Even now, only their fear of Gallen held the locals at bay. Except for Jagget. Jagget alone seemed to be a true patriot, and he was begging for Gallen to end it all. Set this world afire rather than leave it in the hands of the Dronon Empire. Perhaps he knew the hearts of his people too well.
In that one moment, Gallen would have freed the nanotech warriors within the Terror, if he had had the ability. Jagget walked up to him, grabbed Gallen's wrist, shook it so that the Terror fell to the ground. He stared into Gallen's eyes.
"You can't do it, can you?" Jagget whispered fiercely, as if Gallen had just betrayed all of his hopes. "You've got only one Terror, and you're trying to get it to Dronon—just as Maggie said."
Jagget spun, spoke to his soldiers. "I'll be escorting these people to their destination."
"Sir," one young woman objected, "shouldn't we report their capture to Lord Kintal?"
"You may report it to the dronon bastards if you wish," Jagget said calmly with just the slightest hint of a threat. "But of course, our orders to stop these people were based upon the false assumption that they had many Terrors in their possession. Since that report is obviously spurious, we have no reason to detain them."
The woman looked at him warily, took a step back. "I'll report that everything was quiet on my shift," she said. "May I take a car thereafter, along with my personal leave?"
"Yes," Jagget said. "I think that would be wise."
"You mentioned Maggie," Veriasse said to Jagget. "Where is she?" Veriasse had Everynne on the bike, his arms cradled around her. Everynne's eyelids fluttered. She tried to raise her head, struggled to regain consciousness, then fell back.
"She will join us shortly." Jagget unclipped a small commlink from his belt, spoke swiftly in some personal battle code.
"We'll need a room for a few minutes," Veriasse said. "And some hot food."
"Very well," Jagget agreed.
Veriasse lifted Everynne, carried her to the back of the compound, down to a small apartment. There he laid her on a bed, lightly tapping her cheek as she struggled to awaken. A dozen soldiers followed them into the apartment. Veriasse turned on them, shouted for them to leave.
Only Gallen, Veriasse, and Jagget stayed to nurse Everynne. Veriasse removed her robe, turned her on her back. She had two burn marks from the stunners, a light one on her lower back, a severe wound on her neck.
Veriasse caught his breath, pointed to the neck wound. "This one may leave a scar." Jagget went to a sink, returned with some water and began spooning it over Everynne's back. Meanwhile
Veriasse took out his sword, nicked his wrist and let the blood flow over her wounds.
"What are you doing?" Gallen asked.
"The nanodocs in my blood will help heal the skin," Veriasse said. "Unfortunately, the burn has seared the blood vessels at the subdermal level. The nanodocs in her own system will not be able to combat the wound very effectively. I am hoping to prevent a scar."
Gallen sat, and together they watched the wound. Over the next fifteen minutes, much of the burned and blackened skin dissolved; the swollen red welts reduced in size. Everynne finally woke during that time and whimpered at the pain. Veriasse bid her to be still.
At the end of the fifteen minutes, fresh new skin began to grow over the wounds, but there was a distinct red mark on the back of Everynne's neck, shaped like an I.
Veriasse put his head in his hands, sat still for a long time. "I fear," he said heavily, "that all my years of preparation have been jeopardized. Now that the nanodocs have finished knitting the tissues together, we can do nothing to speed the healing process. The blemish should clear in a few days but ... We must delay our trip. Everynne's blemish makes her ineligible to challenge the Lords of the Swarm."
"How long of a delay do you need?" Jagget said.
Veriasse shook his head. "A few days."
"Veriasse," Jagget said, "the dronon have been sending in troops all week. They know you're here. I could try to hide you, but I don't think I could hold them off that long. At this very moment, the vanquishers have this entire area surrounded. The sooner you leave here, the better your chances of making a clean escape."
"It's only a small mark," Gallen said. "Her clothing might hide it."
"The dronon wear no clothes," Veriasse said. "They will have the right to inspect her without clothing."
"Cosmetics," Jagget said. "Body paint?"
Veriasse looked up, skeptical. "If the dronon discover our deception, they will kill her outright."
"It's worth a try," Jagget said. "You can't wait for her to heal. The dronon have already built one gate key. They can build another. In a week's time perhaps, none of the worlds will be closed to them."
Gallen studied the two men, feeling trapped. Their inability to make a choice galled him. He wished the scar was permanent. Everynne had never wanted to come on this trip. She had been chosen as a sacrifice, and only her generosity let her continue the journey. The only way she could hope to win this battle was to walk away. At least, then, she could live her own life. A scar on her neck would have been a ticket to freedom.
"It will have to be some form of makeup that will not leave a detectable scent," Veriasse said. "At least nothing the dronon can smell. And it must match her skin color precisely."
"I don't know," Jagget said. "That will be a hard order to fill on such short notice."
Everynne turned over, looked at Gallen for a moment, considering her options. "Please, do what you can," she said to Jagget. "I must challenge the Lords of the Swarm quickly."
"Are you sure?" Jagget asked.
"Yes," Everynne said.
Jagget nodded. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes."
Gallen lay down on the floor, weary to the bone, thankful for a few minutes' rest.
A moment later, the door opened again. Gallen did not bother looking up, thinking that one of the Jaggets had entered the room. Suddenly Orick was beside him, licking Gallen's face. "Top of the morning," Orick grinned. "I see you ignored my warning and blundered right into the trap anyway."
"Orick!" Everynne shouted, rousing up in her bed. Gallen threw his arms around the bear. There was a white bandage on Orick's shoulder, a look of pain in his eyes.
"We thought you were dead," Gallen said. "We found bones by the roadside."
"A friend," Orick said soberly. "I left my message and was on my way home, dodging vanquisher patrols. My friend, Panta, stopped to pick me up on the highway, and the vanquishers caught us. She lost her wits and ran for cover. I was too weak to follow. Afterward, they brought me here for questioning, then left me with the Jaggets."
Gallen could tell that there was more than casual friendship involved with this she-bear. He could hear the hurt in Orick's voice. "I'm sorry, my old friend," Gallen offered. Orick limped over to Everynne, gave her a hug. They sat and talked quietly.
Two soldiers brought in some plates of food. Gallen and Everynne sat on the bed and had a bite to eat. Veriasse paced, looking at the wall clock as he waited for Jagget.
Minutes later, two Jaggets came into the room, escorting Maggie. She looked tired, worn, but she smiled in relief to see Gallen. She hugged him and whispered, "I am glad you're well."
One of the Jaggets, an older man, was better dressed than the others Gallen had seen. Captain Jagget introduced him with great flourish as Primary Jagget.
Veriasse stood in deference and said, "Primary Jagget, I thought you were dead." Gallen could not miss the tone of respect in Veriasse's voice. Veriasse glanced at Gallen and explained. "Primary Jagget is one of the great Lord Protectors of our time. He was a Lord Protector three thousand years before I was born."
Primary Jagget said softly, "I was a Lord Protector, Veriasse. Now, the dronon have conquered my world, taken my title and position. I have worn out my flesh and been forced to download myself into an artifice. The dronon would not even have allowed that, but for my clones. They have retained enough power to force an uneasy truce."
Primary Jagget clapped a hand on Veriasse's shoulder. "I regret having detained you and your friends, and I regret the harm I've caused here. What I have done, I have done in order to protect my world and my people. I had to be sure of your intent."
Veriasse hesitated a moment. "I suspect that I would have done the same in your position."
Gallen sensed that much was being left unsaid between the two men, and he wondered what kind of relationship they had. They were both Lord Protectors, and though their interests ran afoul of each other, they shared a mutual respect.
Primary Jagget begged them to be at ease, then knelt over Everynne, applied a flesh-colored salve to her neck, and rubbed it in until Gallen could hardly see the scar. When he finished, he stepped back and looked at Everynne admiringly, then bowed. "You are the exact image of your mother Semarritte. I had to come see you for myself. May you grow in power and grace and beauty. I wish you could stay and enjoy my hospitality, but I am afraid that I have just started a war in your behalf, and it will not be safe for you to remain."
"A war?" Veriasse asked.
"The vanquishers must have learned you are here. They began moving in just moments ago. I've ordered my men to wipe out every vanquisher within three hundred kilometers," Primary Jagget answered. "It has long been rumored that you built a gate to Dronon. I know the location of every gate on the planet. Tell me where you must travel, and I will clear a path for you."
"North, sixty kilometers," Veriasse said.
Primary Jagget raised a brow. "There isn't a gate in that region."
"I disguised it so that it does not look like a regular gate," Veriasse said. He glanced at Everynne. "We must go now."
"Wait a moment more," Primary Jagget said. He reached into a fold of his brown jacket, pulled out a mantle. "This is the mantle I wore as a Lord Protector," Jagget said. "I do not want it to fall into enemy hands. I would like you to take it. You have long been a Lord Protector yourself, and I doubt that there is much it could teach you. Still, when you battle the Lords of the Swarm, I would ask that you wear it. Perhaps it could be of help."
Veriasse took the gift. It was an ancient thing of black metal, not nearly so elegant as the mantle Veriasse had given to Gallen. Still, Veriasse took it for what it was, a symbol of hope.