could not save her. Too many
decoys had died in his place. No one would trust him to give
himself up now.
The payment for
his lies would be the life of the only person who truly mattered to
him. He would reap the legacy of the deceit he had sown, and it
would be more painful than he had ever imagined possible. His oath
bound him, and he meant every word. Atlan would fall if she died,
and, even after his death, the killing would not stop until the
last of his ships had been destroyed or Atlan was no more. His
people would avenge his death just as he would avenge hers, and,
once set upon their path, nothing would turn them from it.
“A message from
Shadowen,” Scimarin said, interrupting his thoughts. “Rayne ordered
him to destroy the facility in which she’s housed. When he refused,
she ordered him to tell her escort do it.”
Tarke unclipped
the mask and rubbed his face with a groan, sitting back. His
commanders would never obey that order, but the message dumped a
mountain of shame on him. She would die for him. Despite the fact
that he had not revealed his feelings, and had not intended to.
Despite his refusal to tell her the reason for his coldness, which
had hurt her. Guilt suffused him, and he brought his fist down on
the arm of his chair with enough force to send a shaft of pain up
his arm.
“Scimarin, send
a message to all my ships. They are to set course for Atlantean
planets, and at least three hundred must go to Atlan itself. They
must wait for the signal, which will be... if Shadowen
self-destructs. If that happens, they’re to attack the planets.
Send the message on an open frequency. If the Golden Child dies,
there will be war between my empire and that of the
Atlanteans.”
“It’s
done.”
Tarke rubbed
his aching hand. “I hope Tallyn takes me seriously now, because
only he can stop this.”
Tallyn stared
at Marcon, trying to ignore the tension that crackled around the
bridge. Several officers turned to look at him, all wearing worried
expressions. He paced in circle, then stopped beside Marcon’s
console again.
“He’s bluffing.
It’s insane.”
“It was
transmitted to all his ships, sir, preceded by the personal codes
he uses when he issues direct orders. I don’t think he’s joking.”
Marcon’s mien was grim. “Perhaps you should cancel the Golden
Child’s memory probe. It lacks the support of the masses, or at
least it would if they knew about it. It certainly lacks the
support of the crew.”
Several
officers nodded, and Tallyn’s scowl deepened. “She’s not going to
die! How can she? He’s just trying to intimidate us. He’ll do
anything to prevent his capture. It’s a ruse, nothing more. How can
anyone die from having their mind read? Tell me that.”
Marcon shook
his head. “I don’t know, sir. Perhaps she has a suicide implant,
like some of the others we’ve captured.”
“They’ve
scanned her. They’re not idiots. The only implant she has is the
one we gave her, and that can’t be tampered with.”
“He offered to
give himself up, sir,” the navigation officer pointed out.
Tallyn snorted.
“Give us another decoy, you mean. He won’t sacrifice himself. That
would be pointless, since he’s trying to prevent us from capturing
him.”
“Unless he
really does believe she’ll die.” The officer glanced at his
colleagues, who nodded.
“If she did, it
would only serve to protect him, so why would he offer himself in
return for her safety? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe he knows
something we don’t,” Marcon said. “He must have a good reason to
make such threats. It could almost be a codicil to the prophecy. If
the Golden Child dies, Atlan will be destroyed. Sounds like a
prophecy.”
“Marcon, cut it
out. No one’s going to die, and there isn’t going to be a war.
We’re going to get an image of that bastard, and then we’re going
to catch him, that’s all.” Tallyn gestured. “Anyway, it’s not up to
me. It’s the
decoys had died in his place. No one would trust him to give
himself up now.
The payment for
his lies would be the life of the only person who truly mattered to
him. He would reap the legacy of the deceit he had sown, and it
would be more painful than he had ever imagined possible. His oath
bound him, and he meant every word. Atlan would fall if she died,
and, even after his death, the killing would not stop until the
last of his ships had been destroyed or Atlan was no more. His
people would avenge his death just as he would avenge hers, and,
once set upon their path, nothing would turn them from it.
“A message from
Shadowen,” Scimarin said, interrupting his thoughts. “Rayne ordered
him to destroy the facility in which she’s housed. When he refused,
she ordered him to tell her escort do it.”
Tarke unclipped
the mask and rubbed his face with a groan, sitting back. His
commanders would never obey that order, but the message dumped a
mountain of shame on him. She would die for him. Despite the fact
that he had not revealed his feelings, and had not intended to.
Despite his refusal to tell her the reason for his coldness, which
had hurt her. Guilt suffused him, and he brought his fist down on
the arm of his chair with enough force to send a shaft of pain up
his arm.
“Scimarin, send
a message to all my ships. They are to set course for Atlantean
planets, and at least three hundred must go to Atlan itself. They
must wait for the signal, which will be... if Shadowen
self-destructs. If that happens, they’re to attack the planets.
Send the message on an open frequency. If the Golden Child dies,
there will be war between my empire and that of the
Atlanteans.”
“It’s
done.”
Tarke rubbed
his aching hand. “I hope Tallyn takes me seriously now, because
only he can stop this.”
Tallyn stared
at Marcon, trying to ignore the tension that crackled around the
bridge. Several officers turned to look at him, all wearing worried
expressions. He paced in circle, then stopped beside Marcon’s
console again.
“He’s bluffing.
It’s insane.”
“It was
transmitted to all his ships, sir, preceded by the personal codes
he uses when he issues direct orders. I don’t think he’s joking.”
Marcon’s mien was grim. “Perhaps you should cancel the Golden
Child’s memory probe. It lacks the support of the masses, or at
least it would if they knew about it. It certainly lacks the
support of the crew.”
Several
officers nodded, and Tallyn’s scowl deepened. “She’s not going to
die! How can she? He’s just trying to intimidate us. He’ll do
anything to prevent his capture. It’s a ruse, nothing more. How can
anyone die from having their mind read? Tell me that.”
Marcon shook
his head. “I don’t know, sir. Perhaps she has a suicide implant,
like some of the others we’ve captured.”
“They’ve
scanned her. They’re not idiots. The only implant she has is the
one we gave her, and that can’t be tampered with.”
“He offered to
give himself up, sir,” the navigation officer pointed out.
Tallyn snorted.
“Give us another decoy, you mean. He won’t sacrifice himself. That
would be pointless, since he’s trying to prevent us from capturing
him.”
“Unless he
really does believe she’ll die.” The officer glanced at his
colleagues, who nodded.
“If she did, it
would only serve to protect him, so why would he offer himself in
return for her safety? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe he knows
something we don’t,” Marcon said. “He must have a good reason to
make such threats. It could almost be a codicil to the prophecy. If
the Golden Child dies, Atlan will be destroyed. Sounds like a
prophecy.”
“Marcon, cut it
out. No one’s going to die, and there isn’t going to be a war.
We’re going to get an image of that bastard, and then we’re going
to catch him, that’s all.” Tallyn gestured. “Anyway, it’s not up to
me. It’s the
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