Warring States

by Susan R. Matthews

  Robert had written long speeches in his head to be delivered to Koscuisko once the Day had dawned and he was free to speak. They’d go unspoken, now, forever, and it was probably just as well, but it was a shame. He’d had some good lines in there. Pointed remarks about men who cherished guilt, which was after all a form of vanity that did not become a man. About men who cared for people by whom they would not accept being cared for without a fight. Things of that nature.

  It was short of dawn; the air smelled sweetly of damp dust. It was already hot outside, or at least warm, and oppressive with humidity; the fog lay heavily around the streets and alleys that their transport passed on the way to the launch-field. Nobody spoke. Robert wondered if the others were disappointed that they hadn’t had a chance to say good-bye to Stildyne. They knew more about Stildyne than Robert did — they’d all been here longer than he had, except for Godsalt, Godsalt was new. But even Robert had seen for himself the change that Koscuisko had wrought in Brachi Stildyne, and honored him for it.

  Maybe it would have been too risky, too much of a compromise. Stildyne was going to have to explain to First Officer where his troops had gone. First Officer wasn’t going to be interested in listening to Koscuisko about it. Stildyne was responsible to First Officer for keeping track of troops; he’d be in for an interesting interview.

  It was a shame not to have a chance to take his hand, though. Koscuisko had been considerably harder on Stildyne than on any of the rest of them, and for Robert’s part he appreciated how Stildyne had borne up under Koscuisko. Stildyne had been good to them. It was hard to go without saying good-bye.

  It was hard to go. There was no future for them under Jurisdiction; Koscuisko was right about that. He was right about many things. When he was wrong about things, it was generally in holding a belief that there was no way around one thing or another. Robert had noticed this about him a long time ago.

  It was hard to blame Koscuisko for the failing of his imagination, though, when it was so richly peopled with horrors that were real and not imagined at all. Koscuisko could be excused some shying away from consequences because Koscuisko had a so much better than average understanding of what those consequences were.

  It only made it more impressive, in Robert’s mind, that Koscuisko had made up his mind finally to hazard the really very seriously extreme consequences of declining to exercise his Writ again ever.

  Those consequences made flight to Gonebeyond a rational strategy, and that made Robert annoyed at Koscuisko’s insistence on not going with them; but he was done being annoyed with Koscuisko. There was no reasoning with the man when he had his attention fixed. The closest thing that Robert had ever known to the ferocity of Koscuisko’s concentration was that of a professional herding dog, but he’d never observed as much to Koscuisko. People who weren’t herding people couldn’t be expected to understand.

  The launch-field was brightly lit but uncertain in the outlines of its lanes and outbuildings because of the night-fog. The traffic control gate checked their report papers and waved them on through, party of six to report to Khabardi freighter Kavkazki Pass to receive cargo on instruction, his Excellency Andrej Ulexeievitch Koscuisko, Jurisdiction Fleet Ship Ragnarok. Very normal and unremarkable.

  They left the ground-car that had brought them from the service house at the field transport barn and took a mover out onto the launch-field itself, heading for the material handling lanes where the freighter they were to board was to be found. Someone might eventually notice that they’d never called for transport back from the launch-field to the service house, but they were all bond-involuntaries under orders, and it would simply be assumed that they were doing as they had been instructed — as was in fact the case.

  A Khabardi freighter was a Combine ship. Surely that would be suspicious after the fact, but Koscuisko did not seem to intend to attempt to conceal his complicity in their flight. How could he? Flight was impossible without his direct intervention, surely — oh, yes, they were technically speaking all on Safe, but Koscuisko’s not-entirely-secret surgeries were bound to come out after this.

  And it was Koscuisko’s choice and Koscuisko’s decision, Robert reminded himself, following Pyotr up into the belly of the beast, hearing Lek behind him. There was a man standing in the cargo bay of the ship waiting for them; nobody Robert knew.

  “Pyotr Micmac?” the man said. He was a big man, big hands, knobby shoulders, deep voice. Accent. “Kazmer Daigule, I’m to be your pilot. How many are we taking on board?”

  Someone had come into the doorway between the cargo bay and the interior of the ship as Daigule spoke; short, female, Robert thought. Pyotr looked past Daigule with mild curiosity but said only “There are six of us all told, pilot. When do we leave?”

  “Come on, then, so that we can secure and clear. We’re leaving as soon as we’re locked and loaded, no time to waste, come on. You’ve got a pilot? Kerenko? Come with me, pilot.”

  Well, that was a familiar note in a welter of unreality — come on, hurry up, let’s get going. Wait. Robert could understand that. He stood to one side as the others boarded — Godsalt, Hirsel, Garrity. It was an intelligent ship, this Khabardi; it sealed up promptly and efficiently, then said something in some Combine dialect or another that sounded almost like something Koscuisko said when he got impatient to be off.

  “Clear,” the woman said. “This way. We’ll seal down here. Introductions and explanations once we’re off.” Since she was apparently one of the crew it was likely that she’d know if the loading ramp wasn’t happy with the job that Robert and Garrity had done of securing it.

  There were the universal telltales to consider — there was no room for linguistic misunderstandings where things like security doors for space flight were concerned — and the u-ts looked perfectly happy to Robert, so he followed the woman, and Garrity followed him, out of the cargo bay and up to the freighter’s main access and into the front of the ship up by the wheelhouse. It was a small wheelhouse; freighters liked to use all available space for freight, not like a courier ship, not like that luxury model that had come to Pesadie to take Koscuisko home on leave.

  “Get strapped in,” she said, and went forward into the wheelhouse. Robert could hear her over the status-line that ran to all of the passenger shells, the little alcoves lining the corridor just short of the wheelhouse where people who weren’t actively engaged in flying the ship were expected to secure themselves while the freighter made space.

  Garrity took a place across the corridor from Robert. Robert could see his face in the dim light of the shell, but not his expression. Ducking his head out for a last quick look Robert counted, quickly. Six or seven passenger shells on a side, and his was the furthest from the wheelhouse. This freighter would carry fourteen to twenty souls, then, since there were usually two to four souls running loose even at launch to make sure everything came off as it was expected.

  “Packages all loaded,” Robert heard the woman say. “Ready for departure, Kaz.”

  The pilot switched the shells into braid, so that they could listen. They weren’t on transmit, no, not in the shells; only the wheelhouse transmitted on approach and on departure.

  “Launch control. Khabardi freighter Kavkazki Pass requests final clearance, outbound for dar-Nevan vector to Oma. Please confirm.”

  “We hear you, Kavkazki Pass. We’ll have a clearance for you in just a moment. Did you have any last minute callers? The gate thinks someone might have come looking for you.” Launch control sounded a little bored, actually. Clearly not very excited about anything that might be happening this time of morning, but the launch had been carefully timed, Robert realized. The second half of first shift, long enough in for people to have gotten all of their routine shift-initiation checks out of the way, but before they started to perk up and take an interest in their environment, looking for the end of their shift.

  “Been and gone, Launch Control. Permission to initiate launch sequence.”

  “Transm
itting clearance codes, Kavkazki Pass. Hope you enjoyed your stay, come again, and thank you for selecting Jeltaria Field for your in-transit requirements. Launch Control, away, here.”

  The freighter had started to move. There was a rolling tone, built in to the background noise, a subtle audio cue as to what the craft was doing — moving into launch position, angling for launch, launching. Robert knew that he wasn’t actually hearing the sound of wheels against pavement or anything of the sort. A person’s ear still strained to hear, and the rolling tone was provided for its psychological effect.

  The pilot had switched his transmit off, but Robert could hear voices from the wheelhouse almost as easily — narrow corridor. As many paces. “Are we related?” Lek was saying.

  The pilot replied, “I’m not your cousin, if that’s what you mean. No. No more than any two Sarvaw, Kerenko, and our mutual cousin Maritzj here, she’s Arakcheyek. Comm officer. Have you done the dar-Nevan vector before?”

  “Not for years,” Lek said. “Cousin Maritzj.” It was hard to read from the sound of Lek’s voice to an expression on his face; Robert couldn’t quite figure out the tone of voice. The woman was a Malcontent? He hadn’t known there were female Malcontents.

  “We’re going to angle for a spin that would drop us at Oma, but sharpen the approach in the last fractions. We’re not supposed to know how to reach Gonebeyond from Emandis Station, but I’ve done it before. No worries.”

  The pitch and intensity of the rolling tone had changed. The freighter had reached its slot on the launch field; the tank had attached. He’d done this time and again since he’d started following Koscuisko — not often on a freighter, no, but often enough. This was different. This was the end. This was taking them away, and they would not be coming back here, ever.

  “Yes,” the pilot said, apparently in response to a question Robert hadn’t heard. “Five tanks. People are used to Combine freighters taking the high road. We’ve got perishable cargo, or at least that’s our story.”

  Five tanks. Robert was impressed. Five booster tanks from Jeltaria Field would get them up and through atmosphere and spank them smartly on their way to the vector, too, before falling away to land themselves quietly at depot for refueling. It meant the freighter would be using much less of its own fuel to get out of Emandis space. The idea filled Robert with a sudden nearly nostalgic sort of anxiety; who knew how far the freighter’s fuel would have to carry them, to get to wherever they were going in Gonebeyond?

  “Final clearance confirmed,” the pilot said. “Kavkazki Pass away here. Good-greeting, Jeltaria, and we look forward to seeing you again, some time.”

  No shielding in known Space would damper the roar of five tanks lifting something as large as a Khabardi freighter from the ground. There would be no overhearing conversation for several minutes, now, so Robert closed his eyes and took a deep breath and tried not to worry about the fact that they were leaving the officer all alone, by himself, and only Chief Stildyne to keep after him for ever after.

  When it got quiet, he knew that the tanks had detached, which meant they’d cleared atmosphere. They were outbound. No need to be strapped into shell any more.

  The woman came down the corridor from the wheelhouse, talking as she went. “We’ll leave Kaz and your man in the wheelhouse for now. Come along, I’ll show you what I can about where we’re going and what we expect to find there. Follow me. Common-room is just this way, a bit cramped right now but we needed all the space we could get for cargo.”

  That made sense. Robert unstrapped, and waited for the end of the line. Pyotr. Godsalt. Hirsel. Garrity across from Robert stepped out, but then stopped, looking back toward the wheelhouse with an expression of astonishment on his face.

  “You heard the comm officer,” Robert heard a familiar voice say. “Get a move on, man.”

  It was their Chief. Robert pushed away and out of his niche. Stildyne. As big as life and twice as ugly, which meant actually very ugly, since it was Stildyne. “What are you doing here?” Robert asked, feeling delighted but unable to understand why. “Who’s minding the officer?”

  “Koscuisko can take care of himself,” Stildyne growled, but not too sincerely. “Unlike you. Get along, Robert. There’s a briefing to be had.”

  Stildyne. Stildyne had come. Why? Why hadn’t he told them? Had he been afraid that they’d decline to take him? Robert supposed they could have. But it was academic. Stildyne was here. Life would be easier, with their Chief to look after them.

  Gladdened by the presence of a familiar note in the middle of all of this strange new music, Robert went after the others into the common room, to squeeze himself in between crates and boxes and listen to what the comm officer could tell them about what the future might hold for them, when they reached Gonebeyond.

  ###

  A familiar sound in the outer room woke Andrej, and he took a moment — not moving — to collect his wits. Where was he, and what was he doing here? Unfamiliar bed, but familiar enough — a service house, the bedding a careful balance between luxury and practical attention to the commonsense requirements to clean and freshen on a daily basis. Or even more frequently. Someone in bed with him, what was that about? Oh. Yes. Her. She wasn’t a house professional, or she wouldn’t have taken the liberty of falling asleep in a patron’s bed, not unless she’d been invited — or instructed — to do so.

  Not a house professional. She’d come with a medical order, that was right. And he, he had agreed to see what he could do; and there they were. If he meant to take a status check he had better move quickly; Security were in the outer room, come to collect him for one reason or another or perhaps simply to see to his fast-meal — an intimacy Stildyne permitted himself to which Andrej took no exception. The woman lay on her side with her back to him, one arm tucked beneath her head; turning onto his side Andrej lifted the bedclothes away from her body.

  There were ways around the Protocols. As soon as there had been Protocols established people had found ways around them; and there were strict limits on the degree of damage that a judicial officer was authorized to inflict directly or by proxy without evidence or confession. Wherever there were limits there were cheats, ways to hurt a man without harming him, without leaving evidence of abuse outside of Protocols. She was substantially unbruised, the skin unbroken; Andrej knew that he had been fierce with her, and could see very little evidence.

  She’d been fierce with him as well, in her own way. Hearing Security behind him Andrej covered her over again, drawing the covers well up behind her head on the pillow; Stildyne might recognize her if she stirred, and that would be awkward.

  It was awkward enough as it was. He was going home, he was leaving, she was a member of the same command as he but Jennet ap Rhiannon did not care for the fact that he was a member of her command at all and he certainly would not be, if the captain ever found out that he had spent the evening in a service house engaged in intimacies conventional and unconventional with one of Two’s intelligence analysts.

  Stildyne could step lightly when he wanted to, something that Andrej had always admired — it was no small thing to move so large a muscle mass so quietly; but something wasn’t right.

  He turned his head to look back over his shoulder toward the door. For a moment he relaxed, scolding himself; there, you see, Andrej, nothing out of the ordinary, your chief of Security. Yes. That’s all.

  Then he froze in the bed and stared in horror, because it was a chief of Security, but it was the wrong chief of Security, even if she was carrying a curt-robe in a completely harmless manner.

  “Sorry to wake you, sir,” she said. “Captain Irshah Parmin particularly requests the favor of an interview. If his Excellency would care to step into the next room to get dressed, please.”

  He held out his hand for the robe, wondering if he was dreaming. Caleigh Samons. He hadn’t seen Caleigh Samons for how long? Not as though he didn’t think about her, from time to time, because she was unquestionably one of the most de
sirable women he had ever met in his life, as well as being a thoroughly professional chief of Security.

  In fact his fish, his masculine nature, portions of his anatomy better left unacknowledged in polite company, were greeting this sudden apparition with unseemly interest, even though they had been thoroughly exercised very recently. “What is the meaning of this intrusion?” he asked, because it was expected of him, surely. She couldn’t possibly imagine that she could simply amble into his bedroom and demand that he get dressed without some protest on his part.

  “Outside, if you please, sir,” she repeated firmly, if still quietly. “We’d just as soon not create an alarm. No sense in embarrassing your gentlemen, your Excellency. This way.”

  His gentlemen. His Security. His bond-involuntaries assigned, whom she would presume to be sleeping off an evening of their own two levels down. If there was an alarm they would be expected to respond to it. What time was it? Had they left? Were they still here? Because if they were still here he couldn’t let an alarm go off. It would destroy any chance of moving them quietly and unobtrusively to the launch-field. Someone would notice if they left suddenly.

  And if they had left already, he couldn’t afford anybody noticing that, either. The longer nobody noticed that they were gone, the longer they had to make for the vector undetected, innocent and uninteresting cargo of an innocent and uninteresting freighter. What was he going to do?

  The woman rolled over in the bed, seeking his warmth. Andrej slid out and away from her carefully, doing his best to avoid waking her up. Samons stood to one side, watching the woman carefully; Andrej watched too, belting his robe around his waist, watched as she stretched and settled her head on the pillow and stilled back into a profound sleep again. Her eyes. Andrej was almost certain that she’d opened her eyes, but if she had she hadn’t really seen anything; because she certainly closed them without any sign of alarm or surprise.