Free Crown Of Fire by Kathy Tyers Page B

prisoner semiconscious in the interrogation lab, too drowsy to focus on complex tasks like amnesia blocking, they would've had RIA from him—and now he would be dead.
    "And the lady," said Talumah, laying down his viewer, "is a seventy-one, according to Berit. Nothing remarkable. So Polar must have been blasted by something else, something new. Did your people turn up any more clues as to how they escaped him?"
    "No." Micahel frowned. "But I never liked the theory of Polar destroying himself. Polar was too smart."
    "I agree," said Talumah.
    Micahel rubbed his chin. The Sentinels refused to breed for talent and even married outsiders. Over recent decades, his own people had grown measurably stronger while the Sentinels declined. Polar had reported that their strongest Master was easily dominated. Debilitated by his own amnesia blocks and drugged to the gills with the epsilon-block-ing drug DME-6, he shouldn't have been able to escape.
    Talumah widened his eyes and let his face slacken in an idiotic expression. "I know!" he exclaimed. "Their all-mighty god has finally gotten mad enough to slap us down!"
    Micahel ignored the mockery. "I'm less interested in Ehret's god than Netaia's regent. You have contacts on his staff, don't you?"
    "Yes. I could call—"
    "Not yet." Micahel paced to the window and stared out at the unsteady stars. "First, I want to test Caldwell's other defenses, his reinforcements. To see what I can scare up, with a feint."
     
     
     
     
Chapter 3 CONSPIRATORS allemande
    a stylized dance in moderate duple time
    That same morning Firebird steered a small, unmarked skimmer up a ramp into a residential block's parking stack. Tel's town apartment was half of an impressive granite-block complex, and they'd agreed to meet him early. Followed by Brennen at one hand and Shel at the other, she sprinted up the steps and touched the door. Uri came last. Danton's uniformed team followed in another vehicle.
    The first meeting on today's agenda had nothing to do with the Shuhr. Firebird had already delivered a vital message to the noble class. She hoped to send one more to the rest of Netaia, to people she'd known in downside Citangelo, huddled in back rooms together—her fellow musicians and the people who passed on their songs.
    A tri-D image appeared on the door's central panel. "Come in," said a woman wearing a stiff blue apron. The door swung open.
    Firebird spotted movement behind Tel's servitor. Shel swept around her, one hand grasping the butt of her blazer, and stared up the paneled hall.
    Tel strode into view, dressed in casual slacks and a natrusilk sweater. "Come in, come in." He led through a wood-and-stone door arch. This long room had a massive stone firebay at its center, surrounded by deep chairs and loungers. Firebird's feet sank into longweave carpet.
    A woman stood up quickly. "Lady Firebird," Tel said, "this is Cla-reen Chesterson, a versatile bassist and arranger who sings like a brook sprite."
    Firebird clasped the woman's hand. Gold-blond hair waved around Clareen's shoulders and fell to curls near her waist. She wore a floral tattoo under one eye. Her grip was strong, with rough fingertips.
    "Clareen," Firebird said, "I'm honored to meet you."
    "And you," said Clareen. "And General Caldwell." She turned to Brennen, offering her hand again. "I was raised on Tallis," she said. "I'm a consecrant and deeply honored to meet you, sir."
    Brennen bowed slightly over their clasped hands. Firebird back-stepped. She'd asked Tel to find a competent performer and arranger, but she hadn't specified "Netaian." She'd assumed . . .
    "I've lived on Netaia almost a year," Clareen told Brennen. "I've been trying to get a Chapter room established or a house built. I hope you might help me negotiate the legal tangle."
    "I wish we could," said Brennen. "I can at least contact Shamarr Dickin with your request."
    "That would be a help. These people are desperate for mercy."
    "I know," Brennen said, and Firebird felt