Chapter 22 - Kin Fighting Kin
Zacary was hardly aware of what he was doing. His real self was hidden deeply, quivering in terror, watching his body moving like a programmed automaton. Somehow, he had managed to get out of the isolation cell where the guards had taken him. All the way there, he had tried to struggle free, had protested his innocence, had insisted it was all a mistake, and he had done nothing wrong. But deep down, he knew his body had done the things they claimed, even if he had no control over it. He hardly remembered how he had reached the High Kings palace, the overwhelming thought had been the need to do so unseen. He had to meet someone…
Seeing Kryslie had been a shock, a reminder of the frightful trouble he would be in for leaving the infirmary and attacking the two guards when he had fled. And he was disobeying lockdown orders during a high alert. As a member of the Peace Corps, he knew the punishment for disobeying orders. Even as a civilian, he knew the result of ignoring them.
His own essence had reacted so strongly, that for a moment he had overcome that other mind. But while he had reacted in shock and mindless panic, that other had taken control again. He had run, set the children on her, knowing that the repellor fields should disable them all. If Kryslie was not harmed, she would have to help the children before coming after him. He would have time to flee, time to hide. He wanted to hide.
Yet his body kept moving, heading towards the servants’ areas, looking for someone. Then the orders had changed, and he had found himself in that alcove, crouching under the shelf, hidden by a hanging cloth, and waiting for some guards to go past.
Then his body began to move, standing abruptly, banging the shelf, sending the precious tiny china cups flying.
Zacary found himself staring, horrified, at the broken shards on the floor. He dropped to the floor, crawled back into the alcove under the shelf and hugged his raised knees tightly. Whatever was propelling his body, tried to make him move, but Zacary held onto his shred of self-awareness with everything he had.
The horrid voice in his head started again, angry with him, flaying his self-esteem to the size of a rat, telling him what he must do to redeem himself. He tried to ignore it, pretending not to hear it.
Finally, the voice seemed to give up. “Crawl to the damn Governors then,” it said with utter contempt. “Let them whip you to raw meat. You will be dead by day’s end.”
The voice stopped, as if the mind behind it had given up on him. That seemed a relief, until his mind focussed on what had been said. He was a traitor, even if not by choice. But who would believe him. He would be better off dead, but a part of him wanted to live, even if living meant being punished horribly as he deserved to be.
Somewhere during the long minutes of self-loathing and self-contempt, he remembered Kryslie saying, “I can help you.” And she had, he recalled. He had fought her, no, that other had fought her, but she had won. The darkness that had been pressing on his mind had gone. He wanted to feel that relief again.
Still hugging his knees, Zacary called out softly, “Princess Kryslie? Please, if you can hear me…you said you could help. Please, I don’t want to do this…I don’t…help me!”
He was terrified as he strained his ears to see if anyone had heard him. Guards would probably shoot him on sight. He hoped fervently, but dared not pray to the Guardians, that Kryslie would come, would hear him.
Zacary sensed a presence near him; it felt like Kryslie, or her brother. Even without power himself, he was still aware of it. He looked up, glanced around, saw a red headed figure coming closer. He was about to stand up and bow to Princess Kryslie when he registered the oddities.
This red head was the image of Kryslie…but seemed older. This one was wearing an impeccably neat guard’s uniform. Why would Kryslie have wasted time changing, while she was chasing him? Why?
The comfort of knowing exactly what to do, relaxed him. All would be forgiven if he obeyed every direction this time. He just had to wait where he was until Kryslie found him. Then he was to beg her for help. And she would help him, like she had before. She understood that it wasn’t his fault and that he hadn’t wanted to do all the dreadful things he had done. He went back to gripping his knees, and waited.
He glanced up again when he heard the faint sounds of bare feet on the polished wood floor. Just a slight scuffing.
“Princess Kryslie, you have to help me, you have to…” Zacary scrambled to his feet. She was ignoring him, looking around. He grabbed the fabric of the dusty coverall. “Please, take me away from here. If you don’t, they’ll make me take them to the nursery. You mustn’t let them.”
“Llaimos will be fine,” Kryslie told him as she looked around for the imminent danger. “Give me your weapons.”
Zacary released her and began to comply; giving no thought to the fact that he had stolen the weapons from the guards he had attacked in the isolation cell. In any case, he should not be carrying weapons. As his hand brushed hers while handing over the stun gun, he felt a faint shock like from electricity, and he realised she had a force screen on. It was repeated when he handed over the energy beam weapon.
Kryslie had pushed the stunner into her belt, but she checked the charge and setting of the other before putting it with the stunner.
When he touched the knife he had also taken, the weapon seemed to come alive in his hand. It jerked towards Kryslie, and he let out a horrified denial. In his mind, he heard vicious laughter, and his true self was shoved into darkness.
Kryslie sensed the instant when Zacary’s mind was grabbed again by that distant controller. The attack, seen only as a movement in her side vision, was countered by an instinctive defence. One of many trained into her by President Reslic and his brothers.
The mind controlling Zacary, anticipated her move and jerked him back, only to launch another attack. Who ever it was, was a skilled and deadly fighter, but Kryslie had been drilled in advanced self-defence techniques and Zacary’s physical body was not fit enough to perform the intended attacks.
Kryslie withheld her full strength when she spun and kicked the knife out of his hand. The follow-up kick to his head, sent Zacary falling unconscious to the floor. As she leant down to check that he was alive, she saw a brief flash of bright light and felt a tingle all over.
Realising that her force screen had just absorbed a weapons discharge, she spun around. Behind her, trotting closer and mentally snarling was Vila, already drawing a different weapon and bringing it up to shoot.
A sharp pain shot up Kryslie’s arm, as she barely dodged the energy beam. Her suit had almost overloaded there as it neutralised the beam. She had to dodge again to evade the follow up knife thrust.
“Who would think you a Princess,” Vila snarled, angry that her attacks had failed. She twisted her arm to free it from Kryslie’s grip. “You look like what you are, a filthy gutter rat, only fit to be a drudge. Tymoreans must be imbeciles to think otherwise.”
A second knife was in her other hand now, as she had realised that Kryslie had a protective force screen on.
Kryslie thrust Vila away from her, pushing her into one of the chairs, and gaining time to draw her own knife. She didn’t consider either of the high-tech weapons, since Vila was surely shielded too. She hadn’t seen where Vila had stowed hers, but that wasn’t important. She needed to watch Vila’s hands, the two knives, and the tell tale muscles in her opponents face.
Vila bounced back, with an intent look on her face. Kryslie lunged at her, aiming for the weak point in the protective armour, she expected Vila to have on under the stolen uniform. A jolt, like a powerful punch, hit her in the side, knocking her off balance. Instants later, pain erupted there, but Kryslie did not dare let it slow her.
Grabbing onto the back of the nearest chair, Kryslie swung herself over it. Vila immediately followed her, and was able to dodge her opponents attack, and launch one of her own. They both dodged and parried, as they avoided being trapped or tripped by tables and chairs.
Kryslie deduced that Zacary had woken, and had Vila’s weapon. He had been the cause of the energy jolt that had overloaded, and neutralised her force screen. Now she was managing to put furniture between her and Zacary, for another such jolt would disable her.
“So, you need help to fight me,” Kryslie said, after brushing her comm. unit to the on position.
Vila ignored the jibe, forcing her opponent towards the outermost chairs. She didn’t quite keep her intention from her mind. Kryslie saw movement, and deliberately turned her back on the now standing Zacary. In the next instant, she spun and kicked out hard, hitting Zacary in the side of the head. He went down again, and the weapon clattered to the floor.
Aware of the final resting place of the weapon, Kryslie began to attack with greater vigour, forcing Vila back, and when the older woman summoned more energy to retaliate, allowed herself to back away.
They were out of the ring of chairs, and Vila closed in again, thinking to trap Kryslie against a wall.
Aware that they had been fighting for too long, and Tymorean guards might arrive at any time, Vila smoothly sheathed one knife, and drew her other weapon.
“I have had years more fighting experience than you, bitch,” Vila boasted. The beam should have burnt a chunk out of her opponent, injured her too much to fight further. It didn’t even touch her. The realisation that her opponent was highly skilled and, even with out a force screen, not an easy target sent a surge of panic through her.
Vila instinctively drew on her power. Fuelled by anger and fear, it surged in her, giving her manic strength. She forgot her tech weapons, and lunged with the knife, determined to kill or disable the presumptuous whelp.
Kryslie found that it took all of her skill to counter her opponent and force her way back into clear space. She didn’t want to kill Vila, but the opposite wasn’t true. The older woman was terrified of failing and would not give up until her opponent was dead or disabled.
Time was forgotten, as the fight went back and forth, with each opponent dodging or crashing into furniture.
“I only have to nick you and I win,” Vila said hoarsely when Kryslie had blocked her latest thrust, and they were glaring eye to eye, faces only inches apart, their blades locked together.
Maintaining eye contact, Kryslie used her free hand to reach for the controls for Vila’s force screen.
“No you don’t,” Vila said, giving her opponent a power-fuelled shove with the hand holding the energy beamer. With her hand free, she could aim it, while her opponent was off balance.
Kryslie recovered quickly, and without looking, jumped backwards over the fallen Zacary, and in a rapid swipe, recovered the weapon he had dropped. An energy beam passed over her head, and before a second burst came, Kryslie fired at Vila.
Neither attack had the desired effect. Kryslie had aimed for the controls of Vila’s force screen, but it hit and fused the energy beamer, causing Vila to drop it or burn her hand.
Vila snarled in shock at seeing Kryslie unaffected by the deadly energy that had struck her in the chest.
“You can’t kill me with that, I’m shielded from it,” Vila snarled.
“Too bad,” Kryslie forced a smile, making Vila step back a pace. She did not betray how close that last jolt had come to injuring her. She needed moments to draw in more energy to replace what she had used to dissipate the deadly beam. Vila had not noticed how the lights had brightened and how the air felt charged. Kryslie drew the free energy back into herself, and watched her opponent who seemed to need a moment to catch her breath.
“Reinforcements will be here soon,” she needled Vila, distracting her. Her own awareness was on the furniture around her, confirming her mental map. All through the fight, she had known exactly where everything was, even when things were subsequently moved or broken. She was aware that Zacary was vaguely conscious again, moaning faintly as he tried to crawl out of the way.
Vila lunged again, but Kryslie was ready for her. This time she stood her ground, and grabbed Vila’s knife arm, pushing it away from her and twisting it. Vila screamed and the knife flew from her hand. Yet Kryslie sensed it was deliberate.
Before Kryslie finished spinning Vila into the wall, she felt the sense of danger and the sudden impact of Jonko’s mind. He was fighting Jordan, in the nursery. The sharp burning slash just above her ankles, went unnoticed.
Vila hit the wall hard, but recovered quickly, pushing off it and spinning around. She challenged, “Try that again, bitch. I bet you can’t do it.”
She lunged again, in such a way that Kryslie’s instinctive reaction was to repeat the same manoeuvre.
“Jordan has your little brother,” she claimed, as Kryslie tried to throw her aside. This time, she had her weight centred and was ready. She jerked her opponent towards her.
Kryslie automatically adjusted her balance, but was suddenly aware of the weakness creeping up her legs. She tried to push against Vila, but her legs gave way, and she collapsed within arms reach of Zacary.
She could see the knife in his hand, the greenish substance on it, and realised he had slashed her with a poisoned knife. While she drew in more power, and the lights dimmed , Kryslie hid her panic by speaking calmly.
“Is this the way to treat your sister?” The weakness was rapidly spreading, she could feel it in her thighs now.
“It is what verminous guttersnipes deserve when they think they can stop me. I am not your sister. You are some trash the Tymorean King dredged up to fool the commoners into believing his seed wasn’t weak from inbreeding.”
“Kellex sure did a job on you,” Kryslie said with pity, not malice.
Vila reacted with a hard fist jab to Kryslie’s jaw.
“Shut your mouth,” she warned. “We came to get your little brother. There was no way we were going to let that poor brat grow up to be an uncaring monster like his father.”
As she finished speaking, Vila realised that she was suddenly feeling weak. The sensation disconcerted her, and she was not prepared for Kryslie’s upper body to thrust upwards, and her arms to grab her. She felt herself collapsing to the floor, next to her prisoner.
“You should be unconscious,” Vila stated, throwing off Kryslie’s grip with effort. “You will be soon, and you can join your bastard of a father as Kellex’s guest. He has some asinine idea that he can teach you better manners and civilise you. Personally, I think he ought to kill you and be done with it.” She was panting heavily, and trying to force her pulse rate and heartbeat to slow.
Kryslie didn’t respond, she felt her mind on the verge of blacking out, and sent a mental call to her brother. With her last strength, she gave him details of the situation in terse phrases and vivid images. Let Vila think she had won, for now, because if Kellex had her father, that was where she needed to be.
Yet Kryslie still fought the encroaching oblivion, for she sensed something in Vila’s mind, now that she believed she had won. The next stage of the plan. Some other threat to the Estate…she couldn’t focus, and was only vaguely aware that Tymos was warned, and he was coming. She tried to reach out to Jonko, with the last of her consciousness. Through his eyes, she saw that he was fighting two Aeronites, one of them Jordan. She saw nothing of Stenn, or Llaimos, or her foster mother. She had to believe they were still safe, and that reinforcements were almost there. Surely Arden hard the comments Vila had made…
Jonko heard the faintest of sounds and was ready when three Aeronites kicked the door open and rushed in. The four guardsmen had seen his sudden alertness and were also ready, and began firing as soon as the figures were in sight.
Behind him, Jonko heard the inner door slam shut, the lock bolt thud into place and sounds of furniture being formed into a barricade. When the tech weapons proved ineffective against the intruders, they holstered them and drew fighting knives in one rapid movement.
The guards took the fight to the Aeronites as Jonko spun around, sensing the energy preceding someone transmitting in. He took out one figure, on the instant it was fully stabilised but before it had a chance to fire a weapon. The other attacked, forcing him to defend himself. Then his eyes spotted a familiar device – a transmitter – attached to the alien’s waist and Jonko knew who he fought.
He had to stop Jordan using the stolen transmitter to get into the inner room. Better still, remove it or destroy it. The furniture barrier would do little if Jordan got in.
Jonko used every bit of skill he had to keep Jordan busy, and in a brief lull, called to Kryslie, hoping she could come and help. He was only peripherally aware of the other guards, noticed first one and then another go down. Then two of the intruders. The remaining Aeronite came at him, and then another re-entered the fight, another Tymorean went down. He scored on one Aeronite; that one was out of the fight. He tried to locate Jordan, and still keep his two opponents from killing him.
From the inner room, he heard Tanya scream, and Stenn give a roar of fury. Jonko renewed the strength of his attack – he couldn’t go to help Stenn. The slightest lapse in his dynamic defence would have him killed.
Tymos, far off in the protected forest, drew Keleb from his trance. “We have to go. Llaimos is in danger.”
Keleb shook himself to loosen muscles stiff from prolonged inaction while he had concentrated on the animals. “How will we get…” he began to ask, but Tymos had moved close and transmitted them both. He blinked, as he recognised the President in front of him when they rematerialised. He realised they must be in space, on the President’s flagship.
There was no time to bow in greeting. Reslic ordered, “Go!” as one beam terminus faded and another appeared. “The shields on the Estate will be down for an instant, and will then go back up.”
Moments later, the gardens of the Estate materialised around them and the sense of conflicting energies stirring in the aura.
“We have to get to Llaimos,” Tymos insisted, as a flare from above brightened the ambient light. He glanced up as the energy waned from the defensive shield above the Estate. The shield had held.
Once again, Tymos transmitted them both – this time to the nursery using a view through Jonko’s eyes for his reference, when he could not get a reply from his sister. He and Keleb arrived behind Jonko, between him and the nursery inner door.
The odds thus changed to one on one, the three remaining Aeronites were quickly overcome.
“Jordan transmitted in,” Jonko said quickly, he was already reaching for his own transmitter. “Stenn moved stuff in front of the door.”
Tymos felt his brother’s mind and received a vivid picture of the room. He forced the same image into the minds of his friends, adding aloud, “We want to arrive between Stenn and Llaimos”. Then he was in the inner room, seeing Tanya holding Llaimos behind her in one corner, crouching behind the scant protection of a potted plant. The rest of the furniture formed a barrier at the door, beds, chairs, spare linen, small cabinets…
Stenn was fighting Jordan, keeping him from his target, and both were using their full strength. Jonko and Keleb moved immediately to bracket Stenn, Tymos went to stand in front of Tanya as the last line of defence. Jordan suddenly had to defend against three opponents, and he stepped back to get the room.
He was good, Tymos observed. He must have had experience fighting in tight places, but in terms of skill, not even close to the level achieved by students of Jono Reslic.
“Give up,” Stenn advised his opponent. He had overcome his shock at needing to fight an enemy who was so like his best friend. The resemblance was skin deep. “You can’t win against four of us.”
Jordan jumped back further, drew a weapon, and fired it in Tymos’s direction, as pounding began at the door.
“You will have to do better than that, brother,” Tymos challenged. His force screen had dissipated most of the beam and the only damage was to the plant that caught the edges of it. Tanya had instinctively ducked, leaning over to protect Llaimos.
“Interfering peasants!” Jordan snarled, frustrated at seeing his chance to steal the child vanishing. He heard the sizzle of a disintegrator beam, the sound coming from behind him. He smelt the ozone tang of the discharge. His reinforcements were almost through the barricade.
Reassessing his chances, as he heard the furniture barricade moving, he attacked the central Tymorean again. The blond haired lad was a good fighter, one of the Tymorean President’s whelps. The two newcomers had brown hair - they could only be talented commoners. They were less of a danger.
While he watched his main opponent, and seemed to be ignoring the other two, his left hand was aiming for the figure seen in his side vision. His knife thrust was parried, and the aim of the disintegrator was kicked aside. The beam took a chunk of the wood and plaster from the ceiling, but he didn’t lose his grip. He parried an attack from the blond haired fighter, and fired his disintegrator again, in the direction of the red head. All three of the nearer Tymoreans came at him, as energy beams from two weapons lanced from the cluttered doorway. Fighting to protect himself, Jordan took his eyes of his target for a split second. In that instant of inattention, the red head, the woman and the child, vanished.
Jordan snarled a curse and fired from close range at his three opponents, not caring that his own suit took some of the energy of the disintegrator. The two Aeronite reinforcements fired at them too, as they scrambled up over the debris. Then he felt an intensely painful tingle and stumbled slightly - thinking his force screen was failing. Instead, he realised that his opponents had also vanished.
He recovered his balance and spun to face the two reinforcements.
“Too damn late,” he yelled at them, needing to vent his anger. “You were too damn late!”