The Legacy of Lehr Read online

  Reynal howled at that, his golden eyes blazing and thin lips curled back in a triumphant sneer, and dropped Courtenay—but it was only to turn his attentions on the captain and Casey, the latter of whom dove back behind his chair to reload. As Reynal advanced on Lutobo, scorning the weapon that Lutobo emptied impotently against the shields and then threw at him, Wallis scrambled after and grabbed the decanter off the table he had just passed.

  But as Reynal reached Lutobo and grabbed him, too, taking him to his knees with no more than a flick of his wrist, and Wallis drew back to fling the decanter at Reynal, hoping the impact of a larger, slower projectile might at least divert him, a familiar voice suddenly called her from behind. She whirled to see Wing emerging from the closet. An odd little smile played around his lips as he raised his needler.

  But, that won’t stop Reynal! she thought in that instant of confusion and disbelief, just before he swung the weapon to aim squarely at her, instead—and as she saw Casey sprawled motionless behind the chair.

  “What are you doing?” she screamed.

  “Put it down, Doctor,” Wing said softly. “Don’t you see that you can’t hurt him?”

  She could try, though. Whirling, she drew back again to throw the decanter, just as Reynal’s hand clamped onto her shoulder at the collarbone and a jolt like a stun charge set every nerve ending screaming for relief.

  “Do as he says, Doctor,” Reynal whispered, though his voice seemed hollow and distant, as if filtered through layers of cotton wool.

  She could hardly see for the pain, as her legs buckled under her. She tried to keep hold of the decanter—one desperate possibility for a weapon to use against him—but she could feel it rolling from nerveless fingers as the pressure of Reynal’s relentless grasp forced her to her knees, her arms dangling bonelessly at her sides and twitching uncontrollably as raw energy continued to rage through her body. While a calm, disjointed part of her managed to observe that Reynal’s shielding device must be responsible, all instinct shrieked that she must surely pass out or even die if the pain did not cease.

  It did cease very shortly, as Reynal suddenly gasped and released her, though she still could hardly see, much less move. It took her several seconds to realize that he had finally noticed the ampules and needler charges scattered on the floor behind the bed, some of the ampules smashed in the scuffle with Lutobo, who also lay twitching on the floor.

  “How did this happen?” Reynal gasped, falling frantically to hands and knees to gather up the intact vials. “Why did you bring them here?”

  He deposited a handful of ampules on the end of the bed, then groped for a hypospray.

  “They know that the cats aren’t responsible,” Wing replied, his attention temporarily diverted from her as he watched Reynal.

  Wallis could feel sensation returning—not fast enough!—but the effort of forcing order back to scrambled synapses was agonizing, and she wondered whether Wing would shoot her before she could make it to the intercom unit at the door and signal for help.

  “I did everything you told me,” Wing went on, “but somehow Seton found out how the cat was killed last night. He did something to the dead cat’s mate.”

  “He knows us, then,” Reynal said. “We are lost.”

  His hands shook slightly as he slipped an ampule into the hypo and sat down on the bed; he touched a control on what looked like a wrist chronometer before triggering the hypo against his inner arm. Wallis shuddered at his sigh of relief and gathered herself for a dash to the door as Wing moved a few steps farther from it—and close to Reynal.

  “I—wouldn’t say Seton actually knows us,” Wing said quietly, shaking his head. “He doesn’t even suspect me, or I wouldn’t have been allowed to come with Doctor Hamilton and the captain. They were checking on you because they matched the blood types found on the engineer’s knife, and also on the cat’s claws. You were merely among the first on their list, probably because of—Not so fast, Doctor!” he snapped, suddenly noticing her movement and darting between her and the door—for she had only been able to manage a crawl rather than the planned dash.

  As he planted a boot against her shoulder, shoving her helplessly onto her side, she heard Reynal chuckle. “Such a persistent woman,” he said. “Her spirit is strong. She will make a most worthy sacrifice. Shoot her, Wing, and you shall share in the glory.”

  Wallis’s stomach churned as she watched Wing smile and raise his weapon, but she kept doggedly trying to struggle to her hands and knees—for to fail was to die. She never saw the faint spark of Wing’s needler as he pulled the trigger, but she heard its faint pop, and she felt the dart sting her shoulder. The impact made her body jerk at that close range, and she thought insanely of the bruise she would have if she survived.

  Then she felt her balance going, her vision starting to swim, her ears beginning to ring. She did not lose consciousness as she sank back to the floor—the low-dose needler Wing had used was not sufficient to really knock her out—but she could not keep herself from falling.

  Dimly she was aware of Wing bending over her, of something bulky being dragged closer. Then a dark, smothering softness was being drawn across her body. It was Reynal’s cloak, full and black—the “wings” one of his victims had described—lined, she saw now, with soft, blue Lehr cat fur.

  CHAPTER 11

  Wallis tried to will her drug-clouded mind to recall everything she could about the man who now held her captive. And Wing—she still could hardly believe that the brilliant and career-conscious Wing, always so fastidious in his observation of military discipline, could have been won over so thoroughly to this madman’s cause. It was he who must have gassed his comrades and let Reynal in to kill the Lehr cat.

  “What are we going to do now?” Wing was saying, holstering his weapon and dropping to one knee beside the berth where Reynal now lay back, shoulders propped against the headboard and trembling in after-reaction from his injection.

  “I am sorry to have dragged you farther into this, Wing,” Reynal said softly. “Now the unbelievers will kill you, too, if they have their way. But at least the Coming Time will be sweet, if the Shining Ones are avenged. We have the final sacrifice in our power now.”

  “We?” Wing said quietly. “What, exactly, did you mean before, when you said you would share the glory?”

  “That, if you wish it, I shall make you truly their servant,” Reynal replied, closing his eyes dreamily. “You shall taste of their glory. Nor do I make this offer lightly, Wing. You are not of my people, but you have been an earnest and loyal seeker. And after, I shall give you a clean death, if we cannot escape—though I have a plan for that, too.”

  “I hope so,” Wing said quietly, “because I’ve betrayed my own people for you. Even if I should survive, I’m finished if anyone should find out.”

  “I shall give you a far more glorious vocation in their service,” Reynal answered, stirring himself to sit up on the bed. “Nor was your sacrifice for me, but for them.”

  He thumbed the ejector on the hypospray, sending the spent Reparanol ampule tumbling and twinkling toward Wallis in a high arc before it bounced on the carpet and came to rest a few feet from her paralyzed foot.

  “Prepare Doctor Hamilton and the captain, and then come to me, tsortse,” Reynal said, “for I must prepare you as well, if you are to taste of the gods’ ecstasy.”

  The click of his reloading the hypo was like a portent of doom as Wing went briefly to the door to do something to the lock. Wallis’s stomach churned and knotted even more than it had before. It got worse when Wing returned and pulled the Lehr cat cloak over the armchair, fur side up, then lifted her to a half-sitting, half-reclining position between its arms, her head lolling helplessly against its back.

  The chair faced toward the door, only the foot of the bed visible in her peripheral vision, so she could not really see Reynal, or what he did to Wing as soon as the young Ranger had sat down near the head of the bed. She did not want to believe that Wing had actu
ally made the conscious decision to aid Reynal, but the hiss of the hypospray convinced her that he was, indeed, won over. She saw Wing’s foot jerk as the drug hit him, and heard his stifled moan, and found herself almost hoping that Reynal had miscalculated and overdosed Wing. Death would be kinder, in the end, than what Mather would do to him when his betrayal was discovered.

  “Rest a while now, tsortse, while the drug transforms you,” she heard Reynal say.

  Then he was suddenly standing over her, his pale, golden eyes staring down at her with a hunger that she had never thought to see outside a nightmare.

  “You have been a great trial to me, Doctor,” he said softly. “Nor have the Shining Ones been as cooperative as I might have wished, despite my best efforts, in their behalf, to avenge them. Even with their voices stilled by the drugs last night, they betrayed me—me, the servant of the gods, their servant! This was the thanks I got!”

  He yanked back one sleeve to reveal a heavily bandaged arm, then pulled open the front of his shirt so she could see the long, angry welts splayed across part of his chest.

  “Reminders of my carelessness,” he said bitterly. “I should have waited for the darts to take effect more fully. Now the wounds fester, further reducing my effectiveness. This would never have happened, if you had not taken the Shining Ones from Il Nuadi!”

  The sleeve was let fall, but he did not bother to refasten the shirt.

  “However, I can forgive you that, Doctor, once reparation has been made. Tell me, are you curious at all, before you taste oblivion? Would it comfort you to learn how the rest of it was done?”

  Wallis was far more interested in the why than the how, but she could not stop herself from watching as Reynal picked up a dark cloth bag from the floor near the door and put it on the small table close beside her chair. She had to force her eyes to focus closer as he removed a thick handful of loose blue fur, an embalmed Lehr cat paw, darkly bloodstained, and a close-fitting leather glove with steel blades set into the fingertips. The how became clear in an instant, even as Reynal began working the glove onto his left hand.

  “Do you understand now, Doctor?” Reynal asked, flexing his fingers in the steel-studded leather. “Wing’s little—ah—‘improvement’ to my microbe shield enabled me to stun my victims to helplessness before they knew what hit them, as well as protecting me from attack. Then, wearing my cloak of fur and with these aids for misleading even the ‘experts,’ is it any wonder that my hunters believed me to be a cat, especially when they knew the cats were aboard?” He clicked the claws delicately under her nose.

  “Fur and claws, Doctor. And bloody paw prints. Clever, don’t you think? I must modestly admit that the teeth were my own.”

  He drew back his lips at that, in a gaping caricature of a smile, and Wallis could see the bright, deadly fangs protruding from beneath his upper lip. She wondered why she had never noticed them before—then realized that in all the weeks she had worked with Reynal on the expedition, she had never seen him smile.

  She swallowed, stiffening as he trailed one blood encrusted claw down the side of her neck in sinister caress. Whatever else he was planning was curtailed, however, at least for the moment, by the insistent shrill of the door buzzer.

  With a mutter, Reynal reactivated his shield and closed his bare hand briefly across her upturned throat. His touch sent agony vibrating through all her nerve endings again, intensifying her paralysis, blinding and almost deafening her before he withdrew toward the door. Though Wallis knew she had no hope of moving, still she strained her vocal cords, hoping she might be able to make some warning sound, once Reynal opened the audio circuit. But it was futile.

  “Yes, what is it?”

  Outside, Shannon started at the low, calm voice. She had her override key in her hand and had been about to try overriding the door as well as the audio circuits, but now she paused and glanced aside at Mather. Beyond the Imperial agent, three security guards waited, with two Rangers just out of the door’s visual field to her right.

  “Mister Reynal, this is Doctor Shannon, ship’s surgeon,” she said, lowering her hand at Mather’s head-shake. “I’m trying to locate Captain Lutobo.”

  “Oh? And what makes you think he might be here, Doctor?”

  “Because the ship’s computers said he might be,” Shannon replied. “I tried to page him a little while ago, but he didn’t answer. I thought the special environment in your room might be interfering with his communicator.”

  “How curious. Well, he is not here, Doctor.”

  “What about Doctor Hamilton?” Shannon persisted, with a glance at Mather. “Have you see her?”

  “Now, why would I wish to see her?” Reynal replied. “This really is becoming most tiresome, Doctor. Good day.”

  As the intercom went dead, Shannon positioned her override strip again, glancing at Mather and preparing to dart out of the way as the door withdrew. At his nod, she inserted it and pushed—but nothing happened. Shaking his head, Mather motioned her to join him, moving farther out of range as the guards eased in to fill his place. The normally mild hazel eyes were like stone. Suddenly, Shannon felt a little afraid of him.

  “He’s done something to the door,” she whispered. “He shouldn’t have been able to short out my override.”

  Mather nodded, looking past her at Reynal’s door. “I’m not surprised. I already knew he was lying. Wallis is in there—I know she is—but there’s something grossly wrong.”

  “You—know she’s in there?” Shannon whispered.

  Mather avoided her eyes. “I—ah—it’s a talent I have for finding people. It isn’t reliable for strangers or mere acquaintances, but—well, Wallis and I have been together for—many years. The indistinct blur I was reading means—to me—that she’s been injured, or drugged, or—I don’t know exactly what is wrong; just that something is wrong.” He looked at her at last. “The others must be in there, too—the captain, Wing and Casey, and—Courtenay, the security chief.”

  “That would make sense,” Shannon agreed. “But could Reynal have taken all five of them? One or two, maybe, but—”

  “It Reynal is responsible for what’s been happening, I think we’ve completely underestimated what he may be able to do.” Mather glanced back at the guards and Rangers. “I’m also afraid either Casey or Wing was his accomplice. I think they’re both type A-positive. I wonder what’s taking that door burner so long.”

  “Well, it isn’t exactly standard issue on a civilian ship,” Shannon muttered. “I don’t see your men performing any miracles just now.”

  Mather gave her a tiny, bitter smile. “I’m sure they’re doing their best,” he conceded. “I just don’t know how much time we’ve got. Wallis is still alive—I know that much—and I’m pretty sure the others are, too. But how long that will continue to be true, I couldn’t begin to guess. I wouldn’t want to rush Reynal into anything rash, but I don’t think we dare delay very long.”

  Inside, meanwhile, Reynal and Wing had not been idle. The room was already strewn with tufts of blue Lehr cat fur.

  “We shall try to make them think the cats have been here,” Reynal was saying as he gathered up more of the scattered ampules, power packs, and needler charges in a satchel and checked the settings on both his hyposprays. He had also produced a highly illegal miniature stun pistol from a hiding place in the closet and stuck this in his waistband as he approached Wing. “The evidence still points to the cats, even though no one understands how that could be possible. All that is really necessary to keep us in the clear is a reasonable doubt.”

  Wing, who had dragged the half-conscious captain to a sitting position against the foot of the bed, drew back as Reynal knelt and briefly laid his bare hand against the captain’s throat again, his shields giving Lutobo another stunning jolt. Lutobo was still twitching as Reynal withdrew and turned the shields off; and Wing braced him as he sagged more heavily against the end of the bed, breathing a little erratically.

  “Isn’t it a
little late to still be blaming the cats?” Wing asked. “Commodore Seton knows your blood type, and he’s already connected that with the earlier deaths. Besides that, he needled them just before I left. He’ll know they couldn’t have come here.”

  “He knows nothing of the true powers of the Shining Ones,” Reynal said, snapping off the top of a Reparinol ampule and handing it to Wing with a fanatic fervor in his eyes. “Drink that now. It will help you to assimilate the blood.”

  As Wing obeyed, grimacing as he sucked the ampule dry and pocketed the empty, Reynal went on.

  “Good. Now breathe deeply to calm yourself while I tell you what must be done afterward, for I still must perform the culminating sacrifice, once we have finished with the captain. When all is completed, we must make it look as if the cats have been here on a rampage, with only the two of us surviving. We shall destroy the evidence of our true handiwork. And afterward, when all is in confusion, we shall escape in a shuttle ship. The fools will never understand the full truth. Hold him, now. I will prepare him for you, but he is yours. Even stunned, he will try to fight at first.”

  Wing’s face showed no emotion as he locked down on both Lutobo’s wrists. “Seton is no fool,” he muttered.

  With a derisive laugh, Reynal hooked a claw in the closure of Lutobo’s tunic neck and ripped it open, forcing the proud neck back against the edge of the bed with his right hand while his left closed around the throat, a steel-gleaming, razor-tipped forefinger poised over the right jugular vein, just below the pulsepoint.

  “Seton is a fool, tsortse,” he murmured, staring into Wing’s eyes, “but you are none. And you shall join the numbers of the blessed. Taste of the sacrifice now, and become one with the gods!”