T Southwell - Prophecy

"It's Mergan's doing," he said, naming his Atlantean sweetheart. "Her father owns a yacht, and he works for military intelligence. She can borrow the yacht to take her friends on trips to Verdian or Termon. When I told her the story, she agreed to help, and she'll arrange for the yacht to be available tomorrow night. The biggest problem is finding this Shrike guy. The Atlanteans don't actually know where he is. They never do. But…" He raised a finger. "…Last night they received information that leads them to believe there's going to be a raid on a shipment of slaves in the Jarlan solar system, just outside his territory. It might be him."

"And if it's not?"

He shrugged. "Then we keep looking. It's our best shot."

"I suppose so. That's great. You did good. So tomorrow night I can take the yacht?"

"Well, yeah. And a few of my friends."

"No way! This isn't a pleasure cruise. We might encounter one of the most dangerous outlaws in the quadrant, and you want to bring your friends? And Mergan too, I suppose?"

"Well, it is her yacht." He squirmed.

"No. Absolutely not."

"If it's safe enough for you…"

"I know him!" She threw up her hands. "Yes, it's dangerous for me too, but I have to do it. Well, I don't have to do it. I could just let the Envoy destroy Atlan, as long as I'm not on it. He knows me, or he might remember me. At least he might give me a chance to discuss it. Endrix thinks so. Damn! I just don't know anymore."

"Well, you can't go alone, anyway. The yacht needs a crew. You can't fly it."

"I don't have to. We could have it programmed, like the scout ship."

"That's tricky, you know. What if it's not him?"

"We can have two – three programmes. One to go to the Jarlan system, one to return to Atlan, and one to take me to his base."

Rawn looked dubious. "That sounds dangerous. What base?"

"It doesn't matter. There's a map of his territory on the data net. We can choose a base from that. They're all marked. Once I'm there, his people will inform him of my request to see him."

"Why don't you just send him a message from here, and ask him to meet you?"

"With the Atlanteans listening? He'd never even respond."

Rawn frowned and rubbed his chin.

"That's got to be the dumbest plan I've ever heard," a soft voice said behind them, and Rayne whipped around with a gasp, her heart skipping a beat. Rawn released his laser's hilt as Tallyn stepped into the lounge, his eyes chips of black ice, his lips twisted in a sardonic smile.

"You did that on purpose!" Rayne accused. "You imitated his voice. You've spoken to him."

"Of course, we're old enemies. I knew you two were up to something when you took the council's refusal so well. I should have you placed in protective custody."

"If you want your world to die."

He raised his hands. "Okay, I've thought about what you said, and I suppose it does make sense. If your guide told you to do this, he must have a good reason. I dislike the prospect of asking that murderer for help, though, I have to say."

"I'm sure you do."

"I don't think he will help us, either. But if you're so determined to find him that you would contemplate sailing off into deep space in an interplanetary yacht, with no more idea of where you're going or how to get there than a map off the data net…"

He sighed, shaking his head. "I'll just have to help you, so you don't get yourself killed. The Shrike might still do that, but at least it won't be because of your ignorance or my stupidity."

Rayne glanced at Rawn, then cast Tallyn an uncertain smile. "Thanks, but won't the council punish you if they find out?"

He shrugged. "Probably, but who's going to tell them? Look, I don't like this any more than I did yesterday, but you do seem to have led a charmed life so far. Making an eight-hour journey in a flimsy yacht is just asking for trouble, though, and locking you up is guaranteed to defeat the prophecy.

"This little scheme may seem like an adventure to the two of you, because you know so little about space and its dangers, but you'd never have made it, trust me. Nor can you go into his territory in an Atlantean scout. We have a lot of enemies amongst the various outlaw factions. If I take you in Vengeance, you'll be safe, but you won't get anywhere near the Shrike, and his people will suspect a trap."

He held up a hand again when she opened her mouth. "Even if I dropped you at one of his bases, I doubt he'd agree to meet you, and his people might just decide to dispose of you anyway. For some reason, they're damned loyal to him."

Tallyn wandered over to a chair and sank into it with a sigh. Rayne sat opposite him, her gaze intent. "Then what?"

"The Shrike is notoriously elusive. Few people who've gone in search of him have found him. Most of them found sticky ends instead. I have a… an acquaintance, who might be able to help you. He's a smuggler, a petty crook who trades information with me in return for his freedom. He might be able to take you to one of the Shrike's bases without arousing too much suspicion. It will be expensive, though. Like most of the lesser outlaws, he has a morbid fear of the Shrike, who has a reputation for wiping out his competition."

She glanced at Rawn as he settled beside her on the couch, and he raised his brows and cocked his head with a smile. She turned back to Tallyn.

"When do we leave?"

"The Shrike will not see you."

Rayne was tired of hearing that proclamation, in various forms, and gritted her teeth. She had been waiting on his base for two days. Tallyn's smuggler friend, a middle-aged Atlantean with a scarred face and bad halitosis, had dropped her on Ironia before beating a hasty retreat, and she was glad to be away from his lecherous looks and smutty talk. He had kept his deal with Tallyn, however, and delivered her into Tarke's territory. Now she faced an unexpected obstacle, one she was beginning to think was insurmountable.

Tarke would not see her, and nothing she said seemed to make any difference. Rayne glared at the black-clad woman who faced her, a blank-faced Erdorian whose rather sullen expression suited her office as bearer of bad news. Rayne recalled the unpleasant fourteen-hour journey she had endured. The smuggler had spent only four hours linked to the net before taking a six-hour nap. Mercifully, she had not been linked to a neural net, but now found herself barred on Tarke's doorstep for her trouble.

"Does he give a reason, or is he just being bloody-minded?"

"He's not currently on this base," was the tart reply.

"And is he planning to come here any time in the not too distant future?"

"I don't know his plans."

"All right." Rayne forced a stiff smile. "Would you give him a message then?"

"Certainly."

"Tell him I know what happened on Elliadaren."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Rayne shrugged. "He'll know."

The woman snorted and spun on her heel, marching off down the corridor. Rayne watched her until she turned a corner, then decided to go for a walk in the garden in front of the building. Two guards kept an eye on her from the doorway. They followed her everywhere, and sometimes prevented her from entering certain areas. She was not being treated exactly as a prisoner, but that her host did not trust her was abundantly clear. She had been scanned upon arrival, and since then her keepers had treated her with deep suspicion. This time, she had her own clothes, and wore a dark blue one-piece suit that stood out amongst the monotony of black-clad people.

Rayne glanced back at her guards, who followed her, laser rifles held across their chests. At first she had thought the guns were meant for her, which seemed rather paranoid since she was unarmed, but now she suspected that the weapons were more for her protection. Several times she had encountered people whose eyes had glinted murderously and whose glares had only been deterred by her guards' hard-eyed presence. She had no idea what she had done to deserve their animosity, for she had been studiously polite to everyone she met. These people, it seemed, were as strange as the man they served. She sighed and headed back towards her apartment.