Trilling gave a snort, which shattered into dark laughter. “Now you think I’m stupid,” he said between laughs.
The laughter vanished. “I don’t like people who think I’m stupid,” he said, his voice shaking with rage. “I’m not stupid.”
“We know that, Trilling,” Chandris soothed, her voice starting to tremble, too. “We don’t think you’re stupid.”
“Because you’d have to think I was stupid to think I’d rent something that glassy,” he said, glaring at each of them in turn.
“It’s not glassy,” Chandris insisted. “Jereko has to do an experiment, and I need to help fly the ship.”
Trilling leveled a finger at her. “You?” he asked. “You? Fly this?”
“Yes,” Chandris said. “I can. Really.”
Trilling snorted again. “And I can eat rocks for breakfast,” he said scornfully. “If you can fly this thing—”
“How much, Trilling?” Kosta cut in, suddenly aware of the weight of the credit chit in his pocket. A hundred eighty thousand ruya, free and clear.
Chandris must have been thinking the same thing. “No,” she murmured urgently, clutching at his arm. “No. We can’t.”
“Quiet,” Kosta murmured back, his full attention on Trilling. This was Chandris’s life they were talking about. “I’m asking how much it would take, Trilling, for you to just turn around and walk away.”
He had thought Trilling had been angry before. Now, he realized that that had just been a warmup. Trilling took another step toward them, his face reddening, the veins in his face bulging out like he was about to have a stroke. Chandris’s fingers dug harder into Kosta’s arm, and for a long moment he was sure he was about to die.
“Don’t say that to me again,” Trilling warned, his voice as cold as dry ice. “Don’t you ever say that to me again. You hear me? Don’t ever say it.”
The anger abruptly cleared from his face, and he smiled almost tenderly at Chandris. “Chandris is a one-man woman,” he said, “and I’m a one-woman man. We were meant for each other.”
“All right, Trilling,” Chandris said softly. “We can be together again, if that’s what you really want.”
“Okay, good,” Trilling said, shrugging as if it was suddenly no big deal to him. “What about him?” he added, eyeing Kosta again.
“He has something we’ll want to take with us,” Chandris said. “There’s no need to start out broke, is there?”
Trilling’s eyes glistened. “He’s got cash?”
“No, but something just as good,” Chandris said, her voice low and persuasive. “Something we can sell for a lot of money. An angel.”
Kosta felt his heart seize up inside him. So that was what she was angling for: to get Trilling into range of the Daviees’ spare angel, hoping that its influence for good could change him.
Except that that wasn’t what angels did.
Only Chandris didn’t know that “Chandris—”
“Quiet,” Trilling said, dismissing him with a flick of a contemptuous glance. “These angel things are worth money, huh?”
“This whole ship was built just to look for them,” Chandris told him, waving a hand at the bulk of the Gazelle looming over them. “We can go inside and get the angel, then we can leave. Just the two of us. Okay?”
Trilling looked at Kosta, and a slight smile touched his lips. “Sure,” he said. “Whatever you say.”
Kosta swallowed painfully. The other’s face wasn’t hard to read. They would leave, all right, but not until Trilling had taken care of all witnesses to the theft.
“Jereko?” Chandris asked tentatively.
For a heartbeat he was tempted to grab Chandris by the arm and make a run for it. But even if they managed to get away, Trilling might decide to come back and start poking around inside the Gazelle.
And Ornina was in there. Alone.
He took a deep breath. He’d been trained, however cursorily, in hand-to-hand combat. Inside, in closer quarters, he might have a better chance. “Okay,” he said, gesturing back toward the hatchway. “Come on. I’ll take you to the angel.”
“Chandris can lead the way,” Trilling said, pulling his hand out of his pocket for the first time. It was a knife, all right, with a short but wickedly serrated blade. “You stay back with me.”
The ship was eerily quiet as Chandris led the way along the Gazelle’s corridors. Kosta walked behind her, with Trilling close behind him. Occasionally the tip of the knife brushed against Kosta’s shirt, sending a shiver up his back.
They reached Chandris’s cabin and she pulled the angel carrying case out from under her bed. “This is it,” she said, offering it to Trilling.
“Open it,” he ordered, staying where he was behind Kosta.
“Not here,” Chandris said, shaking her head. “It’s not safe. The angel is very small, and if we’re not careful we could lose it.”
For a long moment Trilling was silent. Kosta watched Chandris’s eyes, wondering if there would even be enough time for her to warn him with her reaction when Trilling pulled the knife back to stab him. “Fine,” Trilling said at last. “What about a storeroom? You got a storeroom or something here?”
Chandris’s eyes flicked to Kosta, and he felt his throat tighten in reaction. That was where Trilling planned to do it. Somewhere a little less obvious than Chandris’s cabin, someplace where it would presumably take longer for someone to stumble over a dead body.
For a moment he considered turning and having it out right here. But Trilling’s knife blade wasn’t pressed against his back at the moment, which meant he didn’t know exactly where it was. For a faster, better trained martial artist that might not have been a problem. For Kosta, it was the difference between death and even a chance at life.
He would have to wait, and hope that a better opportunity presented itself.
They had made their way to the narrow stairway and were nearly down to the lower deck when they heard the soft singing.
“Hold it,” Trilling hissed, wrapping a hand around Kosta’s throat and freezing them both in place. “Who’s that?”
“It’s Ornina Daviee,” Chandris whispered, half turning, a sudden new tension in her face. Clearly, she hadn’t expected Ornina to be down here. “This is her ship.”
Reluctantly, Kosta thought, Trilling let go of his throat.
“Okay,” he said, the knife pressure leaving Kosta’s back again. “Let’s go. Real careful, now.”
Hunching her shoulders once, Chandris started forward again. With Trilling’s breath hot on the back of his neck, Kosta followed.
Ornina was kneeling beside the angel collector bin when they entered the storeroom, a set of delicate adjustment tools laid out on the floor beside her. “Hello, Chandris,” she said as they came in. “And Jereko. Oh—and who’s your friend?”
“He’s not exactly a friend,” Kosta said, watching her face as Trilling moved a little to the side and the knife in his hand came into Ornina’s view. The older woman’s eyes flicked to the weapon but otherwise her expression didn’t change. “His name’s Trilling,” Kosta continued. “He’s here to take Chandris away with him.”
“Ah,” Ornina said calmly, looking back at Chandris. “And the angel, too, I see,” she said, nodding at the carrying case under Chandris’s arm. “Welcome to the Gazelle, Trilling. Can I get you a cup of tea?”
“Very funny,” Trilling said, giving Kosta a shove that sent him stumbling into Chandris. “Not much of a storeroom.”
“We don’t usually have much that needs storing,” Ornina said. “Mostly it’s where the angels get collected. I was serious about the tea, you know. Or you could take the angel from Chandris and she could go up and make it.”
Trilling snorted. “You are funny,” he said. “Okay. You— Kosta—get over there with her.”
‘Trilling, you don’t have to do this,” Chandris said, her voice soft and pleading as Kosta moved over beside Ornina. “Please. I’ll go with you if you’ll just leave them a
lone.”
Trilling turned those insane eyes on her. “Of course you’ll go with me,” he said, sounding surprised. “We were meant to be together.”
‘Trilling, please,” Chandris repeated.
“Chandris, what’s gotten into you?” Trilling demanded. “What are these targs to you, anyway?”
Kosta darted his eyes around the storeroom, searching for inspiration, his mind flashing back to the other night when Chandris had confronted him with a bright light in the face and the threat of a cutting torch behind it. If she’d actually had a torch, and if it was still in here …
But she hadn’t, and it wasn’t. Ornina’s tools? Too small to serve as weapons. Loose pipes, then, or discarded storage crate lids? But there wasn’t anything he could see that wasn’t fastened down.
“Enough!” Trilling barked, snapping Kosta’s attention back to the discussion. The argument, such as it was, was over.
And Chandris had lost.
“You don’t want to watch, you can leave the room,” Trilling went on, looking back at Kosta and lifting his knife. “This’ll just take a second.”
Beside him, Kosta felt Ornina’s hand fumble for his. He took her hand, and she squeezed once. Not a grip of panic or even fear, but merely of comfort and friendship. And, perhaps, farewell.
And then she gently disengaged her hand from his. Leaving him free for whatever action he was preparing himself for.
A sudden flood of determination surged through him like a hot cup of Ornina’s sadras tea. Ornina was counting on him for her life; Chandris was counting on him for her freedom from this man.
There was no way in hell he was going to fail them.
“All right,” Chandris said, her voice humble and defeated. Her eyes flicked once to him as she stepped behind Trilling and headed for the door. Lifting his knife, his eyes glowing with expectation, Trilling started forward.
Kosta let his knees bend slightly into the combat stance he’d been taught and turned his torso slightly, presenting a smaller target to his opponent. His hands were still at his sides, but he could visualize bringing his left arm up to sweep Trilling’s knife arm away to the side. With Trilling’s torso open, he would throw the hardest kick he could at the other’s knee, and follow it up with another kick to the abdomen …
And then, behind Trilling, Chandris turned silently on one foot and brought the angel carrying case down as hard as she could onto his head.
Trilling bellowed with rage, shaking his head once to clear it as he spun around toward his betrayer. A sweep of his left arm knocked the box from her hands and sent her staggering backwards. The knife flashed in his hand as he brought it back for a killing blow—
And with another bellow he sprawled off-balance as Kosta’s kick landed in the back of his right knee.
He hit the deck hard and twisted catlike around onto his back. Kosta started to dive on top of him, broke away at the last second as he belatedly saw that Trilling still had hold of his knife.
Too little, too late. Even as he tried to veer off, Trilling slashed the weapon in a vicious upward arc across Kosta’s chest. He felt the tug as his shirt was sliced through; and then his momentum and tangled feet got the better of him and he too toppled onto the deck.
Trilling was back on his feet in an instant. Chandris started toward him; half turning, he slashed the air once to keep her back, then turned back to Kosta, his face contorted into something inhuman. Kosta scrambled backwards crab-style, his eyes fixed on the knife, trying desperately to get far enough away from Trilling to be able to get back onto his feet.
But Trilling clearly had no intention of giving him that much breathing room. Baring his teeth, he kept coming, his knife held ready. From somewhere to Kosta’s left came a soft buzz—
And suddenly Trilling jerked in place as if he’d stepped on a jellyfish. The enraged madman’s expression softened into an odd sort of bewilderment, the knife dangling in a loosened grip.
“Again!” Kosta shouted, scrambling to his feet and shooting a glance to his left. Ornina was standing there, her eyes wide, Kosta’s shocker gripped in her hand. “Hit him again!”
She squeezed the weapon. There was another buzz, and Trilling jerked again. “Again,” Kosta ordered, gingerly trying to ease past the wavering knife. The shocker was still on its lowest setting, and that wasn’t going to hold someone like Trilling very long. If Kosta could get to Ornina and dial a higher power—
And then, with a sort of gurgling moan, Trilling lunged at him.
If he’d been in full control of his muscles, Kosta would have died right there. But two jolts from the shocker, even at low power, had scrambled his nervous system just enough. Kosta jumped back, and the knife blade sliced through his left sleeve instead of burying itself into the center of his chest Reflexively, he slapped at Trilling’s knife arm with his right hand, and to his own vague surprise the knife went flying away to clatter off the pipes and conduits lining the bulkheads.
For a fraction of a second Kosta could see his own surprise mirrored in Trilling’s face at the loss of his weapon. Then, with a slurred curse, Trilling lunged again.
Kosta tried to slap away the hands stretching out toward his throat. But Trilling was already shrugging off the effects of the shocker and the countermove failed. An instant later the hands reached their target, one grabbing him by the throat, the other closing around Kosta’s left upper arm.
An agonizing wave of pain shot through the skin and muscle like a crack of lightning. He had just enough time to gasp once—
And then his back was slammed against the bulkhead hard enough to knock the wind out of him. The grip around his throat tightened, cutting off his air, and Trilling began to beat his head against the cold metal.
Kosta’s vision began to waver, fog alternating with sparks of pain with each blow. He tried to bring up his knee into Trilling’s groin, but his body seemed to have turned into soft cotton. He was vaguely aware of someone screaming something in the background, but he couldn’t make out the words. He reached up to try to pull Trilling’s hand off his throat, but there was no strength there, and he was barely even able to grab hold of the other’s wrist.
And then, suddenly, the hammering of his head stopped. Even as he wondered whether the halt was real or simply the hallucination of a dying brain, the grip around his throat loosened and then was gone. His head began to clear, and he found himself sagging against the bulkhead, gasping for breath, his left arm throbbing with pain.
And then Chandris was at his side, gripping his right arm. “It’s all right,” she said, her breath coming in shaky gulps. “Just sit down, okay? Just sit down.”
“I’m okay,” he said, letting her help him down into a sitting position on the deck. The words hurt his throat to say.
“Here,” Ornina said, appearing on his other side with a first-aid kit. “Chandris, can you start getting his shirt off?”
“Sure.”
She began carefully pulling off his shirt. Kosta winced as a line of fire flashed across his chest, joining counterpoint with the agony in his left upper arm, and to his amazement he noticed for the first time that the shirt there was soaked with blood. Apparently, that first slash had been deeper than he’d realized. Odd that he hadn’t felt any pain there until now.
It was only then, as he raised his eyes from the blood on his chest, that he saw Trilling.
The man was crumpled on the deck behind Chandris, unmoving. His right hand was wet with blood where he’d been squeezing Kosta’s slashed arm.
Protruding from his back was the hilt of his own knife.
Kosta looked back at Chandris. Now, for the first time, he could see the tears running down her cheeks. “Chandris?” he asked softly.
“I had to,” she said, her voice so low he almost couldn’t hear it. “He was going to kill you. He was going to kill you both. There was nothing else I could do.”
“I know,” Kosta said, wincing as Ornina carefully rolled a bandage across the cut in hi
s chest. “I’m—”
“No, don’t,” she cut him off, flashing a tortured glare at him through the moisture brimming in her eyes. “Don’t.”
She dropped her gaze away, half turning toward the body lying on the deck behind her. “He was my friend once,” she said, her body jerking with silent, gasping sobs. “He was all I had. He cared for me, protected me.”
She bowed her head and closed her eyes. “Loved me.”
Kosta gazed at her profile, at the tears still flowing freely.
And for him, at least, there was no longer any doubt. Chandris could protect her friends, yet cry over what she had had to do. She could make sacrifices for a higher need, yet retain her pride and dignity. She could feel anger, and sadness, and regret, and love.
The Pax propaganda was wrong. The angels weren’t turning the citizens of the Empyrean into something less than human. If anything, they were allowing people like Chandris to become more human than they’d ever been. More human than they’d ever dared to be.
Ornina had shifted now to bandaging his arm. Their eyes met, and he read the message there. Reaching over with his good arm, he took hold of Chandris’s shoulders and gently pulled her close to him.
And as if that had been the breaking of the final barrier, she turned her face into his chest and sobbed like a child. Like the child that in many ways she still was.
Like the child, perhaps, that she had never been allowed to be.
CHAPTER 36
“I’m sorry, High Senator,” the doctor said, peering down at his hand computer. “I’m afraid we still don’t know what happened to Mr. Ronyon.”
Forsythe looked over at Ronyon. The big man was studiously fastening his shoes, with the same intense concentration he brought to every technically challenging job. “But he is all right now?”
“As far as we can tell,” the doctor said. “If you’d like to leave him with us for a few more days, we might be able to come up with something.”