"Put out a tube," Heris said. "Tell 'em to go straight out—not wait to swim all the way, if they have p-suits."
A long moment, then Suiza came back on. "Confirm p-suits in this load. Tube's out; ETA four point two minutes."
Heris translated that into real distance; Rascal was practically nestled into the cruiser's flank. "You cut that close, Captain Suiza—were you planning to clog an attempt to jump?"
"If I had to," Suiza said. "And it gave me a clear shot."
"Yes . . . I see that. Carry on. When you get those personnel aboard, you should probably let Koutsoudas onto scan. And if there's anyone from my old crew, I'd like to speak to them."
"Yes, sir. Second shuttle emerging—"
Seconds ticked by, her mind hardly needing the chronometer to sense the passage of each one, each meter gained as the shuttles moved toward Rascal. One after another . . . the entire complement, like beads on a string. That ship would be most vulnerable when she opened the hatch to let them in—but Suiza had not suggested moving back to a safer distance. Heris reminded herself to be pleased with Suiza later.
R.S.S. Rascal
The first shuttle positioned itself close to the end of the transfer tube, and vented its internal pressure on the far side, pushing it gently against the tube. With the shuttle hatch open, the transfer tube with its rope handholds was easily accessible. One of the chiefs reached in and got the spare rope tethers, already secured to one of the tube framing members, and passed it up the length of the shuttle. Everyone took a grip, then those nearest the hatch stepped into freefall, and pulled themselves forward, toward Rascal, as the pilot eased the shuttle away again. The others, still inside, were shucked from the hatch by the rope they held.
Koutsoudas was third on the rope, and up the tube; with the first two, he cycled through the lock and into Rascal. After Vigilance it seemed cramped; he made his way to the bridge faster than he'd expected.
Suiza was watching for him. "Over here," she said, without more than a flip of the hand in return for his salute and request to enter the bridge. "And Commander Serrano wants a report from one of her old crew. Who's aboard?"
"I'm the only one on that shuttle. Issi Guar may be on the next. Arkady, Oblo and Meharry went to the bridge to shut down weapons." He unfastened his p-suit, and pulled a small gray box out of its inner recesses. "Just a second, sir, while I get this going—"
The scan screen blanked, broke into a multicolored hash, and then reformed with far more clarity than before. "There," Koutsoudas said. He glanced back at his new captain. "Captain, there's a real situation over there. The bridge officers are Livadhi's, but they're not in on the treachery—they believe what he's told them. Secret orders, he says, and Serrano's the traitor or she couldn't have trailed him." He tapped one of the controls, and the screen shifted to show a closeup of Vigilance's flank, the open shuttle bay. "They're getting edgy, though, and I'd guess, since the weapons came off, that our people convinced 'em."
"So—do you think they'll arrest Commodore Livadhi?" Suiza asked.
"No, sir—he's got the captain's thumb."
"The self-destruct?"
"Yes, sir. At least, we think he does. He's in the flag office, dual screens an' everything, including the switch."
"But he doesn't want to blow the ship," Suiza said. "He wants to get to the Benignity."
"Which he can't do with you sitting tight like this, and Commander Serrano in a cruiser in easy striking distance. Especially not when he realizes how much of the crew we're gettin' off. We think he'll threaten to blow it, try to get her to let him go."
"She won't," Suiza said with utter certainty. Koutsoudas looked at her. She was a long way from the exhausted, frightened young officer who had saved them at Xavier. She had the same kind of look he associated with Serrano—with Livadhi before he went bad. She turned from him, and told her exec to take care of getting the new arrivals settled out of the way—no easy task on a patrol ship.
The next shuttle bellied up to the transfer tubing, and repeated the unloading maneuver. The first shuttle was easing back into the shuttle bay; the third and fourth were lined up to unload. Koutsoudas wondered how many personnel were waiting . . . how many had been convinced . . . well, there was a way to find out. He tapped into the communications line, and probed for Vigilance's internal communications. Oblo had promised to turn it to full power.
There . . .
"—But this is mutiny!" came the voice of Captain Burleson.
"Yes, sir, and reckless abandonment, that's right." That was Oblo, no doubt about it. In the patient voice he sometimes used with the duller pivots, he went on. "And if we're wrong, then the admiral will do nothing but sit there and talk to Commander Serrano, and when she's convinced we'll all go back and be reamed out. But it's better than ending up a Benignity prisoner, don't you think?"
"He wouldn't—"
"Sir, he has. There's evidence. Thing is, we are not going to get in a fight with loyal Fleet vessels, and we're not going to sit here and let the admiral blow us away. You have a choice, sir, of coming along willingly, or me and Methlin'll carry you."
"He's not going to come," Suiza said. "He's a captain—he'll want to stay."
"The rest of you—come on—" Oblo again, a little breathless. Koutsoudas figured Suiza was right, and they'd had to knock out the stubborn flag captain. "General alert—let's try—"
R.S.S. Vigilance
Livadhi still smiled that poisonous smile as he completed the tightbeam to Indefatigable. "Commander Serrano . . . it's too bad you came all this way for nothing."
"I wouldn't exactly call it nothing." Heris's voice steadied Petris, but Livadhi's knowing leer still hurt. Petris could feel himself sliding into the tranquilizer's warm dark pool; he wanted to speak, but he couldn't figure out how. "When an admiral and his ship go missing, in time of war, people notice."
"All you're doing," Livadhi said, "is ensuring that hundreds of innocent people die. They would have been safe, but for you. They could be safe still, if you do what I tell you."
"And what is that?"
"Let me go. Pull back, you and Suiza, and let me go. I know what I'm doing."
"I don't think you do, Arash," Heris said.
"They're your people, Heris. People you love. People you hurt once—do you want to kill them now?"
"I'm not killing them, Arash—you're the one who was planning to take them to their deaths."
"They'd have been repatriated," Livadhi said. "Jules promised me—"
"Jules?"
"Never mind. It doesn't matter now. What matters is that your people are at your mercy, Heris. I have Petris right here with me—"
"And you're going to kill him unless I let you go, and then he'll be killed by the Benignity? That won't work, Arash."
Of course it won't work, Petris thought. I could have told you that. Bless the woman; he wished he could tell her he loved her. He relaxed, then, and let the dark pool lap over him.
"You haven't heard me out," Livadhi said. "You always did interrupt. Listen."
R.S.S. Indefatigable
"Arash—don't do this," Heris said. She felt useless; she had tried before to persuade traitors not to be traitors, and it hadn't worked then. "You won't get anywhere; you'll only be killed—"
"You can't stop me," he said. "At best, I'll be under suspicion the rest of my life. Why should I do that?"
"Because—" Because they had been friends. He had given her Koutsoudas when she needed him; he had let her go, with the prince's clones, when he could have blown her away. She didn't try to say that; he knew it already.
"I don't want that life, Heris. I don't want to live that way, with all those meaningful glances."
"So you're going to run off to the enemy, when we need you?"
"You don't need me. You don't even love me—"
"Love you! Is that what this is about?"
"No. Well, not entirely. Now that I'm leaving . . . I'm sorry we never got together. You Serranos
are . . . special people." The smirk on his face was infuriating; Heris wanted to wipe it off with a shovel.
"We Serranos are stubborn, arrogant, and rude, Arash. You wouldn't have liked sleeping with me, even if I'd been willing. Now be serious—you always were a good officer. Think. This isn't fair to your crew."
"Life isn't fair, Serrano. You of all people should know that."
"Why not just kill yourself, and let them go?"
"Why would I? Heris . . . look, I wasn't close to Lepescu, and I never went on his stupid hunts. But I knew about them. And that got me sucked in—they had something on me, so I—"
"Arash . . . you blew up two Benignity ships coming to my rescue—you can't seriously mean—"
"Heris, you're such an innocent. Why do you think I was even there, within range to hear you? If you hadn't tried to fight, and that idiot in the Benignity hadn't decided to take you out completely, you'd never have known I was there. You had something the Benignity wanted badly, and the plan was that you'd be boarded, the item removed, and then you'd be towed into a fairly lonesome sector to make your way back if you could."
"You were after . . . the prince? You wanted the prince?"
"Yes, of course. And the clones. The Benignity thought that would give leverage . . . I didn't want you hurt, or that old lady, actually. Her poisoning wasn't a Benignity plan; that's why they killed the poisoner."
"But Arash . . ." It was useless. If he thought he'd have a good life with the Benignity . . . She squeezed her eyes shut. She had been so happy to find out that Petris was on Livadhi's ship—she had trusted Livadhi to care for his crew as she cared for them. And now . . . he was taking them to certain death, one way or the other.
She tried again. "Why not take a shuttle? I'll let you go; you'll be safe—they'll can me, but that's happened before. And your crew"—my crew—"will be safe. You can trust me not to fire on you."
"No," Livadhi said. "I need the cruiser and its crew. That's my ticket home."
She could hardly believe, even now, how coldblooded he was. "Come on," she said. "You're an admiral; they'd be glad to have you if you arrived in your underwear."
"No, Heris, they would not." He seemed to be picking his words as if they were berries among thorns. "It is their opinion that I have not, heretofore, justified their investment in me. That is almost their exact phraseology. I must bring the cruiser and its crew—they don't want the crew, but they want to be sure the cruiser isn't booby-trapped."
Away from the audio pickups, someone murmured, "Captain—" and when she glanced aside, held up a board with the number so far evacuated on it. She looked back at Livadhi.
"How about the crew, Livadhi? Did you think how they're going to react, now they know you've sold them over to the Benignity? Can you really keep control of them until you get there? Do you think they'll let the ship go without a fight?"
"Thanks to you and Suiza, probably not. Blast it, Serrano, it's all your fault anyway." Back to that, where he would stick until the end, she realized.
"Is Petris in your cabin with you?" she asked.
"Oh, yes. I couldn't trust him elsewhere," Livadhi said. "Do you want to see him?" And before she could answer, he'd turned the video pickup around. Petris sat slumped in a chair on the other side of the desk. He had a vacant, vague expression, so utterly wrong for that reckless face that Heris could not repress a gasp of dismay.
"A touch of pharmaceutical quietude," Livadhi said; he turned the pickup back to himself and his grin was feral. "He's too dangerous, and besides, I'd had my fun twitting him. He's besotted with you, you know. Though he's not up to your weight."
Her mouth had gone dry; she could not speak. Over half the crew had been taken off, and stuffed like salt fish into Rascal's compartments and passages. The shuttles were even now loading again—this load would have to make the longer traverse to Indefatigable, unless they were left dangling on the ropes trailed from Rascal's transfer tube. She knew that if she microjumped closer, Livadhi would press that red button under his thumb. He might anyway.
Petris was dead already. She could see no way of getting him out—Livadhi could push that button before anyone could get into the compartment, even if there had been someone to do it. She raged inwardly at whoever was in Environmental—couldn't they have thought to pump in some narcotic gas? But the flag offices probably had their own separate ventilation system, complete with secured oxygen tanks, for just such possibilities.
All she could do was keep Livadhi talking, as the slow shuttles went and came, ferrying off one meagre load at a time. Maybe—maybe—Petris would be the only innocent to die.
But even as she thought this, Livadhi's gaze turned from her to one of the screens beside him, that she could not see. His eyes widened; he paled. "They're running away! Evacuating! NO! I will not let you win, Serrano."
And his thumb went down.
"I regret to inform you—" The old formula made it possible to say, but not easier. "Commodore Livadhi just blew up Vigilance. Rascal was much closer than we are; they may have damage. We hope there will be survivors; we are now going to mount a search and rescue effort."
"I ask you all to remain calm, and carry out your duties; when we have word on survivors, you will be informed. For the duration of the rescue, launch bays and medical are cut out of the internal communications net: if you have a medical problem, contact your unit commander, who can contact the bridge."
"Captain, we've got a line back to Rascal—"
"—only minor damage, Captain Serrano. But we can't stuff any more in here. I do have a debris plot—"
"Thank you, Captain Suiza. Any sight of those shuttles?" Hardened combat shuttles should be able to survive, if not hit by anything too big. The officers' shuttles, however . . .
"Yes, sir. One at least is whole, but appears to be tumbling out of control. Haven't spotted the others—wait—Koutsoudas says he has 'em."
"We're coming in, but slowly—" Shields up, to avoid damage from debris, much more slowly than she wanted. Please, please let them be alive. More of them. Most of them. All of them, if it's possible, please—
She waited a few minutes on the bridge to deal with any questions from the section commanders, but none came. So, with a last nod at her exec, she went to her office across the passage. There she copied and sealed the scan records, and began her own detailed report for Fleet, as she waited for the first reports on rescue attempts. Petris was dead. Livadhi had "fun" with him—she could imagine what Livadhi had said, how Petris must have felt. And she had come too late, with no miracles, without the chance to tell him what she felt.
The hours crawled by. She acknowledged the first report of success: the tumbling shuttle found, boarded, survivors—most badly injured—stabilized as well as possible. Another shuttle, its hatch open (had it been loading at the moment of destruction?), and all aboard dead. Another, all aboard alive, com mast destroyed, but the pilot had been able to guide it toward Rascal.
Her com beeped; she answered, trying to concentrate on item 16(f) in her report, and a voice said, "Captain, do you want lunch in your office, or over here?"
She started to refuse lunch, but experience said eat now or pay later. "Soup and bread," she said, answering the unasked question. "In my office."
"Five minutes, then, Skipper."
The soup tasted flat, and the bread stale. She ate anyway, knowing it was important, alternating two spoonfuls of soup with a bite of bread. He was dead. He was dead forever. He hadn't even been able to hear her, see her, in the moment before he died. All he'd heard had been Livadhi's poisonous words; all he'd seen was Livadhi's arrogant face.
Someone tapped on the door. "Come in," Heris said, glad of anything to break the mood. The door opened, and Methlin Meharry stood there in a rumpled p-suit.
"I'm sorry, Captain," she said. "I couldn't get him out—"
"I know," Heris said. Her eyes filled with tears; she blinked them back. "I know."
"I should've killed that scum
-sucking toad the moment I felt that twitch in my gut," Meharry said. "It would've saved us a lot of trouble."
"You did the best you could," Heris said.
"Seemed like it at the time, but now—y'know, if it wasn't for the mutiny—we all worried about starting trouble on the ship, in case we got into combat—"
"It's not your fault," Heris said.
"I know. But dammit, Captain—I know how you felt about him."
"Yes, and I'm going to grieve and cry at the wake . . . but I was lucky to have his love, and that's what I'll remember. I'm not going to let a traitor rob me of that memory, and it's not going to ruin my life." She said it to comfort Meharry, but all at once she felt better herself. It wouldn't last, she knew—the pain would come back, the loss—but that instant's memory of his laughing face in the sunlight, years ago on Sirialis, brought only joy.
The Serrano Succession Page 87
