As much as Vellmar wished she could follow that plan from the outset, her orders were clear. She led her ten Guards down the ramp and stopped in front of a shorter man in a ridiculously fancy uniform that might as well have been a sign reading I never get out of my chair. The profusion of braids and buttons would surely catch on the first tight corner he tried to walk around.
“Lead Guard Vellmar,” he said in perfect High Alsean. “I am Operations Master Onruang. Welcome to the Vengeance.”
She managed not to roll her eyes at the ship’s name and chose instead to be grateful that they wouldn’t have to use their translators. “You speak High Alsean. Good, that will save time.”
“Every officer on this crew has an Alsean language chip.”
“What about the hangers and slaves?”
Though he kept it off his face, his disdain at the idea was suffocating. “They don’t need it.”
“And the fifty crew members hidden in your shuttles? Do they also have Alsean language chips?”
This time, he couldn’t hide his reaction. “I, ah. They’re for your safety.”
“Dokshin. They’re here in case we do anything to threaten you or your ship. The agreement was for ten warriors each. Mine are behind me.” She raised her voice. “I am the Alsean emissary, sent by Lancer Tal and Fahla herself. You shame yourself and your commodore by not receiving me with honor. Bring your people into the open or we’ll go back the way we came and you can explain your failure to Commodore Vataka.”
It was an exceedingly effective threat. Within a tick, fifty armed soldiers had emerged from hiding at the call of their commanding officer.
“Better,” Vellmar said. “Tell me, Master Onruang. Are you ashamed of your part in the attempted genocide of a peaceful people?”
He looked her up and down, noting her combat uniform, the disruptor at her hip, and the throwing blades sheathed along straps crossing over her chest and back.
She doubted that he recognized the sword grip hanging from her opposite hip.
“Your people may be peaceful, but I know a soldier when I see one. Yes, I’m ashamed. I never believed the Empire should lower itself that far, even for a race that deserved it. To hear you never knew we existed . . .” He shook his head. “I’m a proud officer of the Voloth Empire. But I’m not proud today.”
Truth. Not that she expected any different; Lancer Tal would not have led her wrong.
“Your words are welcome. I would now like to hear from your soldiers. Each of my warriors will ask the question. Answer honestly.”
Onruang nodded to his soldiers. “Do as she says.”
Her Guards spread out, and a hum of voices rose as the question was asked and answered of the first ten.
“Lie.”
“Lie.”
Both Senshalon and Dewar crouched in ready stances by the soldiers they had questioned.
“These two are not ashamed of genocide,” Vellmar said. “I will not have them at my back.”
Onruang sighed. “They were good officers,” he said reluctantly, before drawing his disruptor.
Two shots sizzled through the air. Two bodies thudded to the deck. Fifty-eight soldiers took a simultaneous step backward, fear rising off their bodies in a nauseating stink.
Vellmar held herself still. She had heard the stories from Rax Sestak and his fellow settlers. She had seen Rax’s scars and watched Commodore Vataka kill three bridge officers on an open com call. Even so, it was difficult to swallow the casual, lethal violence that seemed a normal part of life in the Voloth military.
No wonder Rax and his settlers were so happy in their little village.
“You.” She pointed to the eight who had passed the test. “Stand over there.”
They trotted to the designated space, relief making the air sing around them.
“Warriors, proceed.”
Three soldiers failed this time. Vellmar fully expected the rest to run when three more smoking bodies joined the first two, yet they stood in place, awaiting their fate in silent resignation.
Even fantens fought the slaughter, she thought.
Their fear made them dangerous. They now knew their lies would be detected, yet were too terrified of Onruang to run or fight back. The only option left was to attack the ones exposing them.
“Warriors,” she barked. When she had their attention, she pointed at her own eyes, a signal that came closest to the warning she needed to give them.
Get a target lock.
“Proceed.”
Her warriors moved forward. Before any of them could ask the question, two soldiers screamed their defiance and drew disruptors. One died with a blade in his heart and a hand clamped around his wrist. His weapon hadn’t cleared the holster.
The other, a sturdy woman with tattoos around her eyes, cleared her weapon but lost it when Senshalon snapped her wrist, tore the disruptor from her grasp, and threw it across the bay. He then broke her other wrist, leaving her incapable of using any weapon.
Onruang shot her anyway, his emotional signature radiating disgust. Vellmar wasn’t certain whether it was from her attempt at murder under the flag of parley, or because she had been bested by a primitive in hand-to-hand combat.
The remaining soldiers realized they were doomed no matter what. Five drew their weapons. Two were shot by their fellow officers; three more died from Alsean weapons.
The carnage was shocking and far more than she had expected before they even left the shuttle bay. Somehow, she kept her voice level as she said, “We still need to ask. Continue.”
No more Voloth failed.
When there were twelve corpses on the deck and forty-eight trustworthy soldiers standing at attention, Vellmar turned to Onruang. “Now we can go.”
He put them in the center, with twenty-four soldiers ahead and an equal number behind. They followed the first group out the double doors and into a broad corridor with a ceiling so low that it made her want to duck. It was another difference between this ship design and that of the Pulsar class. If she used her sword in these corridors, overhead strokes would be out of the question.
The air smelled different as well, old and dry with a metallic tang. She vastly preferred the clean, woodsy scent of the Caphenon and Phoenix.
But the low ceilings and stale air were minor discomforts compared to the sheer empathic weight of this place. In the shuttle bay, she had focused on the immediate danger of the soldiers and tuned out the rest. Now she cast her empathic net wider, looking for hidden dangers, and sensed heavy echoes of pain, fear, horror, and despair. She had worried about the genocidal intent, but the bigger issue was the cycles upon cycles of misery that had soaked into the physical structure.
They would have to crew this ship with low empaths and sonsales.
The lead soldier stopped in front of a lift, which chirped at him and slid open its doors.
“No,” she said. “We won’t use lifts.”
Onruang raised his eyebrows. “It’s a long walk.”
“Lifts can be redirected. Or stopped. They’re traps with only one exit. We will not use them.”
“Lead Guard, I assure you it’s perfectly safe. I’m the Operations Master. Nobody will be redirecting or attacking this lift without my authorization.”
She crossed her arms and waited.
“Fine,” he said impatiently, though it was only for show. In truth, he respected her suspicion.
They walked down the corridor for what felt like half a length before arriving at a door marked with reflective text Vellmar could not read and a glyph that she could. The symbol for a ladder was apparently the same on both Protectorate and Voloth ships.
As the door slid aside and the first soldiers entered, Vellmar activated her earcuff. “Stay alert,” she said in a low voice. “This is only a slightly more open trap than a lift.”
The metal steps rang loudly under the impact of twenty-four pairs of boots. She watched the first group of officers trot upward, then led her team after them, Onruang
at her side. The rungs were just wide enough for two.
Unlike the spacious, circular brace shafts on the Phoenix, this shaft was square and cramped, designed to accommodate the ladders and nothing else. Where the Phoenix’s ladders were vertical, passing through holes in landings at each deck, these were closer to very steep stairs. Each ended at a small landing, where one could either step forward to the door or turn around to climb the next ladder.
It was crowded and noisy, and Vellmar hated it. Looking upward, all she could see were switchbacking ladders full of soldiers. Below was a similar view, alleviated by the comforting sight of her warriors.
She slowed her pace.
Onruang grew suspicious as the leading group pulled ahead. “Planning something?”
“I don’t like being constricted,” she said shortly.
“I’d prefer that you keep up.”
“I’d prefer not to have your soldiers’ backsides in my face.”
Though his expression did not shift, he was faintly amused. Nothing more was said as the open space grew to two, three, then four empty steps. That was as far as she could push it, given his rising wariness, but she was satisfied. Now she had room to maneuver.
They had climbed six decks when she sensed the danger. Somewhere above them, perhaps three decks away, an individual was approaching the shaft entrance with a disturbing mix of lethal intent and confident anticipation. One against sixty could only mean—
“Incoming!” she shouted, racing up two steps to the next landing. Onruang kept pace, distrust and an absence of fear showing that his motivation was solely to stay with her. He did not believe her warning.
The landing was clear, the soldiers ahead already on the next ladder but turning at her call. Senshalon and Dewar gave them no chance to move, having run up directly behind her and Onruang to take up the remaining space on the landing.
Vellmar slapped a hand against the control pad and thanked Fahla when the door slid open, revealing a wide passageway. She flung herself through, followed instantly by Onruang, and her warriors poured out in a steady stream. Determined to keep up with their superior officer, three Voloth crowded behind, too close for her to stop them.
The fourth was a hair too slow.
She stepped in front of him and turned at the same time, smashing her elbow into his jaw. It would have been a disorienting blow for any Alsean, but Gaians had lighter skeletons. He staggered back, falling half-conscious into the soldiers behind. That gave her enough room to kick him in the chest, sending the tightly packed mass clear of the door. Before any of them could recover their balance, she closed the door and shot the control pad for good measure.
“What the—” Onruang began hotly.
“Take cover!” Vellmar paid him no attention as she and her team crouched against the bulkhead, putting their backs to the door and arms over their heads.
For a frozen piptick, the four Voloth officers stood baffled. Then distrust expanded into sudden understanding, and Onruang dove to the floor.
His officers had barely joined him when a tremendous explosion blew through the ladder shaft, shaking the deck beneath their feet and bending the door outward. Several passing crew members screamed as they stumbled, then collected themselves and fled.
The ensuing silence was deafening. Even if Vellmar hadn’t registered the sudden disappearance of emotional signatures in that shaft, she would have known the death toll by the lack of any sounds of pain—and the scent of burnt flesh and hot metal now clogging her nostrils.
Above her, the malign intent shifted to satisfaction and moved off. Whoever had ambushed them had no idea of their failure.
Well, that certainly took care of her numbers problem, though it introduced a new one. There was a variable on the loose with access to explosives and no concern for collateral casualties.
Onruang was so shocked that he sputtered. “I didn’t authorize that!”
“I know.”
“How dare they?! I issued orders for every member of this crew to respect your passage unless I said otherwise! They disobeyed!” It took him several pipticks to arrive at the next realization. “They must have killed every officer in the shaft!”
Vellmar stared at him in disbelief. He was more upset about the insult to his authority than about the tens of soldiers who had died under his command. And this was the one she was supposed to trust? What did that say about the other bridge officers?
“Vengeance,” he snarled, and spoke a rapid stream of Common.
She thought he was making a vow before her wristcom kicked in and fed the translation to her earcuff. No, he was not swearing to avenge his fallen officers. He was issuing orders to the computer to put the ship under lockdown. When that was done, he ordered his security chief to find the bomber immediately, then called Commodore Vataka and assured him that everything was under control, a statement he believed.
A shrill alarm blared in the corridor, repeated itself twice, and was followed by an automated message. All personnel were to return to their quarters and remain until further notice.
“Does that include the weapons teams?” Vellmar asked.
“Getting ideas? Don’t bother. Essential personnel are locked down at their duty stations.”
“Great Mother,” Dewar mumbled next to her. “They lock up their own crew.”
“Only when necessary. Though I’ve never had to include officers in a lockdown before. It’s usually slaves and sometimes the hangers.”
Vellmar exchanged an incredulous glance with Dewar. These people were barbarians.
“Don’t even think about trying mind control,” he added. “We may be down to four, but I have trusted officers watching us through security cams. If you attack me, or if I act out of character, they have instructions to seal off the corridor and depressurize it. I’ll die, but you’ll die with me.”
He was not bluffing. She nodded her understanding and gestured at the ruined door. “Who would have access to explosives like that?”
He scowled. “The chief of security and officers above three ribbons.”
“How many officers are above three ribbons?”
“My orders are to get you safely to the bridge, Lead Guard. I don’t have to answer your questions along the way.”
“No, you don’t. I was merely wondering who would have both the access and the willingness to kill you along with us.”
Judging by his surprise, that had not even remotely occurred to him. He was accustomed to ironclad control over those beneath him—which, given his rank, accounted for nearly every person on the ship. She knew that much from Rax’s lessons on the Voloth military power structure.
“And since you just ordered a lockdown, whoever it was knows you’re still alive,” she added. “The question is, will they be relieved or disappointed by that news?”
“Shek me,” he muttered, looking up and down the quiet corridor before eying her with sudden interest. “I think you should meet my second while I ask her a question. Vataka was right about one thing. You would have made invaluable slaves.”
The shame he felt at his Empire’s actions did not extend to the system that had benefitted him. In any other situation, he would gladly enslave them and abuse their empathic powers.
“Alseans don’t take well to slavery,” she said icily.
“We noticed that. Vengeance, encrypt location data for me and the three officers in my immediate vicinity. Restrict access to myself and Commodore Vataka. What is the location of Submaster Bakshi?”
Shock rippled through the air, chased by rising anger.
“That’s not possible. Recheck.”
The anger crested with a vehement curse as he slammed his fist against the wall. “I don’t need you to question my second,” he spat. “She’s in the Political Bureau. There’s no other way she could encrypt her location data. Now listen here, I don’t trust you any more than you trust me. But if you’re smart, you’ll stick with me. I can still get you to the bridge. Bakshi has no interest in obe
ying those orders.”
“She’s the one who just killed forty-five of her fellow officers?”
“With considerable help from you, yes.”
She glanced pointedly at the bowed door, which had barely held back the force of the explosion. “Would you rather I had left that open?”
The answer was self-evident, to his obvious annoyance. “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it.”
“I didn’t drop that bomb.” She spoke quietly, imitating a tone she had often heard Lancer Tal use to great effect. “I will not apologize for saving my warriors from the actions of yours.”
He glared, his jaw tight and anger radiating from every pore.
“That said,” she continued in the same tone, “We will stay with you.”
“Thought you might.” Imperiously, he held up a hand for silence while listening to an internal communication. “Chief, I couldn’t care less about incomplete compliance right now. It’s the officers I’m worried about, not a few hangers and slaves.”
Vellmar sincerely hoped those hangers and slaves were acting on the commodore’s revelation. A rebellion on this ship could only benefit her goals.
“Round them up and bin them. I’ll deal with them later. Send a squad to the captain’s mess and make sure you pick the ones who hate Bakshi. She’s trying for a takeover. Yes, that’s what I said, now get going!” He ended the call and gestured irritably at the foremost security officer. “Change of plans. We’ll go through the stables. Take point.”
They moved down the eerily silent corridor, then cut through a cross passage to a hallway so narrow they could barely walk two abreast. Vellmar scanned it as far as she could sense, wincing at the empathic echoes that pressed sticky, bleeding fingers into her thoughts. They were stronger here and more difficult to filter out, especially given the bright red bursts of immediate fear and the dark misery all around them. There were slaves behind these bulkheads.
If the ship designers shared Onruang’s disdain for the threat they posed, security coverage here was probably thinner than in the more open public areas.
Alsea Rising: The Seventh Star (Chronicles of Alsea Book 10) Page 11
