Astra

Chapter Thirty: Exchange

"Ayyye," Howl said. He walked unevenly towards him.

"Stay clear, buddy," the Knife said. "We got to watch this guy. You all right, there?"

"Right. Aye," Howl said. "Yes."

The loss of Demma must have scatted his brains. "Ok." He kicked the Phyrnosian. The beast's flesh was solid and did not budge. It lurched forward, flicking its tail. Sand sprayed into Vince's face and Qabal bounded into the lifter. The Phyrnosian embassy wheeled and was gone.

Howl dropped to his knees. Vince took his arm. "C'mon, man. You'll be alright. Let's get you back."

"Okay," Howl said. He did not look particularly concerned, although he had a twitch under his right eye. Terrible shock, Vince thought.

Qabal turned to the driver. "Have there been any more attacks?"

"You mean Mituant attacks, sir?" the driver said. The corners of his mouth tucked under. "Yes. Nothing we do seem to has any effect on them, sir."

"What does the general populace think?"

"We edit the broadcasts, sir. To avoid a panic."

Qabal nodded. The driver peeked at him. Could this old slave-trader really be Qabal? Rumors traveled so quickly on Phyrnos. Sand, as the natives said, never kept its secrets.

"They're telling stories about you, sir," the driver said.

Qabal said nothing. He was hungry, impatient to arrive.

The driver had grown up on stories of the wild revolutionary, attacking skin bags in the Valley of the Bone. It was the reason he'd joined the military. Unconsciously he tried to sit like Qabal, massive and sprawled, staring straight ahead from a place deep in his skull. It felt good. He felt better. They would come out all right of this thing with the Mituants. If Qabal wasn't worried, neither was he.

The ship that would deliver them to Eriphet wasn't far now. But here came the sticky part.

"They said I had to, sir. As a precaution. Sir." The driver held out the chains he'd been given. The slave trader gave him a heavy look, but raised his hands. He looked away.

The driver linked them loosely. He winked nervously at Qabal. The former revolutionary stared at him until the other Phyrnosian swallowed. Had they been standing, he would have taken a step back, but in the lift there was nowhere to go. Qabal shook off his chains briskly. He held out his wrists. "Again," he said. "Do it correctly this time."

"If you say so, sir."

Qabal tried them. "Better," he said.

He was led into the ship and flown directly to the military grounds

outside the great city of Phayara Khado. From there he was escorted into Eriphet's ready room. Crowds of soldiers had gathered outside to watch his entrance. He had a slow and deliberate way of walking, and they watched with memorizing eyes. Many years later, songs would still be sung about Qabal, composedly entering the Valkyrie's ship in chains, his head high, his black eyes seeded deep in his face.

A few lanterns beside the door flickered, registering his entrance. Eriphet was waiting. Neither Phyrnosian looked at each other.

Qabal's driver saluted smartly. "As you requested, sir."

"Leave us," Eriphet said. The escort complied, turning neatly on his heels. He went out of the room with his blades rustling gently. The door sealed behind him.

"They say you are my father."

"They say many things," Qabal said.

Eriphet looked at him. At the way the big Phyrnosian hulked as he stood there before him, his heavy head held stiff. All his life Qabal had been no more than a story, a retreating shadow. There were days he wondered if his father was even real.