Hunters of the Deep

by Randall N Bills

  He could only nod his head. Too many points to her this round. This round.

  “What will I find on this?”

  For once she did lower her voice and casually lift the new beer the waiter had dropped off only moments before. “Information about the imminent invasion of this part of The Republic of the Sphere by the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth.”

  Petr stared at her, incredulous. This was her vital message? He’d be angry if he didn’t find the situation so ludicrous. He laughed out loud. “This is your urgent news? Please!” Petr slid across the bench to stand.

  Snow quickly leaned forward and something flashed through her eyes. “Listen, I know why you’ve come to this Prefecture. And an invasion could either ruin it, or for those who know it’s coming, they might just make huge profits off events to come.”

  He settled back down, not from her urging, but more from her knowledge of why he’d come to Prefecture VII. Could she know it all? How? He saw pain in her eyes. His gaze caressed her shoulder and returned to find her eyes boring into his. She was wounded. And she knew that he knew. Not that he knew what to do with that information, but he filed it away for possible future use. It did, however, show her in a new light. More information for him to use.

  “And how could I possibly find it worthwhile?”

  “You’ve a good-sized force at your command. The Republic can be generous to those who help them. Very generous.”

  Was she asking for aide? Mutual defense? “The Republic and Clan Sea Fox already have a mutual nonaggression treaty. Why not have your precious exarch try to negotiate a further treaty? You obviously are Republic. Why all this backroom dealing?”

  She leaned back in the too-casual way that confirmed his find; her right shoulder was wounded.

  “Maybe I do work for The Republic, probably not in the way you think, though. But this doesn’t have to be something dragged through the light of day. Just a friendly agreement between betrothed. Right?”

  He finally began to get the mettle of her and smiled in his own, easy fashion; she had scored enough easy marks. No more. “Yes, but I have isorla to take from this wedding and it will not be you, I wager. You did not answer my question.”

  “You’re right. I didn’t.”

  Her gray eyes filled his vision. Though he began to function once more with his usual grace, he found those eyes still pulled him off balance.

  Such amazing eyes.

  “You look over the information, then tell me you’re not interested. Like I said, The Republic knows its friends and can be very generous.”

  The meeting had reached its end. He slowly stood, pocketed both data cubes and looked down at Snow. Not once did he ask for her real name; he knew she’d not likely divulge it. Though she still could be called nothing but ugly, the complete revulsion of his first impression was gone. As with the data cube on his ship, he couldn’t help a begrudging admiration for the way she’d manhandled him. Not often did he meet someone his equal at the table. But he would take her in the long run.

  “I will think upon it. How will I contact you?”

  “Oh, I’ll contact you.” She laughed. “I know us girls are supposed to wait for your call, but I just won’t be able to.”

  He grimaced despite himself. “I had a feeling you would say that,” he replied; he accepted that she had scored the final point, and walked out.

  Her sultry laugh followed him into the night, a companion for many nights to come.

  10

  Clan Sea Fox DropShip Ocean of Stars, Halifax

  Vanderfox, Adhafera

  Prefecture VII, The Republic

  7 July 3134

  “This is what they waited for?” Petr raged at Jesup. “We had the deal ready to ink and they pulled back because they somehow found out Beta Aimag jumped in-system?”

  “It would appear that way.”

  Immediately upon returning from the unpleasant encounter with Snow, Petr learned the reason for the sudden “troubles” preventing the local merchants from signing the agreement. Could the day get worse? He moved along the corridor of the DropShip toward the bridge, and realized it could. He would have to speak directly with Sha. The arrogant surat.

  The record of wins and losses between them was nearly even . . . except for his last, most humiliating defeat at Sha’s hands. Still unsettled by his encounter with Snow, he could not stop the memories that flooded his mind.

  By the Founder, why did I not explore that asteroid belt in the Lungdo system further? Can I truly claim it was an honest mistake that my people did not discover the small germanium ore deposit there? Controlling a supply of the rare core component for building K-F drives would have brought Delta Aimag so much honor and wealth. . . .

  Sha pursued the advantage in the Trial of Possession so aggressively that he must have known of the ore going into the negotiations—and I should have realized there was a prize worth any price at stake. Did my hatred for Sha keep me from recognizing the significance of his extravagant offers? If only I had been willing to concede access to our orbital repair facility in the Castor system. . . .

  Even after two years, the questions still haunted him. As he did every time they surfaced, Petr pushed them down and shut them away.

  Petr reached a ladder and began to shimmy up when the voice of Jesup floated up around him; for an instant he thought of the hag Timma and her haunting spirit, and actually smiled despite himself. Anything to distract him from the coming confrontation.

  “So what are the odds he would come to the very world where we first make planetfall? Twenty-six worlds to choose from, and he comes downside here first?”

  “You mean twenty-five. After all, our enclave on Castor does not really count, quiaff?”

  “You know what I mean, oh great one of infinite wit. Did he throw a dart at a board? I do not think so. We arrived before Beta Aimag in this Prefecture and, considering how long we have been here, he must have come directly to this planet.”

  Petr climbed the last rung and entered a new passage; this one terminated at the main bridge. He knew Star Captain Jotok would already be at his station. He once joked that the man slept there, and Jotok’s blank stare in reply actually alarmed Petr slightly, before he acknowledged the man could command his ship how he saw fit.

  “Could he have encountered the same information that required us to come here?” Jesup jabbed with his voice once more, hoping to open a crack. Petr ignored it.

  “I doubt that very much, Jesup. I doubt it very much.” Yet the idea stuck in his mind. According to what she said (no time to verify her story, beyond a cursory look at the data cube), her plan involved “bribing” a Sea Fox Aimag into stopping an invasion of The Republic of the Sphere by the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth. If one Aimag worked well, wouldn’t two work even better? Not to mention she seemed to know so much about him. Did she know of his animosity toward Sha? Could she have somehow managed the same trick on the Talismantia, causing Sha to come running with the same urgency? Perhaps she believed using two such adversaries would improve the chances that one would follow her call, if not both—both afraid the other would reap benefits that would carry him above and beyond the other.

  Petr almost stumbled with the myriad questions somersaulting through his mind, a terrible riptide threatening his concentration. Only moments remained before he faced Sha, and this was how he would present himself? Incoherent? Frothing at the mouth? Sha would win before he ever set foot on Adhafera soil.

  “Your silence is very edifying, oh great and powerful ovKhan. If he did not come running in response to the same source of information as you, then, considering your own personal fascination with the leader of Beta Aimag, perhaps he has a similar fascination?” Petr halted mere steps from the bridge and turned to find Jesup practically on his heels. “And when I say ‘fascination,’ what I mean to say is ‘obsession.” ’

  Petr hardened his gaze and Jesup immediately brought his hands up in a mock-defensive measure.

  “I meant no dis
respect, ovKhan, but the mind simply boggles at the possibility that he would come directly to the same backwater world. Yes, the meat garnered here will allow us to make inroads into other worlds, but this deal will hardly be profitable in itself. So the information that sent us skipping across the length of Prefecture VII obviously had little to do with commerce. If Sha doesn’t have that information, then he comes for you.”

  Once more Petr ignored his aide’s fishing for information. “Jesup, I do not need your banter at this moment. You know I must confront Sha and open up the official trials between our Aimags. I do not look forward to it.”

  “But why? You could confront him, ask about the information that led him here.” The crooked smile only served to further darken Petr’s mood. Asking such a question outright would only prove his own ignorance. Sometimes Petr did not know if Jesup’s sarcasm was real or feigned to cover ignorance. He hoped the former, but thought the latter on numerous occasions.

  Turning his back on Jesup, he stepped onto the bridge. Jotok was not there. Surprise actually stopped Petr in his tracks for several long seconds as he looked again. He saw only four crewmen on the bridge, two of whom were in the process of putting the holographic display through its annual servicing.

  “Where is Star Captain Jotok?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard above the din. He moved toward the communications bank and its crewman without waiting for an answer.

  “Star Commander Alisa on watch, ovKhan. We have called repeatedly for Star Captain Jotok, but he has yet to respond to our hails. He actually took shore leave, sir.”

  “Really?” Did wonders never cease?

  “Coms, you have the incoming DropShips?”

  The technician looked as though he had just graduated from a shiv to active duty; he couldn’t be more than eighteen, possibly nineteen years old. He moved with grace and confidence, however, that spoke well of his bloodline. “Yes, ovKhan. The flotilla of DropShips will interface with the atmosphere in three hours and twenty-two minutes at its current velocity. Their trajectories will place them directly into Halifax.”

  No surprise there. Petr shook his head and felt the weight of his hair swing against his shoulders. He could continue to wait, to delay, but to what end? It would reflect poorly on him among his subordinates—and an hour or two longer would not change his discomfort at the conversation.

  “Coms, patch me through to the lead DropShip. OvKhan Clarke is aboard that vessel and I wish to speak with him.”

  “Yes, sir,” the boy responded, and immediately began transmitting the appropriate codes for opening communication.

  A few seconds passed and the front viewscreen materialized into the bridge on the command vessel of the incoming flotilla. A short-haired, scarecrowlike man stared coldly across several thousand kilometers. Those dead eyes almost sent a shiver up Petr’s spine, caused his anger to pile up in a flash.

  Sha Clarke.

  A thorn in his side for years, and now he intended to be one again. This time, however, it would be different. There would be no going back. No stopping.

  “Ah, Petr, I see you have begun to develop what I will take.”

  He gritted his teeth. Having a complete unknown like Snow clip his fins and rattle him might be tolerated, but he would not allow Sha the same enjoyment. Too much of that before.

  “Is that a challenge?”

  “Why, no.” That surprised him. He expected Sha immediately to challenge for a Trial of Possession. “We have more important issues.”

  “Fighting a Trial of Possession for the right to negotiate this planet would not stop our traditional trials.”

  Even digitally reproduced, the knowing look in Sha’s eyes felt like a slap in the face. Those too-cool eyes in a face that never seemed to show more than a spark of animation. “Oh, I am well aware of that. My news is that Star Captain Tal Sennet has died. As a quorum of those warriors who will be nominated to fight for his name is within our two Aimags, Khan Hawker has given permission for the initiation of a Trial of Bloodright.”

  That abruptly stopped the activity on the bridge and even brought Petr’s chin up. A Trial of Bloodright had not been fought within the jurisdiction of his Aimag in more than five years, and the thrill of the honor to come sang in his veins. Even so, a dark note tempered his excitement.

  “When shall we initiate the trial?” he said, infusing an enthusiasm and respect into his voice that he never felt in dealing with Sha.

  “No time like the present, quiaff?”

  “Aff, Sha.”

  “I have already transferred the appropriate personnel for the ritual; my Breaker of Waves has adjusted her trajectory to enter a standard orbit; the rest will make planetfall. Gather your personnel and boost to intercept. Out.”

  The screen went blank. Petr felt almost let down by the encounter. None of the normal stabs and jabs, beyond the obligatory opening parry. It was as though Sha simply had too much to deal with to indulge in their old rivalry.

  Though the Trial of Bloodright would indeed require great resources, it would not completely occupy either of them, and certainly offered no barrier to fighting a Trial of Possession for negotiation rights with the planet’s merchants.

  The other DropShips. He became aware of Jesup standing almost at his shoulder, understanding written on his face. He actually might have picked up on it before me.

  “Why would he use the distraction of the Trial of Bloodright to allow his merchant castemen to try to gain an edge on our efforts here?” asked Jesup. “Why not simply declare the Trial of Possession and be done with it?”

  “I cannot say, Jesup, but it worries me. It worries me a great deal.” He considered the too-knowing look in those blank eyes, the way Sha simply dismissed him. As though he moved in deeper waters, currents Petr simply could not compete in.

  A shiver ran down his spine.

  11

  Overlord-C DropShip Breaker of Waves

  Near Orbit, Adhafera

  Prefecture VII, The Republic

  8 July 3134

  Petr floated gracefully into the Trial Chamber.

  Shaped like a perfect sphere sliced in half—flat side the deck—the chamber spanned twenty meters across, half that high. Though not the largest Ritual Chamber in Petr’s experience, it was a respectable size—larger than his own and likely the reason Sha arranged for the Trial of Bloodright ceremony to occur here.

  A slow, steady stream of warriors flowed in with him, each grabbing the bar that ran waist high around the circumference of the room. Thirty-two individuals in all, they spaced themselves equidistant from one another, stopping in front of an equal number of Clan Sea Fox symbols on the chamber bulkhead; each warrior tucked his or her feet under a small bar on the deck in order to remain stationary. Each wore the ritual garb of Clan Sea Fox.

  Though many Clans’ ritual clothing included extravagances from headdresses to long flowing capes of fur, twisting ropes of beads and diaphanous robes, the current Sea Fox ceremonial clothing was Spartan. A one-piece suit—fitted neck to ankle to wrist—of a rubbery gray material turned every warrior into an aquatic predator: a shark, ready to seize destiny by the teeth. To complete its effortless elegance, an embroidered fox-head pattern adorned the front.

  The simplicity—a sharp contrast to the Diamond Shark ritual attire, which matched any Clan for finery and lushness—followed a dual mind-set: the merchant mentality, always strong with the Clan but grown to paramount importance, spoke of the waste of such finery—more practically, because all rituals occurred in microgravity, such extraneous clothing was problematic, even dangerous.

  After a pause to review the chamber, Petr pushed off from the ground at an oblique angle to the entry hatch, sailed with ease toward the domed ceiling, grabbed the bar and settled his feet onto his assigned pedestal mounted six meters off the floor. With casual grace he turned, felt the stretch and flow of his suit, could almost taste the energy and power in the room. The elite of the elite stepping forward to risk all and obtai
n a sacred Bloodname—the highest honor a Clan warrior could receive.

  Surveying the chamber, Petr watched the final participants arrive and move to their assigned positions. Several small platforms dotted the dome as it rose above the deck; metal mushrooms festooned the bulkhead. In addition to himself, two others were present on the dome: ovKhan Sha a quarter way round the dome and positioned slightly higher as the host, and Jet Sennet, leader of Blood House Sennet, whose platform rested directly across from and above Petr. Because his age eclipsed any present, Jet Sennet would officiate as Oathmaster, traditionally the oldest member of a Blood House, for this Trial of Bloodright.

  The older man—he looked to be in his mid-forties—raised both his arms and spoke. “Trothkin.” His voice held a note of firm command. “We have gathered within the black waters of the void. For all present the currents have been strong and treacherous. Yet you have never lost the scent of blood in the water. None can gainsay the honor you have earned by your presence this day. Still, a deal is not done, a victory not achieved, until it is sealed. The honor currently bestowed is a pale imitation of what will come with a Bloodname. Warriors, swim the void, seize your name and carry your glory to the Clan!”

  “Seyla,” echoed from thirty-four voices; all eyes turned to gaze at the deck.

  A star map of the Inner Sphere filled most of the deck of the Ritual Chamber, leaving very little room around the circumference. The map did not lie flat in a mural, nor balloon on the silent electrons of a holo. Instead, the star map consisted of solid, three-dimensional objects: 2,141, to be precise. Each handmade sphere a world in miniature, reflecting the correct size, color, standard atmospheric conditions and axis tilt as of January first Terran Standard; a map of every inhabited world within the Inner Sphere and near Periphery. The worlds recessed into holes in the deck, where small pneumatic clamps held them stationary during transit and grounding. At the ritual statement of acceptance from the gathered throng, the clamps loosened and several thousand magnets—one above and below each world—slowly lifted them in perfect synchronicity, positioning them horizontally and vertically to represent their spatial X, Y and Z coordinates.