Scattered Suns by Kevin J. Anderson Page B

Grudgingly Zan’nh added, “Keep the Hyrillka Designate alive, if possible...but do what you must.”
    Teams outside the sealed doors were using cutters and prybars, but the barriers had been designed to hold even against an explosion.
    Knowing Zan’nh was eavesdropping, the Designate showed no compassion, not a trace of emotion, as he ordered his rebels to gather the stunned reception committee. Rusa’h sat in his imitation chrysalis chair, directing his followers. “You have little time remaining, Adar. Surrender this warliner, or I will begin executing captives.”
    Zan’nh found it inconceivable that his uncle would do such a thing. But he had already slain Pery’h...
    The Adar called to his communications operator. “Have we heard from Qul Fan’nh? Warn him that the Prime Designate may also attempt treachery. I do not understand what is happening here, but we dare not trust Thor’h.”
    “No response from the first warliner, Adar. The qul does not respond to our communications.”
    An icy fist gripped Zan’nh’s heart. Was he already too late?
    “Your time is up, Adar,” Rusa’h announced, leaning close to the imager so that his expressionless face filled the screen. “By hesitating, you force me to demonstrate that my demands must be taken seriously.”
    Attender kithmen moved his chrysalis chair to give the imagers a full view. The Designate raised a hand, and two of his brainwashed guards dragged the groggy primary protocol officer into view. He had not yet fully recovered from the effects of being stunned. “This one will be first.”
    Zan’nh observed with growing alarm. How far would Rusa’h carry this mockery? “Uncle, wait! Allow me to—”
    The Hyrillka Designate gestured calmly and sat back in his cushions. The two guards slid crystal blades from jeweled sheaths at their sides, then moved with mechanical efficiency. One stabbed the protocol officer in the chest. The other drew the sharp edge along his throat. Arterial blood poured out in a foaming stream. The two guards released the body, letting the dead man slump to the deck plates. They stood back, their uniforms splashed with Ildiran blood.
    Zan’nh gasped. Two of his officers in the command nucleus became noisily ill. “You...you have killed—”
    By commandeering the imaging network, Rusa’h had transmitted the gruesome scene to every crewmember aboard all forty-seven warliners. “In another three minutes, I will execute a second victim. I should point out that as the effects of the stunners begin to wear off, the hostages will feel the agony of death more acutely. The reaction through the thism will then be more painful to all of you.”
    “Stop this!” Zan’nh demanded.
    “You know how to stop it, Adar. I urge you not to let the slaughter continue.” His voice was bland, smug.
    On a private channel, Zan’nh demanded of his security crew, “How soon can you break through?”
    “At least a standard hour. This is solid metal plating.”
    “Bekh!” The fist squeezed tighter in Zan’nh’s chest, and his mind raced for options. Through the thism, his father would be able to sense the danger, but not the details...only that something was wrong. He wished Adar Kori’nh could be there to give him advice. What would his mentor have done? How could he put an end to this? Designate Rusa’h was insane!
    Three minutes thundered by.
    Zan’nh had intimidated human skyminers. He had traveled to disaster-stricken colonies, and he had performed intricate war-game maneuvers. He had fought hydrogues. But this hostage situation, the cold and blatant threat of murder after murder, had paralyzed him as if he were no more than a novice. Zan’nh had heard of wild, irrational behavior by human heroes and madmen, but never an Ildiran . He had no experience with incomprehensible situations like this.
    In spite of such heinous, inconceivable behavior, the Hyrillka Designate was still the Mage-Imperator’s brother. He was still an