Trion Rising, page 27
But now she could not close her ears to the sound of the star chamber, the squeal of super-heated air escaping from safety vents, the horrible gasp as people around her realized what was actually taking place. What had they expected? A school drama? A single person clapped, then stopped short when the ground beneath them began to shake. Even without looking Oriannon knew everyone else had been shocked into silence at the raw barbarity of this spectacle. An earthquake, however, would not be part of the official agenda.
A woman behind them screamed, but as it turned out she needn’t have panicked. Their seats shook beneath them, and the sunshade swayed above their heads. Even the star chamber rolled about a little on the stage, held fast by its restraints. But unlike some of the other tremblers Oriannon had felt on Shadowside, this one quickly passed.
And when her father’s grip on her hand finally loosened, Oriannon got up the nerve to take a breath, open the slits of her eyes, and look around. The robed man sitting next to her father wore a tight mask of grim pleasure as if he hadn’t even noticed the quake.
In contrast, the woman next to him gripped her face with both hands, her eyes wide and her face completely stiff. She had obviously seen more than she’d bargained for. An older woman got up from her seat, blowing her nose in a handkerchief, and hurried off, while the reporter closest to Oriannon pressed his lips together and looked as if he would be ill.
“Just a minute,” he muttered to the cameraman. “Please. Just give me a minute.”
Moments later the reporter swallowed hard before looking into the camera and nodding twice. Oriannon thought she knew the feeling. The camera’s red light flickered on.
“We have just witnessed a historic event for the people of Corista,” the reporter told his camera. Oriannon’s eyes followed as it slowly panned across the crowd. “The execution of former music mentor Jesmet ban Saius, convicted of violating the terms of his banishment and returning from Shadowside, and …”
Oriannon knew she had to see, maybe just once, as the camera moved in a slow arc toward the platform and the reporter went on with her story.
“… And whose body they now remove from the ancient star chamber, unused for a generation. Except for a small earthquake, which we just felt, it appears all went as planned as a high-intensity reflection from the Trion was directed through a concert of low-level reflecting satellites straight to the chamber, heating it for just one point five seconds, hot enough to instantly take the life of the condemned while leaving his body intact.”
Oriannon shivered, not wanting to imagine what had just been described.
“However,” the reporter continued, “it does appear that dozens of probes have also been affected by the event, and were somehow either disabled by the sudden blast or by the earthquake, which measured a five point two. We’re streaming instant reports, and officials are already saying …”
Never mind what officials were saying. Oriannon could only glance back at the stage for a second, as securities stepped over disabled probes and carried away what was left of Jesmet’s body. And never mind who saw or who cared. Oriannon could only bury her face in her hands and weep.
At the same time, she knew there was one more thing left for her, one thing Jesmet would have wanted her to do— if there was still time.
36
What did your dad say?” Margus braced his legs for balance as the ground shook once more. Oriannon had lost count of all the earthquakes in the three hours since the execution. Ten? Twelve?
“Another emergency meeting of the Assembly,” she replied, looking around at the bustling spaceport. “He ran off when they told him the Temple was damaged in the first quake. But listen, are you sure you want to do this?”
“I have to.” He glared at her. “You know how much I owe Jesmet.”
“You’re not the only one. Here, let me see your pass.”
Still he paused, and she pointed at him.
“Better chance of me getting in than you, right?”
Beyond the fence another alarm sounded, and workers in orange coveralls scurried around dozens of stainless metal-sided spaceport hangars, lined up in neat rows. Transport pods taxied from the two nearest hangars, rising and taking off almost immediately.
But first things first. Oriannon took the entry pass and waved it in front of a reader by the chain-link gate.
“Hightower of Nyssa, Oriannon,” she spoke to the reader, reciting her ID number. She held her breath, hoping there wouldn’t be a problem with Margus’s father’s pass and her ID. One could hope.
“See?” Margus kicked at the gate when nothing happened. “I should have—”
A buzzer sounded as the gate slid aside. They looked at each other, and she wasn’t sure if it was her clearance or his kick. But without delay they stepped through and into the spaceport chaos.
“Okay, then.” He took his pass back and nodded toward a building marked C – 33. “This way.”
So they hurried across the tarmac, avoiding workers and weaving their way around shuttles and cargo ships, coming and going in a confusion of takeoffs and landings.
“Which one?” she asked again, and he pointed at one of the hangar’s large open doors.
“In there. Nobody will care if we borrow one of the maintenance pods.”
Oriannon paused. “Maintenance?”
“The ones my dad is working on. He takes them out for test runs all the time.”
“We just better hope nothing is wrong with it.”
“Hold on.” He cut her off as he flagged down someone he knew running by.
“Arl!” cried Margus, and the worker slowed down but didn’t stop. “What’s up?”
Arl shrugged.
“Level Orange Security drill. You didn’t hear? Somebody stole that mentor guy’s body, and now we’re supposed to make sure nobody gets away with it.”
“That mentor guy?”
“You know, the mentor they just put to death in the star chamber. Where have you been?”
Oriannon winced at the memory, but Margus didn’t seem to let it bother him.
“We’re still okay taking one of my dad’s projects up, aren’t we?”
“I wouldn’t. It’s pretty crazy right now.” The worker paused and looked around at the busy spaceport, then nodded at three long-range shuttles. Workers ran about the craft with tools and charging cables while teams of black-suited securities climbed aboard.
“Where are they going?” asked Oriannon, but Arl shook his head.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” he told them. “Up to you, but you really ought to stay out of their way. I hear they’re headed to Shadowside— don’t ask why.”
A chill ran up the back of Oriannon’s neck as Arl hurried off. And she tried not to run across the huge indoor hangar area filled with two-seater pods, mid-sized shuttles, and full-sized silver transports. A pudgy lunar shuttle touched down with a bump and taxied their way.
“That one.” Margus pointed at an even smaller two-seat pod, not unlike the one they’d flown before. This one, however, looked a little more charred around the edges— as if it had seen too many hot re-entries into the Coristan atmosphere, or flown a bit too close to one of the Trion. Oriannon held back a moment before climbing up into the cockpit.
“You’re sure it flies?”
“Guess we’ll find out.” Margus pushed away a pile of tools and spare parts from the cracked leather pilot’s seat.
Oriannon guessed she didn’t have much choice if she wanted to get back to Shadowside. She strapped herself in as Margus pulled down the view bubble and fired up the engines.
“Hmm,” he said, rapping on the dashboard with his knuckles. “Looks as if we may have a short. Nothing serious, though.”
“Oh, great,” she moaned. “You don’t think we should try something else?”
But Margus wasn’t listening as they skipped ahead, maneuvering around an incoming freighter and into the clear. The engines whined, then made an odd whirring noise, then whined again.
“Hang on.” When had she heard him say that before?
For a moment nothing happened except the whirring and whining, while Oriannon felt her teeth chatter as the whole pod shook with effort. Margus dialed in a course and pushed the joystick forward, then pulled it back and tried again.
“Come on—”
At that the engines dutifully kicked in, Oriannon’s head hit the back of the seat, and they left Spaceport Corista in a blur behind them.
“Here we go!” Margus whooped. Oriannon could hardly move her eyeballs to the side and the stars she saw dancing weren’t outside. So she closed her eyes, letting the minutes and the kilometers pass by.
“You know the way,” she finally asked after they’d cleared most of the spaceport traffic. “Don’t you?”
“I thought you were asleep. But yeah, of course I know the way. See, we’re here.”
When she opened her eyes he pointed at the green 3-D readout, a small revolving globe with grids that would show their position.
“That’s us?” she asked him, and he nodded.
“We’re in the middle of the screen. The yellow dot there at the top is your cliff city.”
She nodded, then watched out the window to find the line on the planet where Shadowside began. Had they really walked all that way?
“I wasn’t sure we’d get back so soon,” she whispered. “Mm-hmm.” Her friend’s face had turned green, but only from the nav-screen, and they continued on in silence. He seemed to be chewing on his lip, trying to say something.
“You okay?” she finally asked. She should have known better than to ask. He shook his head no.
“Not really. I have to tell you one more thing. Promise you won’t hate me.”
“More than I already do?”
She waited for him to say something else, not sure how to react. Finally he swallowed hard and went on.
“I told you what happened after you went to Shadowside.”
“Right.”
“But there was something else, before that.”
“What do you mean, ‘something else’?”
“I mean …” He sighed, his lip quivering slightly. “I mean I didn’t just let you down, Ori. I betrayed him too.”
Him, of course, would be Jesmet. But that didn’t make sense. “I don’t understand. You were always following him around back in Corista. You were so gung-ho.”
“But how do you think the Assembly caught up to him so quick at that concert? Remember that?”
She did. The time when Margus told her to leave before anything bad happened. The time when securities seemed to come out of nowhere, as if they’d practiced it all. She felt the pit of her stomach turn as the pieces finally started to fall into place.
“Who do you think made it happen that way?” he asked, looking over at her with tears brimming in his eyes. “Who do you think fed them the information, told them exactly when Jesmet was going to be there?”
“You?” Her eyes widened as it finally all made sense, though in another way it made no sense at all. “Why?”
“They had me convinced I was doing the right thing, the moral thing. They even told me they’d wipe my school record clean if I helped. I know that sounds lame.”
Now she could have strangled him all over again, and she held her arms at her sides so she wouldn’t— until she remembered again that she was just as much to blame as anyone else. Just as much as Margus.
“But why did they need your help?” she wondered. “They could have found him without you, couldn’t they?”
He shrugged.
“I guess I made it a little easier. I told them about what happened when Brinnin fell off her ladder too.”
Oriannon groaned. So that’s how they found out. Now it made even more sense.
“I know they grabbed all your memories, Ori, but I was confused too. I thought it was a fine idea for a while.”
“What made you change your mind? Or was that just an act too?”
“No! They told me he was just going to be fired, not sent off to Shadowside. They lied to me. They always lied to me. That’s why I went ballistic after the trial. I tried to make it right, but by that time it was too late.” He rested his head against the controls. “Maybe that’s why I had to come find you.”
“Like you’d even the score?” She shook her head.
“Maybe. But even after the trial, I was into it so deep, and then I thought I had no choice that I had to keep going along with them to get you back. And I guess you know the rest of the story.”
She did. But now she understood.
“Is there anything else?” she asked, as if anything else could make it worse. He shook his head.
“That’s the last of it. I know I said it before, but I’m sorry.” She thought of Jesmet’s words as they were about to execute him.
“So am I,” she replied with a sigh of exhaustion. But as they flew on, somehow she could not blame Margus any longer for this mess. And a blinking light caught her eye.
“What are those things there?” She pointed to the bottom of the screen, barely visible, at three red blips in formation. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
“Uh-oh. I was hoping they wouldn’t take off so soon.” Neither of them said anything for the next few minutes as the blips grew larger. Finally Margus cleared his throat.
“You know what’s happening here, Oriannon.”
“I know.”
“So are you sure you want to get caught in the middle of this war zone?” he wondered aloud, and his voice seemed to shake a little. “You know where they’re going, and what they’re going for.”
She nodded grimly. “Just so we get there ahead of them.”
And then what? Margus tapped another screen, moving his finger across the glass as numbers appeared in front of them.
“I think we will.” He frowned and double-checked. “As long as we can keep up this speed, and—”
The screen flickered once, twice … and then the entire control panel went dark. Oriannon gasped at the sudden change as they flew ahead blindly.
“Please tell me you meant to do that,” she squeaked.
“I wish.” He pounded the top of the panel, just below the plexi view shield. It flickered once, barely, then made a very unfriendly popping noise.
“Something’s burning, Margus!” Oriannon nearly choked when she sniffed the air inside their pod. A raspy-sounding warning buzzed incessantly. “What do you want me to do?”
“Hang tight, that’s all.” Margus worked his control stick from side to side, frantically pushing buttons that didn’t seem to respond. Oriannon stiffened and gripped the sides of her seat. “And pray.”
He’d never asked her to do that before.
“Please don’t let us crash,” she repeated over and over, hoping the Maker would take it for a prayer. “Please don’t let us—”
“I can’t see a thing!” Desperation slipped into his voice, while her eardrums popped twice as they descended even more quickly. They would have to level out. And in spite of everything, she thought of the planet below— and their long walk.
“Margus,” she asked, “when you were blind before, down there, what did you do?” Now the engines sounded the way they did before take-off, making that peculiar whirring and whining sound.
“Not sure what you mean.” He wrestled the control stick.
“I mean, how did you make it home, not being able to see?”
“Oh.” He paused for only a second. “I had to trust someone else I guess.”
“Exactly.” She nodded and held on, praying harder than ever as the engines raced, choked— and finally cut out completely. In an instant all the desperate noises and warning buzzers were replaced by an eerie silence and whistling wind.
“Uh-oh,” Margus whispered under his breath.
Powerless now, the pod lurched downward again and Oriannon felt her stomach rise to her throat, saw the dark surface of the planet rise up at them. Up ahead and below she thought she saw a flicker, a glow— but that could have been anything.
“We’re on approach,” Margus told her, wrestling the control stick. “Getting pretty close. I’m going to head for that light, and hope— trust— that it’s your friends.”
Oriannon reached out to brace herself as they lurched and twisted through a small patch of clouds. The pod made a poor glider. Breaking through, however, she saw clearly what she’d hoped for: A dim collection of lights, glittering in the twilight.
“There!” She pointed.
“I see it, I see it.” Margus stabbed wildly at a control in front of him as the dark ground rushed up at them. “Hang on—”
The bump knocked Oriannon’s teeth together, clipping the tip of her tongue. A piece of the pod’s outer skin sounded as if it peeled away, and she felt a rush of icy air pull at her feet. But Margus didn’t let go of the controls, and she didn’t let go of her knees as they bumped again and again, until they finally ground to a stop in a bed of gravel and rocks. They sat still for a moment, waiting, listening to the quiet.
Alive.
“There, what did I tell you?” In light of the circumstances Margus sounded a little too pleased with himself, but she would not be complaining. “Pretty good landing without instruments and without power if I do say so myself.”
“Not bad.”
“Not bad?” Margus popped the plexi top open to let a full blast of cold Shadowside air hit them in the face. This time it drove a cold, needling rain as well. “I bring us down totally blind from ten thousand meters, dead as a brick, and all you can say is, ‘not bad?’”
But she could think of nothing else to tell him as she hopped out onto solid ground, already shivering and wet. It didn’t matter that she had not brought a coat. She just shaded her eyes from the blowing rain and looked around to see how close they’d come.
Because if they weren’t close, nothing mattered.
37
Here we go again.” Margus groaned as they clambered over a rain-slicked rock. “I’ll bet that snake-worm thing is going to—”
