Peter’s Keys, he was tired. Gaining two hours going west was all to the good, but their destination required touching down at many desolate airstrips. The control tower at Lebanon airport had not interfered with them, other than requesting they park their meth off the runway. After refueling, their group had swung back east in the plane Lucy had chartered, the bulk of her warriors following in a mid-sized carrier.
There would be fewer warriors than expected — even Garth had figured out that much. There had been little time to talk alone, since the warriors had returned with Darame Daviddottir, but Lucy had managed to tell him that with the announcement from Anderson’s Darol University, Rex had drastically altered his plans. Instead of a fleet at his back, Rex had but the group stationed at the Amuran embassy — no token sampling, but apparently far from his original estimates. They also had another hostage: Quen of Dielaan.
Just what we need, Garth thought, glancing over at Lucy. She was an interesting color, pallid yet with bright spots of color on her cheeks. Another fight had been imminent, over The Atarae, until the senior warrior had explained that they had used a knockout dart on the woman. Only then did Lucy subside — she had been demanding a healer, terrified that The Atarae’s continuing unconsciousness meant a fractured skull or worse.
Garth’s eyes shifted fractionally — he did not wish to look upon the bonelessly limp bundle wrapped in a blanket and carried over one warrior’s shoulder. This “cage,” as the mining elevator was called, could hold one hundred miners at a time, but right now it seemed claustrophobic.
Trouble, trouble, trouble. How could they begin to sabotage Rex’s plans? Time to bolt? Where? No, Garth needed to know where Rex was and what he was up to, before he could keep his promise to Lucy.
Oddly, the miners in the changing room had been calm in the face of their visitors. The one “boss” still present from the previous shift had been more upset at their intention to descend without hard hats, lanterns, and reinforced shoes than at their decision to go below. Lucy had ignored her warriors’ restlessness, taking time to get tiny scraps of metal with Arabic numbers stamped into them. She had handed one to Garth and kept two for herself, indicating with a vague gesture that the other was for the “bundle.”
“Chits,” Lucy whispered suddenly, recalling Garth to the present. “The pieces of brass are called ‘chits.’ Everyone who enters a mine must carry one — they use them in copper mines, too. To identify bodies in case of mining disasters, and to know how many people are below at any given time.”
Comforting....
“Mostly for detonation,” the miner said suddenly. “We have to be sure everyone is out before we blast. We are the explosives crew — we get time between each shift to pop boulders and continue caving.”
Garth considered asking what ‘caving’ was, and decided against it. Mining surely had its private language, and one question would breed a dozen. His ears popped, and he wondered how deep they were going.
Finally the cage slowed to a stop. “2377 level,” the miner announced briefly. “This is where we sent them.”
“2377?” Lucy asked.
“Meters,” the miner replied.
“Are we almost... 2,377 meters beneath the surface?” she whispered, growing even more pale.
“Huh? No, honey, we are but 790 meters or so under. We name levels according to elevation. Did not your ears tell you?” He smiled faintly at this, and then reached for the bar across the gate.
His motion triggered a seal, and the doors unfolded like a flower, panels sliding back and bolts clanking. Courteously gesturing, the miner allowed Lucy to step off the cage first. A warrior abruptly flicked a finger at him, indicating that he was to accompany them.
“Why?” Garth said aloud. The warrior turned and regarded him mildly. “Rex must have everyone he needs down here already. This man is a miner, not a supervisor — he has no authority, nor skills with the type of thing going on here. Do we even have enough food and water for ourselves, much less anyone else? Let him go back; you left a guard with the hoistman at the top of the cage, no one is coming down without his permission.”
Neither the warrior nor the miner moved. Garth forced himself not to blink. He didn’t know why it was important to get that miner back to the surface, but it felt important.
The warrior looked at Lucy; she turned to the miner.
“The way is simple?”
Lifting an arm, the man pointed. “Straight to the crossways, and turn right. Just follow the lights along the back of the drift.”
As one, the group stared at him uncomprehendingly. A warrior started to move toward him. Lucy imperiously held up a hand of warning, once again a princess of Dielaan.
“Follow the light strip along the ceiling of the passageway,” the miner said hastily, clearly after thought.
Translation, Garth did not say, but knew it to be truth. He had trained a few long-hauler dock loaders in his time, and vocabulary was always a stumbling block. Everyone waited to see Lucy’s response.
Nodding slightly, gracefully, Lucy smiled her thanks and turned away, dismissing the miner with a flick of her fingers. A good move, that — the warriors were unlikely to pursue the issue.
It was white light that was used to illuminate the passageways — dim to Garth’s eyes, but more than sufficient for movement. Lips slightly puckered, Lucy looked impressed by the conditions.
“It is very clean,” she said simply, stepping carefully over a pool of water dripping from pipe condensation. “Copper mines do not line their walls with reinforced cement.”
“I doubt they line all of them,” Garth murmured. “Probably only the ones closest to the eleva — cage.” He looked up above their heads, where the lights ran in a single row down the center of the “back.” “If they call the ceiling the back, what are the walls?” Lucy’s shrug was eloquent.
Major lighting ran to the right, with spot lighting to the left. The cement floor had already petered out, replaced by native rock and dirt. Rough stone walls jutted toward them, reminding them they were within a mountain. It was eerie, seeing the next group of lamps just beyond a belt of darkness, watching a breath of air stir a wisp of Lucy’s hair.... Good ventilation fans, he told himself. Surely nothing lived down here.... Turning away from the “drift” leading off into the heart of the ore body, Garth followed Lucy toward the control room.
“Have they dug the trinium out of this tunnel?” Lucy said aloud.
“Drift, not tunnel,” he reminded her.
“There is a difference?”
“There must be — he didn’t use ‘tunnel’ when he changed his wording, did he? As for the trinium, I imagine it’s like many other metals — almost invisible to the eye. Processing has to take it out. They mine a lot of things up in these mountains — nickel, copper, gold, silver, other platinum group metals — chromite, too, I think.” He looked intently at the sides of the drift. “This was probably cut for transportation, not mining. There’s another name for finding pieces of pure metal... place... placer, that’s it. Like placid. I did a bit of gold mining once,” he added, offhandedly. “In a river on Gavriel.” He was rewarded by her look of respect.
Reaching the control room door, Garth stepped aside to allow her to enter first. Courtesy or prudence? he taunted himself.
They walked into a model of efficiency. One entire wall was lined with screens, the diagrams animated upon them a marvel of complexity. It was all notated in Nualan, of course, but in Lucy he had an able translator.
“Ore pass,” she read carefully, her finger tracing above a branching network of lines.
“Serae!” whispered an anxious voice. Turning slightly, Garth saw a lathe-thin, seamed old man, whipcord from years of weathering. “Those are active screens, with hidden controls. If you touch the wrong place, you could open a pass door, or stop an engine under a chute. Someone could be injured!” His Caesarean was stilted, but understandable.
“Of course, how careless of me,” she said gently, and the man grew visibly calmer.
Rex has been baiting you. Garth could feel sympathy for the supervisor; this room was undoubtedly his usual domain, and in Garth’s experience plant managers took their duties seriously.
“The screens are a great deal of fun,” came Rex’s smooth voice. “The colors change on the temperature gauges, and when you cut the ventilation fans, everything turns red.”
“Rex, for shame!” Lucy told him, trying to sound teasing. “There are people down here, are there not?”
“One hundred fifty, an entire shift,” he agreed. “No need to stop work, if Atare is reasonable.” Leaning back in a flexseat, The Dielaan looked to be in a very good mood. He nodded casually in the direction of the opposing corner, where Quen sat stoically. “Quen feels sure Atare will be uninterested in another war.” Then he turned a hard eye on Garth.
“We need someplace warm and quiet for The Atarae,” Lucy said quickly. “These clumsy idiots injured her.”
“Not seriously, I hope?” He might have been inquiring about the weather above.
“I do not think so. Since they drugged her, I have yet to make sure of her condition.” This was a trifle stiff. It seemed to amuse Rex.
“You may play doctor, if it amuses you. The lunch room is adjacent to here — through that panel,” he added, flicking fingers in dismissal. “And Garth... how good to see you again.”
“Dielaan,” Garth chose to say, nodding a greeting.
“Do you know what that means?” was the purring response.
“That you are the hereditary ruler of twenty percent of this planet’s population, among other things.” Now that they had come to it, Garth found himself remarkably unafraid — at least of Rex. It seemed foolish to bring him here only to kill him. And if that was Rex’s plan, well, there was always dignity at the last.
“You will be pleased to know that each new plan takes us further from our initial problems. We should have everyone so confused, it will never occur to them to question you about the removal of the antimatter.”
“Where is the antimatter?” Garth asked.
“Safe.” He gave Garth a long look. “It never occurred to me you would run. Surely you knew that my position was as tenuous as yours? Your constant carping at Lucy irritated me — I merely wished to silence you.”
“What is tenuous about being Dielaan?” Garth decided to answer.
Rex smiled thinly. “There is always someone else waiting in the wings, ready to take your place.”
“The only people who wish to take your place will need to remove far more than one Dielaan,” came Quen’s voice.
“Since I will not be removed, it is a moot point,” was Rex’s casual response. The sound of footsteps caused him to turn his head.
“Do you know, I think we are alone on this level?” It was Lucy’s brother Silas. “There is a maintenance shop of some kind, and equipment is humming, but no one is there. And there is no food, except for a few satchels in a cold box. Not good for a prolonged siege,” he pointed out, taking a seat. “Good to see you, Garth. Did you enjoy Dielaan?”
“Not much time for seeing the sights,” Garth admitted, and as the other laughed, he added: “The Cied women were beautiful, though.” That seemed to disconcert Silas.
“What did you do with my sister?” he finally inquired.
“I think she’s trying to revive The Atarae,” Garth answered, craning his neck toward the panel at the back.
“Who?”
Garth turned his head back to the man and surveyed his frowning countenance. “The Atarae. The ‘guest’ Rex asked Lucy to bring along?”
Rex started laughing.
“The... the... you mean Sheel Atare’s wife?” He stared at his cousin, his expression a mixture of respect and chagrin. “Well, old cos, I certainly hope you have planned this down to the last iota, because Sheel Atare may dig a tunnel to this room to reach you. They say he is not a bit rational when it comes to that woman.”
Rex shrugged, flexing his fingers expansively. “All the better. He will do nothing to endanger her. You —” He pointed to the supervisor. “Get a satellite line, I want vid and infonet access.”
The wiry man sucked his thin cheeks in, his pale eyes straying to the screens. “I am sorry, Dielaan, but that is impossible.”
“Impossible?” His velvet tone made Silas visibly wince.
“This is a completely enclosed line, to protect our secrets. We can communicate with any other control room within Mare Imbrium Mine, or the surface control. But that is it.” Realizing this would not be a popular answer, the man spread his hands helplessly.
“Then how,” Rex started softly, “am I to know whether plan A is on schedule?” He had not raised his voice, but several warriors looked very uncomfortable, and Silas had moved back into the shadows.
“Plan A?” Garth asked, hoping to distract Rex with a solid question.
“A few fires among friends — my friends setting the fires, of course.” Rex contemplated the screens, seemingly enthralled with the movement of ore. “I decided to corner the grain market this year.”
“What?” The volume turned the heads of everyone but Rex. Quen had actually turned and risen to his feet. “You did what?”
“The wheat and oat fields of Kilgore and Seedar are burning by now,” Rex explained patiently. “They will extinguish the fires, of course, but not until a good portion of the new crop is cinders.”
“And what do you expect to eat, come the harvest?” Quen said acidly.
“Dielaan can produce enough to make up for it,” Rex replied, his dark brow slightly furrowed. It was plain he was not used to arguing with Quen... at least not past the first exchange.
“It has completely slipped your mind that we appear to be entering a drought? That we are down in rainfall inches by a good third, and no rain is in sight?” Quen was furious, and fighting to keep control — his hands were white from clenching his fists.
“The monsoons —”
“Have not come! Spring rains, not monsoons! The weather pattern has changed! And if the monsoons do not come in the west, then the overflow does not pass the mountains.” Quen actually began to step toward the group.
Rex slowly stood, turning to face his younger, and taller, brother. Garth never knew what he was going to say — or do — for a beep interrupted the scene. Heads swiveled toward the supervisor. He glanced at the screen.
“Control Center,” was his terse explanation.
“Answer them,” Rex told him. “Remember my captain and his pallet.”
Visibly trembling, the Ataran reached for the screen and touched one of the multicolored squares running along the bottom of it. A man with a face like a tarnished copper coin appeared on the vid mode. He was dressed in a tunic of heather grey, a yellow stripe wending its way around the hem.
Mock-sini, pricked Garth’s memory.
“Your status, Campbell?” The man spoke accented Caesarean.
“All areas are working smoothly, Sir,” the supervisor replied. “The Dielaan would like a linkup to the infonet, I believe.”
“One moment.” The man turned to someone beyond their range of sight and conferred. Glancing back at the lens, he said: “It is possible, but will take a while. In the meantime, I have been asked to pass on to The Dielaan some information that may interest him.”
“He can hear you,” Campbell said after Rex nodded.
“The Amuran Forces have questioned the man Stennis, and have discovered the procedure he used to secure the Stanford antimatter trap. There is a problem with the jury-rigging of the trap and the control box. Dissimilar metals are involved. Transference is taking place —”
“How long is their estimate?” Garth asked, moving before the screen.
For the first time, the man looked uncertain. “I do not think they —”
“Well, find out, for Mary’s sake! You don’t expect The Dielaan to take your word for it, do you? We’ll stand by.” Turning to the supervisor, he said: “Cut the audio.” Then Garth turned back to the others.
Lucy, at the open panel, was as white as new snow, while Silas looked like he might pass out. On the other hand, the warriors looked uncertain, and Quen thoughtful. Rex was openly amused.
“Surely they do not think we would fall for that?” Rex finally chortled.
“Transference is no joke,” Garth said briefly, turning his back on them. “And any number of conditions can speed up or slow down the ion migration between the metals. We may have a big problem.” He gestured for Campbell to reconnect the line.
In a few moments the man on top said: “Amura has suggested that, depending on humidity, power draw, and other variables, the minimum resistance point will change anywhere from 150 hours to twenty days from activation of the link.”
One hundred fifty... six days. They had taken the antimatter eight days ago. “OFF!” he said to Campbell, and then whirled to face Rex Dielaan. “We’re already two days into the danger zone. We’ve got to get a new control box on that trap.”
“Surely the system cannot be already corroded,” Quen said uneasily.
“It doesn’t work that way.” Garth’s growing fear made him snap. “We’re not talking solid rust, here — all the metal has to do is corrode enough to block current. Then the refrigeration controller fails — that has to be what they’re afraid will happen. If it does, the superconducting rings overheat and then —” He broke off at that, as he realized Rex was calmly extending his index finger to support his head above a carefully-placed hand and arm. “You don’t believe me.”
“I do not know,” Rex said candidly. “How long, on an average, does such corrosion need before resistance changes?”
“It depends on conditions! Where have you been storing it? Is the place hot, cold, damp, dry? I don’t know how much current the wire Stennis used was meant to hold. But I’m not trained in that line.” It was a helpless admission, but the look on Lucy’s face demanded it.
“An average,” Rex repeated.
No matter what I say, you are going to refuse them. “If the unit has been stored somewhere cool and dry, I’d say twelve days if we’re lucky.”
“And it has been... eight?” Rex considered the fact. “Then we have two days maximum before we must let them near the unit. Agreed?”
“That depends on the conditions where it’s stored.”
“It is with my captain at the bottom of the mining shaft we entered.”
There was a gurgle of protest. Garth turned his head toward the supervisor. “You have something to say?” He hadn’t meant to sound threatening, but Rex made him want to bully people.
“The... the mining levels are very damp and hot, and grow more so, the deeper you descend. That is the ore train level,” he mumbled. “Not the best place for antimatter.” Rex reached for the screen. “Not that one, that monitors the pumps!” It was a shout.
“Pumps?”
“We must continuously pump water out of the depths — over 4000 liters per minute. It is 30 degrees when we pump it up; we use the heat exchange to produce 25 million BTUs per hour.” This last part sounded rehearsed, and Garth wondered if the man sometimes did tours for officials.
“30 degrees?” Silas whistled his appreciation. “A nice tub bath! Not quite enough for a whirlpool, though.” The return to the subject of the mine seemed to reassure him slightly.
Lips thin, Campbell said: “Not so pleasant to stand hip deep in while reinforcing a drift.”
“Is this a volcano?” Rex asked casually. Campbell stared at him, clearly afraid to answer. “Well?”
“No, Dielaan... it was certainly formed by volcanic activity, eons ago, but the active parts of the range are north and south of here. The heat comes from radioactive decay. Part of the reason our exhaust fans are so strong is radon gas.” This was very carefully said; Garth could see the caution in Campbell’s eyes, and wondered if Rex was paying attention.
“Pity,” The Dielaan murmured. He flicked a glance in Garth’s direction. “What would you say to half this year’s haul of trinium as a ransom for one woman, one mine, and one trap of antimatter?”
Such strange dreams... people meeting and saying the most bizarre things. Always have options, Halsey reminded her, even as Riva Ragäree lovingly shook her ancient head at her favorite daughter-by-law. A healer will always try to protect you, even when you shun safety. And Sheel, his thin, worn features as familiar to her as the triple moons of Nuala, the expression crossing his face saying as clearly as words: You enjoy this sort of thing. Danger is your lifeblood.
Not danger; the game.... Through thick eyelashes she could make out a dim light. Coming from the next room... here, all was darkness. Night and pain — funny how things never hurt until they were noticed. There had been a fight... she remembered punching a hole in someone with her stiletto. Then a flash of light, and nothing. Sweet Mendülay, she was so nauseated....
“Atarae?” Very soft, almost a whisper... not Mailan.
Gods, Mailan. If they got to me, then — Who were they?
“Atarae? I have a bit of water. The mug is old, but it is clean.”
Darame’s suddenly acute senses could actually smell the water. A stoneware cup was thrust beneath her nose, and a hand reached to support her head. The shriek surprised them both; pain swept over her like a wave, momentarily extinguishing sight.
“Forgive me, I am not thinking —” This was cut off suddenly. “Perhaps... if you could roll over on your side? I could check the bleeding.”
She did not sound steady, her accent from the interior... why was her voice familiar? Since when do you know kidnappers? Sweet Mendülay, what was she involved with, now... I do not have time for this... would not another diplomat do? How could one be sure of anything with such an ache — Blood? Instinctively she touched her thigh. “How much blood? From where?”
“The back of your head,” was the brisk response. The “voice” carefully straightened her back and bent her legs. Steadying Darame’s neck, she slowly tipped the woman to her side. “All right?”
“No worse than before,” Darame responded, laying her fingers over her stomach. No hope, no hope of keeping this life. She would be lucky to get home alive herself. If I had known, I could have sent Mailan alone — Could Mailan have dealt with the Cied? Damn, the Cied, had she told Mailan about the bargain? A poor guardian of that knife she turned out to be.... Snips of conversations — Livia had been there, had she not — of course! Dielaan! “I was in Dielaan.” Memory began to return.
“Yes.” This was very strained. “There was little I could have done, except maybe sound the alarm, and I simply did not have the courage. I will be spending the rest of my life making it up to you and my aunt.”
Aunt. Ah, the voice was familiar, after all. Lulani. Did that mean Garth Kristinsson was nearby? Darame could not help it; she started to giggle, ignoring the pain as her head vibrated. One-track mind.
“We are outside Lebanon, at one of the trinium mines, Mare Imbrium.”
That snapped her out of her bleak humor. “Whatever for?”
Lulani sounded close to tears. “I am not sure Rex knows. He seems to be declaring war on several clans at once — at least Quen says they are acts of war. I certainly would look on them that way.”
“Where is the antimatter?” Why did her voice have no strength?
“You do know — I was so sure you knew nothing.” This was a whisper.
“I knew that the antimatter was stolen and I suspected that Kristinsson knew something about it. Your timely arrival kept me from pursuing the subject. Is this mine under siege?” Darame reached with fumbling fingers for the mug of water. So dry, why was her throat so dry?
“Rex controls the elevator and the deep control bay,” was the response. “There is still a shift in the mine, working. But it is only a day since you were taken — the ships have not even reached Kilgore.”
“It is a cage, not an elevator. He has attacked other clans?” The water was actually chilled, who would have thought it.
“Not... there has been no challenge. But he sent people to Kilgore and Seedar to burn crops. We are having a drought, and he is burning crops!” This last was intense, and Darame opened her eyes in surprise.
Has he gone too far even for you, child? “Rich men rarely go hungry during a famine,” Darame chose to say, closing her eyes again.
“I do not understand what he is thinking. It was that announcement Darol University made,” Lulani muttered, her usually delicate voice flat and lacking resonance. “I am sorry, but he will not let me get water to fix your gash.”
“There should be a first aid box close by, if we are near a RAM,” Darame told her. “I would appreciate something for nausea, if you have it.”
“In my catch-all, maybe —” Darame heard rustling sounds. “There is an emergency box, but Rex wants you looking green when he sticks you before the camera. Idiot.” There were sounds of a seal breaking. “These can be chewed; they are mild, but they help me when things become too tense.” Slender fingers pressed a flat lozenge into Darame’s palm.
“Have the authorities arrived yet?”
“I think so — Rex told the supervisors not to call, but I think an alarm was sent before he thought to say anything.”
The lozenge was effective, and worked faster than Darame had hoped. Already the nausea was retreating, although her head ached abominably. Slowly she raised herself to one elbow.
“Has Atare sent a force yet?” She managed to get out. Even the slight change in position made her dizzy.
“Careful, you may have a concussion. Oh, yes, they have the buildings surrounded,” Lulani told her. In the dim light cast through the open panel her usually golden skin was yellow, her copper-hued hair dull, lifeless.
Darame tried to keep her vision from doubling and fought for the right questions. “My guaard,”she finally started.
“They swore she was alive when they left,” Lulani said quickly. “But... she was not in the best of condition. Fortunately she was already unconscious when they grabbed you.”
“Fortunately?”
Lulani smiled faintly. “You did a great deal of damage to the man who seized you from behind. They had to drop him off at a hospice. And of course they could not retaliate against you.”
“Reflex.” Darame dismissed the topic to return to her major concern. “Where is the antimatter? Did Rex hide it in Amura, or somewhere else?”
“It is here.” Lulani actually began to tear up. “I do not know who is telling the truth anymore. Garth does not think they would lie about such a thing, and says it is possible. Rex thinks it is a trick.”
“Lulani, make sense. What trick does Rex fear?”
“I am not sure I can explain it,” the young woman started slowly. “Garth told me, after we stopped talking to the surface, but it is complicated. When metals are compatible — or is it when they are not compatible enough? — corrosion can take place. This can block the current. And if the current between the controller and the refrigeration unit fails, then the temperature rises, and....” She swallowed visibly.
Gods, it was so hard to think... how could she deal with a crisis when it was so hard to think? What was this woman talking ab—” Transference. You are talking about transference.”
“Yes! Transference. But Rex thinks it is all very convenient... and I think he suspects he is losing our support.” This last was barely audible.
“Transference does not happen overnight, but the phenomenon is quite real. Where is the problem?” Why am I so tired?
“In the wire Stennis used to connect the controller to the trap. It was just laying around the warehouse,” Lulani said promptly.
“Not that problem — the problem your cousin has with the story. Do they want him to send the antimatter to the surface?”
“Nooo, they want to send down some technicians to work on it.”
Idiots. I have been abducted by idiots. “Has he no common sense? We want the antimatter back in one piece — no one is going to play games with him over it. He can have the technicians stripped if he wants; no one will smuggle down weapons. Does he value his skin so little?” Darame sagged against the rock wall behind her, grateful for its support. Glad, too, she had worn her blacks to bed. It was not uncomfortable in this section of the mine, but a nightgown would have been breezy.
Lulani shrugged helplessly, lifting her hands in entreaty. Before she could speak, Darame added: “If you say, ‘He has the right,’ I may hit you.”
“No. I will not say it.” Firm, her chin lifted. “I am no longer convinced there is any gain in this little game of his. Does he truly think he can blackmail three of the largest clans and get away with it? He cannot hide forever behind the walls of Dielaan... and if he does, he may have no people left beyond those walls once he comes back out.” This last was sad, but it had the ring of long thought.
“If the fields of Kilgore and Seedar are burning, they will not burn Dielaan — I assure you.” Now what? Was there any chance to reason with this crazy Dielaaner?
“Not that.” Lulani shook her head. “I do not think our people will follow him to war. The outkin, yes... but not the masses.”
Ah. So, if we can beat this brush-fire out.... Darame curled her knees up to her chest. “Help me sit up.” Easier said than done, and Lulani clearly would have protested if she had dared. Moving told Darame something extra... they had not bothered to search her. They left my cat knife! How she would use it, she had no idea, but it made her feel a bit better.
“We do not have much in the way of food, but if you would like some?” Lulani began hesitantly.
“Not unless you have tea and soda crackers,” was the wry response.
Any Nualan woman would see through that statement. Lulani’s face looked bewildered. “You... you are not....”
“I wish.”
Lulani actually looked as if she would spring to her feet, and then stopped herself with an effort. “No; Rex must not know.” Black gaze met black; Lulani’s eyes were filled with almost desperation.
“Well?”
“He hates your husband.”
The intensity made Darame flinch. “He hates many people, your cousin.”
“But you are here, and... I still do not think he will... kill you. I will not give him any more ammunition!” This was fierce.
Wearily, Darame said: “Lulani — Lucy... you must choose sides. All this vacillation is bad for your character. I do not know why you chose to back Rex in this ill-planned madness, but I do not think that remaining neutral will gain you anything.”
“He said no one would die! That he would not dream of starting a war!” Somehow she kept her voice to a whisper.
“And you believed him... chose to believe him? Knowing his mistrust of the other clans, his hatred for Atare? Well, my dear, he has caused deaths, and he apparently has started a war. What are you going to do about it?”
“Me?”
She was so new to the game. “You. Who else can do anything?”
“What can I do? We have been trying to think of something —”
“We. Who else is here?”
“Garth and I. Also Silas, and Rex, of course. A supervisor from the mines... Campbell, I think he is called. Rex brought Quen — a second hostage. Quen knew nothing of this, or never gave us reason to think he knew of it. And the guards from the embassy.” She leaned closer. “Do you have an idea? Garth said we needed to know where the antimatter was, before we could try to leave. But he does not want to leave you and Quen — he is afraid of what might happen.”
“Commendable of him,” Darame murmured. “Where is the antimatter?”
“Last I heard it was at the bottom of the ele — cage shaft,” she said quickly. “Rex’s new captain of his guard is watching over it. They brought a communicator to use between them, but it does not work well in here.”
Darame considered the problem. “Can you get to the surface?”
“I am not sure... there is a guard at the top, and if Rex did not call ahead on the vid, he might not let the... the hoistman bring up the cage.”
“So convince Rex to let you take out an important message personally — something he does not want to share with any others watching the vid. One of us must get to them and tell them where the antimatter is located,” Darame stressed. “And I am not moving very well yet.”
“You should not be moving at all,” Lucy pointed out.
“Sometimes we must make sacrifices.”
“Do you think I can get out?” This was blunt.
“Keep them busy; I may be able to get out the other exit.”
“There is another —” A whisper of astonishment.
Darame raised a finger to her lips. “A safety precaution... there is always another shaft in a trinium mine, although if you came through a ‘dry’ — a locker room, you came down the main one. I have never been in this particular mine, but they are all similar. How far along is the shift?”
Lulani shrugged again, although it was not quite as hopeless an expression. “It had changed not long before we came down. It is well into matins, now, and we came down in compline. They mentioned hours for measurement.” A frown puckered her delicate black eyebrows.
“Probably until prime, then. They cleared the mine, did you say?” Already I am forgetting what we have discussed. Wonderful.
“No... the entire shift is still here, working. We have been monitoring the internal net; I do not think management has told them about the emergency.” Very slow, this; Lucy was obviously still of two minds about it.
“Understandable, but that cannot go on, not if Rex refuses to allow the antimatter to be adjusted. Somehow you must get out of here! Lucy, I know not what you know about these mountains, but that containment trap must be working very hard to stay cool. The radiation level builds as descent is made, so the air and water are hot. Even the fans and pumps cannot pull out all of it.”
“Garth tried to tell Rex that moisture and heat could speed up the transference,” Lucy whispered. “But he has convinced himself that we have at least two days before we need to worry.”
“Wonderful,” Darame said softly, momentarily closing her eyes. Lids flicking open once again, she asked: “How do my pupils look?”
“What?”
“Are they the same size, or have they dilated oddly?”
Obediently Lucy leaned over and peered at her. “They look the same.”
“Good. Now, we have two priorities — we must clear everyone out of this mine, and we must get the antimatter stabilized... or out of here.”
Smiling faintly at this blithe statement, Lucy said: “Rex is constantly monitoring the internal net and the cage hoist. How will you tell management to clear the mine? How will you get away from here?” she added, tilting her head curiously.
“Right out the opposite door, my dear. You will go tell them I am asleep again, and that you are still not happy with how I look. Make sure no one comes in here for... as much as an hour, if you can. I am not sure how fast I can walk. They do not expect anything of me, not after knocking me about as they did — and that is to my advantage, right now.” It was tiring, conversation. How could she hope to stand, much less keep moving?
“I... I think you are right. Even if you get lost in this mine, it is better than waiting to see what Rex will do next. Before, he was predictable, if vicious. But now....” She shook her head, bewildered.
“It is worse than you know.” Darame considered a scrap of information; a trump, one might say in cards. “Your charming cousin ordered your Uncle Tsuga to ‘take care’ of the problem of the regent. He tried to poison her. Fortunately, your aunt is a very suspicious and observant woman, or she would be no longer with us.” Darame slid the young Dielaaner a glance; Lucy looked stunned. “Smooth your face, woman, and start distracting. Remember — always keep a lie simple! Go!” Almost, she forgot and tried to gesture with her head — pain warned her to keep her movements contained. “Oh! Do you have a pocket torch of some type?”
Lucy shook her head. “I am sorry, but we did not bring down hats or lights. I did get you a chit — it is in your pants pocket.”
At least they can identify the body. “Next time, pocket a torch.”
“Next time?”
They both managed a faint smile.
“Then placement is everything?” Sheel asked slowly, intently studying the diagram on the wall before them.
“Absolutely, Atare,” responded the woman to his right. “No matter where the explosion took place, there would be structural damage, but it could be dealt with later. Our major fear is proximity to miners. Unless they have moved during matins, The Dielaan’s party is located... here.” Extending a telescoping pointer, the manager indicated an area near the junction of Shaft Number one and level 2377. “Half of our current shift is working somewhere on 2377. Now, we can communicate with them both individually and by crews, but not without Dielaan knowing about it.”
“What can he do, other than decide to detonate the antimatter?” Zaide asked from the shadows behind them.
“This is the main underground control room. He can arbitrarily shut down ore passes, play with the ventilation fans, delay the cage —”
“Can you override him?” Sheel looked up as he spoke.
The manager grimaced, tilting her head sideways in a nervous gesture. “Theoretically, yes — but there are guards topside between us and the main board. Also, the crews who eat on 2377 now know the control room has been seized. Those who are deeper than 800 meters must come up to eat on the surface; this shift they were unable to leave the mine. Right now my greatest fear is that someone will think the major threat is Dielaan’s access to the controls, and try to break in on them.”
“Access through a net tap?” Crow asked.
The manager shook her head. “We have so many safeguards to prevent that, it would take at least a day to break into the system.”
“I am not sure we have a day,” Sheel murmured, his gaze returning to the diagram. “So Dielaan controls the main shaft. But there is a second shaft, to the north of the ore body?”
“The heavy equipment shaft, Number six. Miners mucking in that area often use it because otherwise it would take too long to get to their work areas.” She turned back to the projection. “We could send people down the north shaft, and pass the word by mouth — clear the mine that way.”
“Could we reach everyone?”
“Impossible,” said the second supervisor, who was standing next to Zaide. “We have literally hundreds of miles of drifts.”
“If we sent a few people in with porta-vids? And coordinates for working drawpoints?” the other suggested in turn.
Her counterpart frowned in her direction, but Sheel could see that the stout man was considering the idea. “Maybe,” he said finally.
“Every communication and alarm system runs through the internal RAM?” Crow stated dubiously.
“Communications, yes — it is very hard to send messages through this rock. As for alarms, we have many kinds, but they all have different meanings. There is an accident siren, which clears the transpo drifts so that an injured miner can be removed. We also have a warning blast for ‘fire in the hole’ — a last call before blasting commences. Those signals will be worthless to us.”
Sheel stared at the diagram, letting the images blur into light. Sweet Mendülay, he was tired. Good thing these two had been late to their shift, or the advice being offered by the miners would be as scattered as his own thoughts.
No time had been wasted; over a thousand Atare warriors surrounded the Mare Imbrium buildings, and already Crow was trying to discover a way into the mine. This required all his attention; he could not spare thought wondering how Leah was doing, or why Mailan and Darame had not called in a third or fourth time. His dreams had been uneasy, and his dreams often were an uncomfortable window into the future....
“If we could find out where the antimatter is, we could slip in and seize it,” Crow murmured, carefully scanning the diagram of the mining levels.
“And if it is not with them? If they have sent it to another part of the mine?” Zaide asked. “That seems likely.”
“They could not move it far,” Crow said, his voice indicating his thoughts were elsewhere. “It must weigh a hundred kilograms. If they have any common sense at all, they have it on a puff packet.” Now he turned back to the two mine supervisors. “The ore train level — could we go in through that tunnel?”
“Not without alerting Dielaan. The bed through the mountain is one track, with only enough room for the train itself. Possibly you could ride a train back inside, but you would need to be in the cars for about five kilometers, until you reached the chutes. Then you would need to move quickly, before the train came to a complete stop, for if we delayed the chute, it would register on the screens in that control room.”
“For how long would it register?” Clearly Crow had already made up his mind; all that was left was to evaluate the risks.
“A yellow light would flash the entire time, indicating a change in procedure. I would think that anything less than five minutes would be dangerous. Light is dim down there, unless we are working on equipment, and you have never seen what you would be entering. A mine is like nothing you can imagine, warrior, and even holos of what you would see would not prepare you.” The woman spoke soberly, her expression grave. Glancing at the other manager, she suggested: “Volunteers to lead them in?”
“Absolutely,” the other agreed. “I know your people have the best training possible, but even apprentice miners can get lost in these drifts.”
“Then you are in favor of the train tunnel?” she asked, surprised.
“I have no better alternative.” Stepping up to the multicolored diagram, his round face impassive, he pointed to three places within the mine. “Assuming they know little about mining, I would bet my next pay voucher that they have placed the antimatter in one of three places — between the ventilation shafts, as close to the center of the ore cave as possible, or at the foot of the main shaft. It depends on Dielaan’s true goals. If he wishes merely to damage us, the shafts are best, although a greater threat to the air supply. If, however, he brought the ore cave down into the mucker level... well, we might have to abandon the level, and create a new east-west drift approximately twenty meters below it.”
“Is there enough antimatter to destroy this mine?” Sheel said to Zaide.
“No. But according to the merchants’ estimates, there is easily enough to seal any shaft... possibly both Number two and Number three shaft, since they are not that far apart. That would leave only Number five for ventilation.”
“And the cage?”
“If they destroy the main transportation shaft, the only way out for those on 2377 would be the north shaft, Number six. It would require walking — or, if vehicles with enough fuel could be located, riding — approximately eight kilometers due north. All of this assumes that the concussion from the explosion does not cause cave-ins that far out. If the antimatter triggered under the ore cave, I have private reservations about whether any drifts in the area would withstand the vibration.” He swallowed visibly. “I speak abstractly, of course... if the shift is still below during an accident....”
“So — we must get it out of the mine.” Glancing at Crow, Sheel said: “I want entry from the train level and the north, simultaneously. You may need... additional weapons.” This was almost toneless. Nualans had so few types of weapons; taking life was usually the last thing on their minds....
“I requested Cied jabbers, Atare,” Crow replied. “And a burn.”
“Atare?” The unexpected voice caused both Sheel and Crow to tense. Simultaneously they turned toward the entry panels.
No trick of the ears; it was Mailan, in day issue blacks, the left sleeve missing. Her arm was wrapped from bicep to wrist, and her forehead bore pale evidence of a cold torch sealing, but the gray eyes were as steady as always. “We have a guest, Atare.” With that, she stepped aside.
Livia Ragäree, Regent to Dielaan, stepped into the room. Dressed in a skinsuit of vivid red, gold, and black, her house colors, she looked stripped for fighting, no older than her eldest daughter. Her porcelain features were now chiseled from rock rather than molded of fine bone.
“We must waste no more time, Atare,” she said crisply. “I do not wish to owe you wergild, and I do not trust that dog I once called son. Your Cied allies did their work well; their sabotage prevented two squads of warriors from following the lead of my cousin Tsuga.” She spit precisely to one side, and then continued speaking. “What with repairs, a platoon of my own will be here within three hours. I understand that the heir to Dielaan is also being held hostage. What plans have you made to alleviate this situation?”
Sheel stood slowly, his gaze meeting an emerald one that did not flinch from his own. It was all too obvious what her cryptic words meant; Mailan’s condition had warned him. “Also” being held hostage... Quen of Dielaan, that was already known. Now Sheel knew why Rex Dielaan was so confident Atare would deal with him. Blade and blood, stars and seed, Dielaan — until one of us is no more. It was a very old oath, the war cry of Wallace; why did it come to mind?
Forcing himself to nod graciously, Sheel said gravely: “I should have proposed to you years ago, Livia.”
Her smile was fierce, the lift of her eyebrows regretful. “Darame will not share.” She stressed her tense, as if daring them to contradict her, and Sheel returned her smile.
Somewhere close by water was dripping vigorously, splashing into fluid of unknown depth. The height and width of the darkened drift magnified the sound, causing an echo effect. Sweet Mendülay, how long had she been walking? Touching her roman, she veiled her lids, flinching as the light stabbed at her. Still lauds, just under two hours since she crawled out of the shift room.... A finger twitched, and the wall of black returned.
Darame would have killed for a “boss buggy,” the little balloon-tired tractor transports often left conveniently at a widening of the route, but they all were in use or parked elsewhere. Still dizzy from the blow, she had set her course by the only two markers she knew she could follow half-blind and staggering... away from voices and away from lights. There was no way to tell how many warriors Dielaan had brought with him, and once free she could not risk falling into their hands again. At that point, she had not wanted to find a group of miners; there had been too much of a chance that they might have wanted to storm Dielaan’s stronghold. Now, when she had some distance on the control room, now she wanted to find someone.
Lights had dwindled to merely intersections... and then nothing. Once she had recovered enough to think clearly, every step into nothing required conscious effort. It was not the darkness, the sheer sensory deprivation that frightened her... it was the weight. The constant knowledge that a thousand meters of rock was between her and the sky. This drift is at least six meters high and four meters wide. Relax, breathe deeply —
Leaning back against the wall — the rib, it was called the rib — of the drift, Darame massaged her left shoulder and took slow, deep breaths. Damn the elevation! Breathing was hard enough right now, and when you started thinking about all that rock above your head....
Do not think about it.
Finding a pole longer than she was tall had been incredible luck. She had used it to test for uneven ground, and to make large circles in the air in front and to her left. She had found the cords for two pneumatic doors that way — one she had missed, which required fifteen meters of backtracking and several minutes of slashing until the errant dangling cord was discovered. While there was dim, distant light, she had shut the doors as well, but the last cord had eluded her. Flagrant disregard of mining regulations, she told herself severely, trying to work the pain from her shoulder. Who would think a little pole could be so heavy?
“Not used to it.” The deep whisper seemed to carry, and Darame shrank into herself, waiting... listening. Only the water, and, further still, a distant vibration, scarcely felt through the soles of her boots, encouraging her on. Someone was working in this end of the drifts — maybe several someones. You will find them. A dull, snapping sound reached her ears, and the invisible band across her chest correspondingly tightened. Somewhere in this drift, the rock was “talking”... shifting minutely, moving toward either stabilization or collapse. Miners who live listen to the rock.
Water was Darame’s primary guide. The suspension of rock dust in the air of a mine would be fatal if not for constant wetting done by spraying trucks and piped-in water. Of course, these drifts were now for mucking, not drilling — here in a sense was the second stage of the operation. Some sixteen meters above her head, the explosives crew, through daily undercutting, drilling, and blasting, maintained the constant duty of making sure the ore body continued to “cave,” by gravity, evenly into huge drawpoints —
Darame’s flesh literally crawled, her hands gripping solid, comforting stone. By all the varied saints of my childhood, the blasting crew! Gods, what if blasting was about to commence? The mine was always cleared before detonation, but what if she was unconscious when the call went out —
Stop it. One hand reached and clutched the piece of brass in her pocket until a sharp corner drew blood. This means miner below — they will not blast with a chit unaccounted for.
What about the antimatter? Sitting at the bottom of that hot, damp, shaft, almost like a bomb, ticking away....
A miner. I must find someone who can help me. I must find a damn belt torch! On this level, most miners worked alone, operating unwieldy front-end loaders which would scoop up the ore from the drawpoint drifts and dump it into ore passes leading down to the train level. I know there is someone out here — the belly of the drift is wet. Belly... is that the right word? When something goes wrong, you are on your belly fast enough.
Enough rest. Darame had chosen this heading because it was so wet — surely someone was “mucking” here this shift. Now as long as they had not already moved on.... The pole extended cautiously.
Damp had become mud, and now a pool of water. Keeping a hand to the rib on her right, Darame probed continuously for shifting rock. A twisted ankle could be disastrous now... the water continued to rise. Past the ankles, to the calves... below the knee. A rock brought her left leg back up quite a bit, and then the pole slapped something. Another poke; almost a flap in response....
A smile crept across her face. Yes, she had chosen well. Not a pneumatic door, but heavy plastic stretched over the opening, controlling ventilation and keeping dust at bay. Dear Mendülay, what she would give for a light, much less a breathing mask. How to gain their attention without being crushed by a many-ton loader.... Working her way carefully to the center of the plastic, slipping a few times, Darame finally found the overlapping slit and yanked it apart. Instantly the sound of water changed from dripping to hissing... they were spraying to control dust.
Pulling the plastic together, Darame worked her way back to the right rib and started slowly into the heading. Already she could sense the difference; dust and a whiff of methane fuel stung her nostrils, and humidity brought home to her the increased temperature. Her body responded, breaking into a gentle sweat. Only the hiss of sprayers and the vibration of wet rock against her soles indicated a nearby miner. Darkness isolated her, a vast, empty feeling which threatened kilometers until the mucker was found. Remember that sound is deceptive underground, and carries oddly. The drifts had been exactly twenty-four meters apart; drawpoints were only separated by half that, as she recalled. Sure enough, her hand suddenly reached for empty space. Poking with her stick gave the impression of rubble. Reaching above her head, Darame traced the arch above the drawpoint with the pole. Still intact — in use, but not today. Twelve meters down the line, a second drawpoint contained a huge boulder. Delicately her fingers crept over the face of the rock; she found several holes which could only have been man-made. Praise Mendülay — blasting holes, empty.
Her concentration had been on touch and sound... now she noticed a change in her vision. No longer was there nothing beyond her nose; the face of the drift was now dull black rather than pitch black. A light. Gripping her pole tightly, Darame continued walking.
A third drawpoint was operational — tiny jets of water shot from the poured concrete insert at the back of the drift, coating her hand and arm with a fine mist. Only a few steps farther, her hand once again closed on empty air, even as her calf brushed up against a rib. What — ? Abruptly, she snatched back her hand, her heartbeat racing. Foolish. Now she remembered. These mines were designed so the mucker operators were able to dump their dippers of ore directly down a chute to the train level, over one hundred eighty meters below. To her immediate right was an ore pass. Farther down the chute there were heavy directional panels which could control the direction the ore fell, but if it was open.... Shivering, she continued walking, and quickly found solid rock once again.
Eyes stinging, Darame no longer merely felt the mucker — she could hear it. A low, growling rumble, increasing in volume, like an animal about to charge.... Accelerate, stop, creak and groan — scraping and grating, as a dipper was filled at a drawpoint. Faint light reached her, showing her that the drift was not truly straight —
Suddenly the light against the opposite rib was a thousand times brighter, a blinding reflection, illuminating thick, suspended dust which sparkled with the blaze of a crystal chandelier. A roar like a hound of hell overwhelmed her as monstrous inflated tires were momentarily within arms’ reach. Dropping her pole, Darame threw herself against the rib of the drift, clinging for dear life, knowing the clearance on each side was only thirty centimeters, praying aloud as her senses were hammered flat by unimaginable sound and light and darkness. A fusillade of stone rained upon her left arm and shoulder even as the shattered pole shot across the mouth of an ore pass and fell into the depths of the mountain.