Scattered Suns - Kevin J. Anderson [56]
“I do not wish to be like Thor’h.”
Though Rusa’h had launched treacheries that no Ildiran could have anticipated, Zan’nh was ashamed that he’d been so easily fooled and surprised. Hostages slain, Qul Fan’nh and his entire bridge crew murdered, a warliner full of innocents destroyed. He shouldered the blame entirely. If he had merely acted on his suspicions—if he had believed his own suspicions—those victims would still be alive.
Instead, Rusa’h now controlled a maniple of warliners, and the Adar had lost many of his best officers, all in the space of two days.
Next, the Designate began to work on the hostage crews. From his gaudy imitation chrysalis chair, the iron-willed Rusa’h addressed one of his guards, who now manned a bridge station. “Show me images from the docking bay. I want to observe how my teams are progressing with the tanks of shiing gas.”
The screens showed Rusa’h’s pleasure mates and Hyrillkan engineers directing operations aboard the flagship. Apparently they intended to take over one warliner at a time. Muscular guard kithmen hauled tanks of processed shiing gas that had been produced from Hyrillkan nialias. The engineers rigged up conduits and pipes, connecting the tanks to the ventilation system before opening the valves to release the drug with its thism-blurring properties throughout the battleship.
Zan’nh’s muscles bunched as guards compelled him to watch. The weapons around him were still threatening. “Are you poisoning my crew?”
“I am opening their eyes. Shiing peels away the veil that obscures their vision.”
“Or maybe it clouds what they see,” Zan’nh said.
Rusa’h did not rise to the taunt. The Designate instructed his new bridge crew to seal off the circulation vents for the command nucleus. “We have no need of the shiing here.” Below, the engineering crews had donned breathing films over their faces so they would not inhale the intoxicating vapor.
Zan’nh was puzzled. “Are you afraid to let your own converts consume the drug?”
“They have been baptized with shiing, which loosens the bonds of thism and allows me to pull the strands over to my network. Once the shiing wears off, they are joined to me, and I do not need to soften them again. They are already loyal.”
The pale, powerful gas flooded throughout the warliner’s chambers; the remaining members of Zan’nh’s crew did not realize what they were breathing.
Thor’h signaled from the first warliner, formerly helmed by the slain Qul Fan’nh. “Imperator, I have achieved our goals over here: All of the previously deluded Solar Navy crew are now receptive. Their thoughts are yours to take.”
“Excellent, Prime Designate Thor’h.” Rusa’h gripped the edges of his chrysalis chair. Before he closed his eyes to concentrate, he looked one last time at Zan’nh. “I will yank them away from the corrupt Mage-Imperator Jora’h and lead them on the correct path to the Lightsource. Watch how I unknot the snarled thism that strangles these other Ildirans with unholy delusions.”
“I see delusions,” Zan’nh said, “but it is not my crew that suffers from them.”
The Designate gave a wry smile, then leaned his head back, closing his eyes to focus his concentration. The prevalent shiing gas had dulled and confused the minds of the crew, making them receptive to the manipulation that Rusa’h now performed. His brain exerted its control over the thism, expanding outward through all the decks of the ship and extending to reach Thor’h’s captive vessel.
Through sheer force of will, the mad Designate rewrote their thoughts, their training, and with a sweeping yank of his own net, he brought them all under his control. As he had done with the entire population of Hyrillka, Rusa’h snared them in the new thism web he had designed. When the shiing dissipated, the network would set firmly in place again, like hardening resin. Finished, the Designate beamed with exhilaration, though he looked grayish and exhausted.
Kept separate from the mental struggles, Zan’nh