The Rifter's Covenant by Sherwood Smith & Dave Trowbridge

Author:Sherwood Smith & Dave Trowbridge [Smith, Sherwood & Trowbridge, Dave]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: space opera, space battles, military science fiction, political science fiction, aliens, telepathy
ISBN: 9781611385298
Publisher: Book View Cafe
Published: 2015-07-24T07:00:00+00:00

FLOWER OF LITH: BARCA ORBIT

The starboard bay was chilly; the crisp air seemed to amplify the snapping of the static discharges as the shuttle eased through the lockfield in rainbow display.

Norio was shocked at Hreem’s appearance, the more so when he sensed the captain’s curious emotional flatness. The big man’s face was haggard, and he walked with a slight stiffness, as though he’d been beaten. A large dyplast case gripped in his left hand slapped against his leg as he stepped out of the little ship.

Hreem glared at the staring faces surrounding him. “What’re you narking at?” he snarled. His voice was as powerful as ever, echoing in the bay. But the affect behind them was forced, even subdued. Hreem’s emotions had always been far more violent than most men’s. What had the Barcans done to him?

“You all right, Cap’n?” Erbee asked, his pimply, buck-toothed face worried.

Hreem laughed. “You’d be walking like this, too, if you’d just bunnied nonstop for twelve hours. Those little trogs got some sextech you wouldn’t believe. And the Maters, they don’t seal a deal with a handshake!”

The crew guffawed and Norio sensed Hreem relaxing fractionally.

He relaxed, too. Perhaps the flatness was the result of extended passion. Norio sustained a surge of jealousy: he loathed being left out. Had Hreem encountered another tempath down there? There was no trace of that in his emotions.

But Hreem never had a vid of the most hated man in his world burning to death, either. Wait until Hreem saw the show Norio had assembled to celebrate his success at obtaining the Ogres!

Hreem strode to the lift and Norio followed him through the hatch. “News?” Hreem asked, but in a preoccupied voice.

“Barrodagh has issued a call for tempaths.” And Norio waited for questions. Dissent. But all his carefully worked out explanations—teases about why he should go, the rewards, even—all so Hreem could argue against it were so much wasted effort.

Hreem grunted with indifference. Norio flared hot with resentment, sensing that he could be leaving at that moment, and Hreem would not even notice.

Norio probed with jealous urgency for the usual undercurrent of sexual tension that registered awareness of his presence. It was absent.

“What should I send as answer to Barrodagh?” Norio asked, to break Hreem’s fixed stare.

Hreem grunted. “Later.”

To his surprise, Hreem tabbed the lift not to their quarters but to the engine room. Norio forbore to query him. Even a non-tempath would sense that he didn’t want to talk.

He might as well be null for all he was getting from Hreem. Norio clenched his hands, loathing the vivid memory of the old Phanist Chenkrit at Glen Lleddyn on Desrien. You have chosen the path of entropy, to destroy instead of build. There will come a day when you will pray to be null, and there will be only one answer.

Norio twitched his head, dispelling the image. Desrien was long ago and far away. Perhaps, when Dol’jhar triumphed, he could persuade Hreem to take him back and let him fire the skipmissile that would put an end to the world that had rejected him.

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