The Serrano Succession

by Elizabeth Moon

  Against that, she had only the tightbeam message from Oblo, and her own gut feeling that something was wrong, something false, about Livadhi that had not been wrong before. She was out on a very long, slender limb, far away from anyone who could advise her or help, and the ship coming in might be the enemy.

  Her scan officer spoke up. "It's a Fleet ship—a cruiser by the mass—there's the beacon data. Indefatigable, Captain."

  Esmay felt a rush of relief. Heris Serrano was here; now everything would be all right. She had no idea how Heris would convince Commodore Livadhi not to bolt, if he was planning to bolt, but she was sure the worst was over.

  "Lieutenant," Livadhi said, "I'm ordering you to cover our jump. Don't let that traitor follow us—"

  "Traitor, sir? My scan tells me that's Indefatigable, and Heris Serrano . . ."

  "Lieutenant, there's no time—I have to go now, before she compromises my mission—and you might want to consider how she knew to come here. . . ."

  Because I told her stuck in Esmay's throat.

  "Vigilance is lit," her weapons officer said. "She's targeting us and Indy."

  Rascal's screens wouldn't take a direct hit from Vigilance, not this close. She could microjump to a safe distance, but then Livadhi could jump out before Serrano was close enough.

  Petris, off watch, had just told himself for the fortieth time that he must get some sleep when his com buzzed with the three-one-three signal that meant Koutsoudas had detected Heris's ship. He rolled out of his bunk, and buzzed Oblo and Meharry with the same signal. His clothes, his boots, a dash to the head. His face in the mirror looked strange, a mask of intense concentration. He buzzed Slater and Cornelian. His stomach churned; he gulped a swallow of water, and headed for Drives.

  "She's here?" Chief Potter asked.

  "Yes. Start getting 'em ready. I don't think he'll be wandering the ship, but try to keep them out of the main corridors."

  Down to Troop Deck. Chief Sikes met him at the foot of the ladder. "She made it?"

  "Yes. I don't know more than that, but get 'em ready." Troop Deck, he knew, was going to be the hardest to organize. More people, and more of them not in on the secret. If Livadhi did the right thing, and surrendered, they'd be all right, but chances were the fellow wouldn't. He'd try to bargain; he'd try to blackmail Heris with her crew.

  And it wouldn't work. He knew the depths of her heart as well as his own: she would not let anyone deliver her ship and her crew—especially her crew—into enemy hands.

  She would kill them herself first. They were safe from dishonor, with Heris Serrano after them, but death was a distinct possibility.

  A lot depended on where she would aim, and from what distance. Being Heris, she would try to save what lives she could, but Livadhi must not be one of them. And the captain's quarters and offices, like the bridge itself, were deep in the cruiser's body. Heris would have to strike hard in the center, to disable Vigilance, or risk losing her and possibly her own ship when Livadhi ordered an attack.

  Petris had conferred with the most combat-experienced personnel he dared trust, and they had devised a plan which might—just might—save most of the crew not directly impacted by a weapon. Unfortunately, it required the collusion of at least a hundred of the crew: Vigilance's full array of shuttles (six troop carriers, the admiral's shuttle, the captain's shuttle, the supply shuttle) could hold 541, if they stuffed people in standing up, and hold six hours of life support for that many. But launching shuttles without the captain's knowledge was—and was intended to be—well-nigh impossible.

  How long did they have?

  Down to Engineering. What was Livadhi thinking? What would he try first? What was Heris thinking? Would she strike first for the heart of the ship, or for the drives? How long would they talk, up there, before something happened?

  On the bridge of Vigilance, the junior weapons tech had targeted Rascal, as ordered. His finger hovered over the launch buttons.

  Arkady Ginese glanced at the weapons officer, who looked distinctly unhappy. "Don't do that," he said to his junior. "It's too close. We need to change the options if she stays that close." Then to the officer he said, "We have the solution, sir, but it'll require changing out the fusing options. Permission to contact launch crew?"

  "Granted," the officer said. His glance shifted, toward the bridge entrance. "If—I mean, that will take several minutes, won't it?"

  "Yes, sir, it will." Arkady had already signalled Meharry, a series of clicks that told her which launch crew to descend on. Now he spoke into his headset. "Launch four, our target is within delay radius, R.S.S. Rascal; change out the timing and fusing options for a close-in target—"

  Back in his ear came the startled voice of the sergeant in charge of that crew. "What? We're firing on a Fleet ship? That's no mutineer; Rascal's part of our escort—I'm not gonna—"

  Meharry's voice then, cutting in. "Arkady. What's going on?"

  "Livadhi's told us to target Suiza and Serrano. Pass the word."

  "What about the bridge officers?"

  "So far they're sticking with him—but it's iffy."

  "Idiots." Meharry added the epithet she most preferred for stupid officers, and clicked off.

  Arkady glanced again at his officer, then at the bridge officer, who looked equally uncomfortable. His lips moved—he must be talking to Livadhi; the man's face seemed to settle into a mask of sadness. Then he turned and looked at Arkady. "Ginese—Commodore wants to see you in his office. You too, Vissisuan, Koutsoudas. And pipe a call for Meharry, Kenvinnard, Guar . . ." The list included all of Heris Serrano's old crew. Arkady felt cold. Whatever Livadhi was up to, it could not be good. "He wants to ask you some questions about your former commander; he's concerned about her motives . . ."

  Not good at all. Arkady got up slowly, under the eye of his supervisor, and dared not look at Oblo or Koutsoudas. Surely Meharry and Petris and the others would have more sense than to come. Surely they would do something.

  Issi Guar looked at Meharry as his name echoed over the speakers. "Does that sound like good news to you?"

  "No. Don't you go. I will. If the bastard's looking for hostages, he doesn't need all of us. Keep working on the plan. Get 'em into the shuttles as soon as you can . . . ."

  She headed up the ladders, tapping her tagger so Petris could find her. They met a deck below Command. "He's figured it out," Petris said.

  "'Fraid so. Or something. I told Issi not to come. D'you think we can take him?"

  "Not if he's got ship's security in there with him, and I imagine he would. Or his own weapons, for that matter." Petris took a breath. "Methlin—go back down and get on one of those shuttles."

  She snorted. "I'm not going to be the one to tell our captain that you're dead. And my baby brother will think I'm a wuss."

  "I doubt that. And I'm not willing to tell your baby brother that I ran out and let you die."

  "This is ridiculous. While we hang around here, he's getting Oblo and Arkady and 'Steban . . ."

  "So let's not waste time." She started up the last ladder; Petris grabbed her by the shoulder, and narrowly ducked the blow she aimed at him.

  "I can order you," Petris said. Meharry whirled.

  "Oh, right. Pull rank. I'm not leavin' my friends in that bastard's hands any more than you are. Now come on."

  When they got to Command Deck, they saw Oblo, Arkady, and Esteban sauntering down the passage from the bridge at a pace that could only be considered glacial.

  "Now what?" Oblo muttered. "Do we tackle him, or—"

  "You get out," Petris said. "I'll go in alone."

  "Heris will love that," Oblo said.

  "You," Petris said, "go to the bridge and start trouble. We need to be sure that this ship does not fire on any other and doesn't jump. While you're causing trouble, Arkady will take down the weapons. If they aren't lit, Heris is less likely to blow us all away."

  "If we can do that, why do you want us to evacuate the ship?" Meharry asked. />
  "The captain's thumb," Petris said, who had thought of it only on that last dash up the ladder. For a moment they all stared blankly.

  Then, "He wouldn't," Meharry said.

  "He would if he's feeling trapped enough. Now get out—any minute he'll be out in the passage looking for us."

  When they were out of sight, Petris marched smartly up to the hatch of the admiral's command section and announced himself.

  Not at all to his surprise, Admiral Livadhi held a very lethal weapon and nothing in his demeanor suggested any reluctance to use it. Moreover, the protective cover of his command console was open, and the large red button of the ship's self-destruct was clearly visible. Around him, the duplicates of the bridge displays gave him access to the same information as bridge crew.

  "If you hadn't meddled," Livadhi said, in a conversational tone, "you would have been all right. They'd have repatriated you; they promised me."

  "And you believed them." Petris felt no fear for himself; as if a storytape were running in his head, he could see the tiny figures racing through the corridors, then stopping to argue . . . filling the shuttles in the shuttle bay . . . stuffing them . . . and would that even work?

  "They've always kept their word to me," Livadhi said. "I wouldn't have done anything that would hurt you—you most of all, Heris's old crew. You're good people—"

  "So let us go. Let the crew go."

  "I can't do that—I can't fly this ship alone."

  "She won't let you take the ship," Petris said. "She'll blow it."

  "I hope not," Livadhi said. "I trust not. I'm sure, though, you told the others not to come—"

  "Right."

  "I could have security bring them in, assuming you haven't suborned ship security, too. I suspect you've done something to interfere with my attacking Serrano and Suiza."

  "I believe so, yes."

  "Such a waste," Livadhi said. "You realize I can kill everyone—"

  Tell him that the crew were even now boarding shuttles to leave? No. Petris waited, as Livadhi—still holding the weapon on him—leaned back in his chair. "You don't want to kill everyone, Admiral," Petris said, trying to believe it.

  "No—but I may have no choice." He made a slight gesture with his free hand. "Sit down."

  Petris hesitated—sitting down took away any chance of a swift lunge—but every second he could keep Livadhi occupied might save another life. He sat gingerly on the edge of one of the chairs.

  Livadhi smiled. "Tell me," Livadhi said, "what was she like?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "Heris Serrano. You slept with her, I know. What was she like?"

  Shock held Petris speechless a moment. "I'm not going to talk about that—"

  "Why not? We both loved her; you perhaps love her still. She never favored me with the delights of her body, but you—you she raised from enlisted to a commission just for her pleasure—"

  "Not just that," Petris said, through clenched teeth.

  "Oh, I think so." Livadhi's airy tone, in these circumstances, was obscene. "You're not really command material, you know. Nothing like her. Or me, for that matter."

  "I never turned traitor," Petris said. The doubts that so often assailed him when he thought of himself and Heris as a pair—that had interfered, though he tried not to see it, with their love—now rose again to confront him. She was command material, and he—he loved her, but he wasn't her match.

  "No, you didn't turn traitor. That's not the point and you know it." Livadhi took a sip from his flask. "You're a good loyal man, Petris Kenvinnard. Competent at your job—but not a commander. If you had been, I wouldn't be here with control of this ship. Heris would have taken me out somehow; in your place, I'd have taken out a traitor admiral. But you dithered. You waited. You missed one opportunity after another."

  "I—" He had, he knew, done exactly that. He had waited for Heris to come, for her to make the decisions. But how had Livadhi known? He felt paralyzed by shame.

  "And now, because of you, your beloved Heris is going to have to decide between blowing us all away, or letting me escape. You aren't worthy of her, Petris. I was, but she wouldn't have me. She chose you—I suppose she felt sorry for you."

  "That's not true!" But was it? He thought back over the course of their love—their acknowledged love—from Sirialis to the present. Surely the depth of his love mattered more than whether he had her gift for command. Their passion—he squeezed his eyes shut a moment, remembering her touch, the feel of her, the scent—

  "It is true," Livadhi went on. "But I suppose she wouldn't tell you. I'm sure she did her best not to notice . . ."

  Rage blurred his vision. She had not—she had loved him, she'd proven it. If he was less than she in this one way, she had not cared. "You're trying to make me angry," he said in a hoarse voice he hardly recognized as his own. "You want me to do something stupid."

  "No," Livadhi said. "I know you're not stupid. But you must realize how it feels to me—how being refused in favor of you feels. How long were you hiding your relationship before she ran out on you?"

  So much was wrong with that, so many false assumptions, that Petris could not answer them. "We had no relationship before she—before it was proper," he said.

  "I'm sure," Livadhi said, amusement sharpening his voice. "Well, perhaps not. But she had her eye on you, I'm sure, from the first. And you, I suppose, worshipped the deck she walked on—" He made it sound disgusting; Petris struggled to control his anger.

  "I admired her," he said very precisely, "because she was an outstanding officer."

  "I would have said excellent, not outstanding, but a little exaggeration can be expected . . . from lovers . . ." Livadhi cocked his head to one side. "Yes. Definitely a case of hero worship masquerading as sexual passion."

  "It is possible to admire the one you love, Admiral, though I don't suppose you've had that experience."

  "Oh, certainly. Had she returned my affections, I would have both loved and admired her. But she didn't, you see. We got as far as the hair-rumpling and kissing stage, but then she declined any more of it. Which is why I asked you . . . did she strip as good as I've always thought she would? Was she as good in bed?"

  "Better," Petris said. He shouldn't do it, he knew, but he couldn't help it. Something older than military protocol and honor was acting now, and while he might be at this man's mercy, he had one thing Livadhi would never have. "She was mine, and you cannot even imagine how good it was—"

  Livadhi's smile widened. "Excellent. Then I think you are indeed the best leverage I could have. She can let me go, or she can watch you die." His free hand came up with another weapon, this one, Petris recognized, loaded with tranquilizer darts.

  R.S.S. Indefatigable

  "What is going on over there?" Heris asked.

  "Their targeting's gone, their weapons—they're standing down, Captain." Her weapons officer sounded relieved, and no wonder.

  "Is it a trick?" asked Seabolt.

  "They do have Koutsoudas," Heris said, "but he's on our side—he's been covering Rascal. He's the only one I know who could possibly fox our scan of their arming status."

  "Tightbeam from Rascal," said her comm officer.

  "Put it on," Heris said.

  "Captain Suiza here . . . our scans show Vigilance is no longer targeting us, and their weapons are down."

  "We confirm," Heris said. "Any communication from Vigilance?"

  "No, sir. Wait—we have something—shuttle bay—"

  "Got it," Heris said, watching the change on her own scan screens. "Confirm shuttle bay opening." This was crazy—was Livadhi going to launch an attack on Rascal by shuttle?

  "Shuttle emerging, Indy," Suiza's voice said. "Our scan shows troop shuttle mass—wait—we're getting a signal—"

  "Tightbeam? General?" Heris waved at her own comm crew, who shook their heads.

  "Tightbeam, sir; I'll relay—"

  Over the relayed beam came the voice of Esteban Koutsoudas. "Rascal�
�Captain Suiza—hold your fire. Evacuating the ship. Commodore Livadhi's trying to defect—"

  Evacuating the ship—! Heris could hardly breathe for a moment. They couldn't get them all off—unless they could unload and go back. Would there be time?

  "Permission to dock shuttle and offload troops?" Suiza asked her, breaking into the relayed message.