Rayne sat back and rubbed her temples, switching off the data screen with a flick of her thoughts. Weariness made her eyelids droop, but she forced herself to rise and wander over and gaze out at the soft rain that soaked the garden. Since her return to Atlan three months ago, a great many things had happened. The beacon in her brain had been deactivated at her insistence, much to Rawn’s delight. Tallyn had argued against it, but her status now allowed her to make certain demands, which the Atlanteans were obliged to fulfil in order to keep her good will. She had been questioned about her time with the Shrike, and had answered all the questions honestly.
They did not ask for his true name, and she did not offer it, so it remained her secret. Drevina’s murderous plot would have earned her a severe reprimand from the Atlantean Council, and perhaps even a token visit by a warship, had she lived long enough. The debris of her ship, Norron, had been discovered in an asteroid belt not far from Drevga B, a Brentar mining colony. The Draycons had threatened the peaceful Brentar with retribution, then Atlan, before turning on each other. A bloody civil war now raged on Amranon and Periabel, the two principal Drayconar planets.
Soon after her return, she and Rawn had been taught to use their cyber implants, gaining easy access to all Atlantean technology and data links. Whereas before they had to view the data via a screen, or listen to it, now they used a sensor pad and allowed the information to stream directly into their minds, accompanied by images and sensations, where necessary. They had also been allocated their own dwelling, and Rawn had started dating a low caste Atlantean girl. Once again, Rayne had forgone the social whirl to bury herself in research, primarily on the Shrike’s empire, uncovering many unpleasant facts.
Most disturbing was the crime that had earned him a death sentence from the Atlanteans, the extermination of his race, the Antians, fifty years ago. The report was brief and sketchy, but said that a planetary distress signal had been received from the Antian home world, Elliadaren. By the time an Atlantean ship had reached it, the world had been lifeless, rapidly descending into a nuclear winter. The only ship in orbit had been an outlaw craft called Night Hawk. Its pilot, when challenged, had identified himself as the Shrike, claimed responsibility for the destruction of the Antian civilisation, and fled.
Rayne thought the situation demanded further investigation, but none had been attempted. The Atlanteans had accepted the confession and passed a death sentence on the individual who called himself the Shrike. Why had Tarke destroyed the Antians, and how? To do that to an entire civilisation should have been impossible, even with an armada of warships. It made no sense, and she resolved to find out more through other channels, if possible.
The rest of her research had confirmed his story, a list of bloody deeds performed in the building of a giant empire of ships and manpower, untold wealth and immense political might. The Shrike was certainly a force to be reckoned with, but the file lacked any sort of personal details other than an estimate of his age, a list of possible species and a description of his usual garb. It did contain a three-dimensional space map of his territory, which spanned a fair stretch of space, mostly populated with useless, barren planets.
In another file, she found a list of all his crimes since he had exterminated his race, any of which would have earned him a death sentence. He was blamed for seventy-four murders, all of which, oddly, were fellow slavers and outlaws who were also sentenced to death. In addition, he was supposed to be responsible for two massacres on slaver space stations, apparently instigated by him. She continued to dig, but only found a file that listed all his known aliases, one of which was the one the Rentarian had used: Grey Shrike. The file also listed his ships, whose number and strength amazed her, even though the file was several years out of date.
Rayne then requested data on the Antians, curious about why he had destroyed them. It took several hours for the information to be located and transferred from old archives, but when it reached her, she found it surprising. The Antians had been the eldest of what were known as the Younger Races, people who had developed after the Elder Races had left or died out. Elliadaren had been similar to Earth in many ways, except the climate had been better, lacking hurricanes, quakes, tidal waves and volcanoes.
The weather had been gentle and predictable; the seasons had followed a set pattern that had not deviated by more than a centimetre of rain. Elliadaren had had more land than sea, its polar caps had been small and its sun was an old, stable yellow dwarf, like Sol. One could argue that their system was old and decaying, but several million years had still been ahead of them. The Antians had not expanded into space, but had chosen to control their numbers and remain on their home world.
They had also forgone the usual armada of warships most advanced people kept for defence and aggression, although their home world had been equipped with extensive defences that made their destruction at the hands of a single man in a small armed cargo ship even harder to believe. She searched in vain for a picture of an Antian, and the lack of one surprised her. At the end of the file, a single word blinked in red capitals: extinct.
Rayne gazed at the rain-soaked garden, where plants bowed under collected water, letting it stream off onto the ground. Elliadaren had been a more beautiful world than Earth, populated by gentle people. Why had Tarke destroyed them? His parents, surely, had been amongst them, perhaps brothers and sisters. It made no sense. She shook her head, rubbing the spot above her left ear, which still ached at times like these, when she had spent too long linked to the data net.
With a sigh, she went into the kitchen to make something to eat, then spun at a soft click behind her. She reached for the laser holstered on her belt, then gaped at the space line screen that rose from its slot. Usually a tone announced an incoming call, and its silent deployment gave her goose bumps. When the wafer-thin crystal had risen to the end of its glass wand, a series of words appeared on it in blue script. Rayne read them with a mixture of amazement and dread.
‘Golden Child. The time has come. Meet me at the Cerebilus Moons, alone. Your guide.’
After a minute of shocked inaction, Rayne tottered to a chair and sank onto it. Her hands shook as she activated the web line screen used for local calls, dialling Tallyn at the spaceport. She sent a message to him, then Rawn, demanding they come immediately, then broke the connection, not wishing to explain anything on the web line.
By the time they hurried in a few minutes later, she had poured herself a strong drink and sipped it as she gazed at the screen. Tallyn, first to arrive by about three seconds, put away his laser and scowled at her.
“Were you just testing us? Because if so, I -”
“Read the space line.”
He and Rawn read it, then turned to her.
“When did this come through?” Tallyn asked.
“About a minute before I sent you the message.”
“It could be a hoax, a trap. The Draycons -”
“Are embroiled in a civil war,” she interrupted again. “Besides, it wasn’t an ordinary message. The space line didn’t give a tone; it just deployed. It was kind of spooky.”
Tallyn frowned at the screen again. “It could be malfunctioning.”
“I have a feeling this is genuine. I have to do as it says, anyway, don’t I? Just in case it is. We were expecting some sort of contact. Well, there it is.”
Rawn said, “You can’t go to the Cerebilus Moons alone. It’s too dangerous, and someone has to fly the ship. You have to have a crew, people to guard you.”
“The message says alone. If I’m not, I don’t think there will be a ship there to meet me.”
“You’re right,” Tallyn agreed. “But even if we gave you a scout ship, you don’t know how to fly it.”
“You can programme it, can’t you? Put in the co-ordinates for the Moons, and for the return trip, then all I have to do is activate the Net, right?”
“In theory.” Tallyn sat on a chair opposite, studying her. “You’re taking all this very calmly. How much have you had
to drink?”
She giggled. “I’m not drunk. Believe me, I’m terrified. I almost fainted when I first read that, but I’ve had time to calm down now. It’s kind of exciting, don’t you think?”
Rawn sat beside her, placing an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll come with you. I’m your guardian, right?”
Tallyn shook his head. “We made that assumption when we took you from Earth, but there’s no mention of a guardian in the prophecy, and the instructions say she must go alone.”
“It could be dangerous,” Rawn protested. “Like you said, it could be a trap. Maybe it’s not the Draycons. We don’t know who else might want to stop her fulfilling the prophecy.”
Rayne sighed and put down her glass. “I have to do as it says. Just show me how to operate the scout ship. If it’s trap, I can simply reactivate the Net, and it will bring me straight back to Atlan, right?”
“Yes, but being in the Net doesn’t guarantee your safety,” Tallyn said. “And if it’s a trap, you might not have time. I suggest we shadow you in Vengeance.”
“No. It might detect you, especially if its technology is as advanced as it appears to be.”
“There’s only one way to settle this. I’ll call the Council and let them decide.”
Rayne nodded, and he wandered over to the window to gaze out while he contacted Vargon on his implant’s net line. When he turned to her a few minutes later, he looked grim.
“The Council agrees. You must follow the instructions. I’ll arrange for a scout ship to be made available, and show you how to operate its basic functions in a simulator.”
Rayne slipped her hand into Rawn’s, trying to reassure him with a brittle smile. He was clearly unhappy, but rose and followed when Tallyn led them out to his gravcar.