wrists and forearms, cringing a little at the crisscross of scratches she hadn’t even noticed she was picking up as she crawled through the grass.

  Allyce had assured her that the clear liquid she was painting over the scratches would protect her from dangerous infections. But given that Allyce also admitted she didn’t have any direct experience with the plants, Nicole couldn’t help but wonder if the doctor even knew what she was talking about.

  Still, right now, Plato’s anger seemed more dangerous than any germs she might have picked up. The big man paused at one end of his path long enough to send a glare at Nicole, then resumed his pacing. “And as for being outside, you weren’t,” he added to Bungie. “Outside is the emptiness of space, where vacuum and cold would have a race to see which one killed you first.”

  Bungie snorted. “Yeah, right—”

  “Where you were is what the Shipmasters call the testing arena,” Plato continued. “It’s off-limits to those of us whose job it is to maintain the Fyrantha.” He stopped abruptly and jabbed a finger at Bungie. “And you will not go in there again.”

  He swung the finger around to point at Nicole. “Neither will you. Is that clear?”

  “Hey, whatever you sa
y,” Bungie said sarcastically. “How come you never mentioned this testing arena? While you’re at it, what else about this damn place haven’t you told us?”

  “I’ve told you everything you need to know,” Plato said, his tone icy. “The Fyrantha tells Nicole what needs fixing. You and the rest of your crew fix it. You go where she tells you to go; you stay out of places I tell you to stay out of. That’s how we all get fed and stay warm and keep on living. Anything about that changes, I’ll let you know.”

  “Right,” Bungie said. “Because you’re the boss. You get to make decisions like that.”

  “Exactly,” Plato said. “And to give you some extra time to let that sink in, you’re both confined here until further notice. Kahkitah?”

  Bungie’s eyes widened. “What? Why, you stinking bastard son of a—”

  Kahkitah lumbered in from the hallway. “Yes, Plato?”

  “Nicole and Bungie will be staying here until I say otherwise,” Plato told the Ghorf. “You’ll make sure they don’t leave.”

  Kahkitah looked at Bungie, then Nicole. “They’re staying here?”

  “Right here, right in this room,” Plato confirmed, pointing straight downward in emphasis. “I’ll have lunch and dinner sent in for all of you. If they’re lucky, I’ll let them go sleep in their own beds tonight. If they’re lucky.” With a final glare at Bungie, he strode past Kahkitah and disappeared down the hallway.

  The door slid shut behind him. “Don’t worry, it’s not a punishment,” Allyce assured Nicole as she started wrapping a thin gauze around Nicole’s scratched forearms. “He just wants you under observation in case other symptoms start to present.”

  Bungie sniffed. “Sure he does.”

  “No, really,” Allyce insisted. “You can be diagnosed and treated quicker if you’re already here.”

  “It’s for your own good,” Sam added.

  “Sure,” Bungie said. “Whatever.”

  For another minute the two doctors worked in silence. Then Sam peered over his shoulder at Nicole. “So what was it like in there?” he asked.

  “Out there,” Bungie corrected tartly. “Plato can flap his mouth all he wants, but we were outside. Nicole saw it. So did Fishface.” He gestured to Kahkitah. “Go ahead, Fishface. Tell him.”

  “I’m really not sure,” Kahkitah said hesitantly. “The sky on the far side seemed to curve toward the ground. It might indeed have been an inside room, just as Plato said.”

  “I didn’t see anything like that,” Bungie countered. “All I saw was trees against sky over there.”

  Kahkitah hunched his shoulders. “My eyes are different than yours.”

  “Different doesn’t mean better,” Bungie shot back. “I know what I saw.”

  “Yes, of course,” Kahkitah said hastily.

  “And so did Nicole,” Bungie added. “Right?”

  “I really wasn’t looking that far,” Nicole said diplomatically. Of course, Bungie hadn’t been, either. But she didn’t dare mention his attempt to steal a gun, not with Kahkitah and the doctors here. In fact, this whole line of conversation was probably one they should get off of as quickly as possible.

  Bungie seemed to have figured that out, too. “Fine,” he said. “Maybe it was just a big room. Whatever.”

  “So what was it like?” Sam persisted. “Plato said it was a testing arena. What was it testing for?”

  “For fighting,” Kahkitah said, sounding confused and horrified at the same time. “There were strange beings in there fighting among themselves.”

  “You surprised by that?” Bungie asked. “Come on, Fishie. Fighting is the natural state of everything. People, nature—everything.”

  “It’s not exactly fighting when it’s in nature,” Sam murmured.

  “It’s stuff killing other stuff,” Bungie retorted. “Call it whatever you want. It’s still fighting.”

  “But there isn’t supposed to be any such fighting here,” Kahkitah said, sounding even more bewildered. “The Fyrantha is to be a haven of peace. Plato has said so, many times.”

  “Yeah, like Plato knows jack,” Bungie said with a sniff.

  Kahkitah cocked his head. “Jack?”

  Bungie rolled his eyes. “Never mind. You two finished?”

  “I am,” Allyce confirmed, giving Nicole’s forearms a final look and then refastening her jumpsuit sleeves over the bandages.

  “Me, too,” Sam said. “What kind of fighting was it? Hand-to-hand, like karate? Or were there weapons involved?”

  “So then you probably have somewhere else you need to be, right?” Bungie asked, ignoring Sam’s question.

  “Allyce said we need to be monitored,” Nicole reminded him.

  “So hook up something to monitor us with,” Bungie said. “You got all kinds of fancy gadgets, right?”

  “Can we do that?” Sam asked Allyce. “There are certainly a lot of places I’d rather be.”

  “I suppose,” Allyce said, looking doubtfully at Nicole. “I don’t know if that’s what Plato had in mind, though.”

  “To hell with Plato,” Bungie retorted. “You don’t want to be here. We don’t want you here. So figure something out.”

  “I suppose we could wire in sensors to monitor your functions,” Allyce said slowly. “Presumably any new symptoms would manifest somewhere in a standard profile.”

  “So do it,” Bungie said.

  Allyce looked at Sam. “Fine by me,” Sam said. “Even bored is better than hanging around these two.”

  “All right,” Allyce said. She still sounded doubtful.

  But that doubt didn’t get in the way of efficiency. Five minutes later, she had the sensors set up. It looked a lot like the system Nicole had been hooked into when she’d first awoken aboard the Fyrantha, but without the feeding and cleansing tubes.

  “Great,” Bungie said when she’d finished. “Now go have fun somewhere else.”

  “I’ll be in the office if you need me,” Allyce said. She tapped Nicole’s bandages. “And if something presents, I’ll be right here.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen,” Bungie said. “Just make sure Plato doesn’t forget about feeding us.”

  “I’m sure you’ll never be out of his thoughts,” Sam said sarcastically. “Come on, Allyce.”

  They returned their equipment to the storage drawers and left the room. “You, too,” Bungie said to Kahkitah. “Out. We need some privacy.”

  “I don’t think I should,” Kahkitah said, making no effort to move to the door.

  “Listen, Fishface—”

  “It’s all right, Kahkitah,” Nicole interrupted. Bungie certainly wasn’t going to try anything wired to Allyce’s equipment. “I’ll call if I need you.”

  Kahkitah hesitated another moment. Then, without a word, he turned to the door and left.

  “Dumb as a rock,” Bungie said with a contemptuous snort. “Okay. I figure we’ll wait until tonight, when everyone’s asleep. You can get the door open again, right?”

  “What are you talking about?” Nicole asked carefully. Was he actually suggesting—? “You want to go back in there?”

  “No, out there,” Bungie corrected with a glare. “I still think Plato’s blowing smoke.” He waved a hand impatiently. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter what the hell—or where the hell—the place is. What matters is that they’ve got guns.”

  “Which they’re not shy about using.”

  “They’re not going to be shooting like that all the time,” Bungie said. “I figure we catch them at night when they’re sleeping, grab one of the guns, and we’re as good as home.” His eyes narrowed. “Unless you don’t want to go home.”

  “Of course I do,” Nicole lied.

  “You sure?” Bungie persisted. “’Cause I’ve seen how you look at Jeff.”

  Nicole blinked. “I haven’t been looking at Jeff,” she protested.

  “Yeah, don’t worry, I’m not going to shoot Pretty Boy,” Bungie said. “Not unless I have to. All we want is for them to sho
w us how to get home. I figure a couple of arm or leg shots to show we’re serious, and they’ll be lining up to beat the snot out of Plato until he’s ready to cooperate.”

  “We’d do better to wait,” Nicole said, searching desperately for an excuse to keep from having to go into that battle zone again. “Plato’s going to be watching us like a hawk. We have to give him time to forget.”

  “Sounds great,” Bungie said sourly. “Except that the first job we get tomorrow will probably be to fix the door.” He frowned with sudden thought. “Only—wait a second. You’ll be the one giving the orders. If you keep your mouth shut about the door, there’s no way anyone else will ever know. Right?”

  “Unless the Fyrantha passes the order to one of the other Sibyls,” Nicole improvised. She actually had no idea what would happen if she ignored an order. But it made sense that the ship would eventually give the job to someone else.

  Regardless, she had no intention of leaving the door in its current half-locked condition, where Bungie could go in and out any time he wanted. Whatever he ended up doing, and whenever he ended up doing it, she needed to keep control of the situation.

  “Fine,” he said impatiently. “What’s your idea?”

  Nicole chewed at her lip. After weeks of watching Carp and the others fix broken systems, she had a pretty good idea how things worked aboard the ship. If the door repair went the same way as every other job, there might be a way to do this.

  In fact, if she was really clever, there might be a way for her to shove the majority of the responsibility straight onto Bungie’s own shoulders. Then, when he failed, he couldn’t blame her. “You probably damaged the keylock control when you jammed in that screwdriver,” she said. “If you did, the ship will tell me to have the control replaced. All you have to do is get hold of the damaged control before they throw it out. They’re usually about the size of your palm and pretty thin, so it should be easy to hide in one of your pockets. Once we have it, we should be able to go to the door any time we want, swap out the new control for the broken one, and key in the reset command to get back in.”