Poul Anderson - A Knight of Ghosts and Shadows

Highlights crossed Kossara’s face above her cheekbones, shone in eyes, glowed in hair. “What do you think he’ll do, Dominic?”

“Well, he’s tough, smart, and experienced; he may have better ideas than I. But in his place, I’d manufacture an excuse to put myself somewhere more or less impregnable. Like your Nova-class warship; she’s the biggest around, Dennitzan or Imperial, and the pride of your fleet damn well ought to have a solidly loyal crew. I’d get the most important persons, including us, there with me. And, oh, yes, a copy of the microfiles on everybody who might be involved in the plot, Imperial officers and locals who’ve worked themselves close to the Gospodar’s hand in the past several years. A clever, widely traveled captain of Naval Intelligence, such as—ahem—could help me get a shrewd notion of whom to suspect. I’d order fleet dispositions modified accordingly, again on an unalarming pretext. When this was done, I’d have the appropriate arrests made, then broadcast a ‘hold everything’ to the populace, then wait on the qui vive to see what the interrogators dig out.”

Memory made Kossara wince. Flandry laid an arm about her shoulder. “We’ve a stiff way yet to go,” he said, “but we should be home safe by blossom time.”

She thawed, flowed into his embrace, and whispered, “Thanks to you.”

“No, you. If you’d lacked courage to visit Diomedes, the strength to stay sane and fight on—Why quibble? We’re both magnificent. The species has need of our chromosomes.”

“Lots and lots of fat babies,” she agreed. “But do you mean it about spring … we may have to wait that long?”

“I hope not. The creaking sound you hear is my gentlemanliness. I’m sitting on its safety valve, which is blistering hot.”

She touched a corner of his smile. Her own look became wholly serious. “Are your jests always armor?” The question trembled. “Dominic, we may not live till spring.”

“We’ll take no chances, heart of mine. None. I plan for us to scandalize our respectable grandchildren.”

“We’ll have to take chances.” She drew breath. “I can’t become pregnant till my immunity treatment’s reversed. Tonight—We’ll not deceive Father and Mother. The first chaplain we find can marry us.”

“But, uh, your cathedral wedding—”

“I’ve come to see how little it matters, how little the universe does, next to having you while I can. Tonight, Dominic. Now.”

He seized her to him.

A flash went blue-white in the front windows.

They sprang up. The light had not been blinding, but they knew its color.

Flandry flung the door wide and himself out onto the porch. Cold poured over him, sharp liquid in his nostrils. Stars glinted countless. Between shadow-masses that were trees, he saw the craterside shelve away downward into the murk which brimmed its bowl. Distance-dwindled, a fireball yonder lifted and faded. The cloud pillar following appeared against a constellation just as the thunder rumbled faintly in his skull.

“That was home,” Kossara said out of numbness.

“A tactical nuke, doubtless fired from an aircraft,” responded a machine within Flandry.

The danger to her flogged him aware. He grabbed her arm. “Inside!” She staggered after him. He slammed the door and drew her against his breast. She clung, beginning to shudder.

“My love, my love, my love, we’ve got to get away from here,” he said in a frantic chant. “They must have been after us.”

“After you—” She tautened, freed herself, snapped at steadiness and caught it. Her eyes gleamed steel-dry.

“Yes. But we’ll take a few minutes to pack. Food, clothes, weapons.”

Defiant, he also tried phoning the manor. Emptiness hummed reply. They trotted to the shed where the car was, stowed survival gear within, trotted back for more, boarded.

The cabin tumbled from sight. Flandry swept radar around the encompassing darkness. Nothing registered. A traffic safety unit wasn’t much use here, of course, but at least this bubble carrying them had a prayer of crawling to safety before the military vessel that did the murder could find it.

If—“Wait a second,” Flandry said.

“What?” Kossara asked dully.

He glanced at her, dim in star-glow and wanness off the control panel. She sat hunched into her parka, staring ahead through the canopy. The heater had not yet taken hold and the chill here was no honest outside freeze, but dank. Air muttered around the car body.

He dropped near treetop level and activated the optical amplifier. Its screen showed the wilderness as a gray jumble, above which he zigzagged in search of a secure hiding place. Though belike they had no immediate need of any—“I’ll take for granted we were a principal target,” he said, quick and toneless. “Snatching us from the household would be too revealing. But if the killers knew where we were, why not come directly to our lodge? If they even suspected we might be there, why not try it first? My guess is, they don’t know it exists. However, we’re safer in motion regardless.”

She bit a knuckle till blood came forth, before she could say: “Everybody died on our account?”

“No, I think not. Your father, at least, had to be gotten rid of, since he knew the truth. And there was no being sure he hadn’t told somebody else. I dare hope the enemy thinks we went out with him.”

“How did they learn, Dominic?” Through the curbed hardness of her voice, he sensed dread. “Is Aycharaych in Zorkagrad?”

“Conceivable.” Flandry’s words fell one by one. “But not probable. Remember, we did consider the possibility. If we were to land on the taiga, Chives must proceed to the spaceport, simply to maintain our fiction. Wearing his mindscreen would make him overly conspicuous. Anyhow, Aycharaych wouldn’t fail to check on each newcomer, and he knows both Chives and Hooligan by sight. I decided the odds were he went to Dennitza from Diomedes, but having made sure the mischief he’d started was proceeding along the lines he wanted, didn’t linger. He’s no coward, but he knows he’s too valuable to risk in a merely warlike action—which this affair has to bring, and soon, or else his efforts have gone for naught. My guess was, he’s hanging around Zoria in a wide orbit known only to a few of his most trusted chessmen,”

“Yes, I remember now. Talk on. Please, Dominic. I have to be nothing except practical for a while, or I’ll fall apart.”

“Me too. Well, I still believe my assessment was confirmed when we made such trouble-free contact with your father. Chives had been in Zorkagrad for days. Aycharaych would have found him, read him, and prepared a trap to spring on us the minute we arrived. Anything else would have been an unnecessary gamble.” Bleakness softened: “You know, I went into the manor house using every psychotrick they ever drilled into me to keep my knowledge of where you were out of conscious thought, and ready to swallow the old poison pill on the spot should matters go awry.”

“What?” She turned her head toward him. “Why, you … you told me to leave the rendezvous if you didn’t return by sunset—but—Oh, Dominic, no!”

Then she did weep. He comforted her as best he could. Meanwhile he found a place to stop, a grove on the rim beneath which he could taxi and be sheltered from the sky.

She gasped back to self-mastery and bade him tell her the rest of his thoughts. “I feel certain what caused the attack tonight was the capture of your father’s courier,” he said. “He must have been interrogated hastily. Aycharaych would have found out about our cabin, whether or not your father explicitly told his man. But a quick narcoquiz by nontelepaths—” He scowled into murk. “The problem is, what made the enemy suspicious of him? He wasn’t carrying any written message, and his cover story was plausible. Unless—”