Games of Command

by Linnea Sinclair

  “We’re in a void-based ship,” Kel-Paten grumbled, double-checking all data. Sass understood: garbage in, garbage out.

  But they had nothing else to go on.

  They crossed out of geosynchronous orbit and into the low planetary orbit zone. Then the Blade’s scanner erupted with warnings. Weapons came online automatically. Heart pounding, Sass brought the data to her console with brisk precision.

  “Bogies, six—”

  “Eight,” Kel-Paten corrected. “Closing fast, port and starboard.”

  “Got ’em. Shields at max.”

  “Initiating evasive programs two and six. If I don’t like them, I’m going manual.”

  “Agreed,” Sass said tersely as the first barrage of laser fire peppered the shields. “Shields holding.”

  “Returning fire. Launching seeker.” Kel-Paten released the first of three long-range tracking torpedoes the ship carried. “Two minutes to impact.”

  “Cutting it a little close, aren’t we?” A seeker could easily destroy the attacking and defending ship if it wasn’t detonated at a safe distance.

  “Right at perimeter of the danger zone, not to worry. We’ll just get some chaff.”

  Hell. And Eden thought Sass took crazy risks.

  “We need to let our friends know we’re serious,” he added.

  “Our friends look familiar,” Sass said as she shifted shield calibration to manual and keyed in a pattern.

  “Affirmative. Same hull configuration as those at Panperra.”

  She played with the pattern again, then let the computer take over. Just a little something to cause a mullytrock in the attackers’ targeting systems.

  The fighter targeted by the seeker veered violently. The missile corrected and closed the distance.

  “Ten seconds to impact,” Kel-Paten said. “My compliments to Zanorian. His ship handles well.”

  “Actually, he’d be flattered as hell—”

  “Impact. One down.”

  “—to hear that,” she finished, bracing for the onslaught of ship fragments that would pepper the Blade’s shields for the next few moments. That was close.

  “Noted. But he’s not getting you back. Launching seeker two.”

  The target was much farther away this time. “Noted,” she answered, and caught him quirking an eyebrow at her. She grinned in spite of the tension. The Blade shuddered slightly, the fragments acting as infinitesimal missiles stressing the shields. “Reworking shields.” She tapped them over to manual again, keyed in another series of illogical patterns.

  “Three minutes to impact.”

  “We only have one more of those,” she warned. She was in her element, working a ship in the heat of battle, coaxing more out of the systems, countering the attackers’ moves. But she was also practical and scared. Only a fool would feel otherwise.

  “Noted. I want to use them now because we can’t once we hit heavy air.”

  Kel-Paten angled the ship toward HV-1 again, thrusters firing, the fighters following. For a moment she tensed. His heavy-air, lower-atmosphere experience was limited. Why would he…? “I take it I’m flying once we hit blue sky?”

  “You know this ship, Lady Sass. I know your profile. That, too, is a compliment,” he added. Then a few minutes later: “Impact. Two down.”

  He launched the third seeker, and four minutes after that it was five against one. Not great odds, Sass knew, but the Blade was designed for combat and, unlike the Galaxus, handled heavy air with skill. There would be a few risky moments when she switched to the heavy-air engines. But the fighters—if they pursued—would have the same problem. She sucked in a breath, prepped her console for the change from copilot and pilot. They were descending more rapidly now. Shield structure would have to change too, to compensate for the superheating upon entry.

  Sweat beaded on her brow, as if she could already feel the increase in temperature. It had been years since she’d taken a Strafer dirtside in a wild dive. Landing the Galaxus with Serafino was a joyride compared to this.

  “Three minutes to changeover,” she told Kel-Paten, whose aggressive actions with the ship’s lasers had caused one more attacker to wheel off. They were down to four. But shields were down to seventy-five percent. A portside scanner flickered out, creating a large blind spot. Not good. “We’ll be coming in nightside. I need my eyes.”

  “On it,” Kel-Paten said. “Compensating.” He worked diligently at his console, then turned abruptly to a smaller engineering station on his left. Sass glanced at weapons, now on autodefense.

  “Best I can do right now.” Kel-Paten turned back to the main console as the port scanner monitor blinked on again. But there were gaps in the datastream.

  “I can work with it,” Sass told him. “One minute thirty seconds to changeover.”

  “Shifting command console to manual,” he said over the sound of the starboard lasers firing. “Bogies are pulling back.”

  “Praise the gods and pass the peanut butter. Blue sky boundary forty-five seconds.” She focused on the dataflow as the sublights segued over to the heavy airs, the ship shuddering. The checklist flowed through her mind and she automatically adjusted the power grid and fuel mixture. “Fifteen seconds to primary wing extension.”

  “Thrusters—”

  “Hold off, flyboy. We’re coming in hotter than I like.” But the bogies gave them no choice. They still followed, though at a greater distance. She prayed they’d pull off. She had other problems now.

  “On your mark.”

  “Extending wings, twenty percent.” The Blade bucked, slipping, a feed-valve rupture alarm blaring. Damn! This was not the way you took a Strafer dirtside. Zanorian would kick her ass all over Kesh Valirr if he saw what she was doing to his ship.

  “Must be jelly…” Kel-Paten intoned, and in spite of her growing case of nerves, she laughed.

  “’Cause jam doesn’t shake like this. Okay, flyboy. Give me a bit of back burn. Heavy airs”—and a long vibration rattled through the ship—“online. It’s blue-sky time.”

  And then she was hand-flying the ship, putting her through her S-curves to bleed off speed, watching hull temperature as she did so. The shields held, but just barely. The bogies behind them stopped firing. Maybe they knew shield failure at this point would do the job for them.

  Data came in from the port scanners intermittently. Whatever fix Kel-Paten had applied was failing. He tried another patch, but this wasn’t the Vax. He couldn’t spike in and become part of the system.

  Then shield strength dropped another ten percent, and the port scanner died.

  He clicked off his straps. “I can work through a datalink below—”

  “Don’t,” she told him, teeth clenched, “even think about it.”

  “Damn it, Sebastian—”

  “Damn you, Kel-Paten! No.”

  “And how do you intend to find the outpost, the landing strip?”

  “The old-fashioned way. Looking out the forward viewport.” She shot him a quick, narrow-eyed glance. “I’ve done it before.”

  “At night?”

  “That’s where you come in.”

  He stared at her for a moment, then sat and raked his straps back across his chest. And not happily.

  “If we crash,” she told him, “I’ll buy you a beer in hell. Now, where are those bogies?”

  “They pulled off three minutes ago. They’re not heavy-air capable. That gives me time to go belowdecks and—”

  “No. It’s a simple word. Learn it. They probably have skimmers—Interceptors—heading for us from dirtside. I need you here.” Another S-curve, the last as the Strafer was starting to fly now, its wings out at fifty percent. She began a controlled descent as stars winked around her in the night sky.

  Kel-Paten went back to working his console, silently, patching damaged systems. Sass flew the Blade through the blackness, grateful for a cloudless night and two bright moons, grateful he wasn’t going to try to kill himself again to save her.

 
; Wind buffeted the ship, a small bit of air turbulence. She reduced the shields; they were creating unneeded drag. If Interceptors showed up, the shields would come up automatically again. As much as they could. They were below fifty percent now. And all they had to fight back with were lasers, creativity, and luck.

  Then she had to land this thing, get to the Traveler—

  Or maybe they didn’t have to land this thing at all. There was a shortcut. And it would make one mullytrock of a diversion. “Branden,” she said, and he looked over at her with a questioning glance. “Did the transbeam generators take any damage?”

  “None.”

  “I think I like your idea of crashing this ship.”

  One dark eyebrow rose. She waited. Then he nodded. She knew he would catch on, once she gave him the two major components.

  “It’ll be a tight transfer,” he cautioned. “This isn’t a long-range unit. But I have the coordinates for the Traveler. It’ll take me only a few seconds to program them—”

  The remaining working scanner blared in alarm. Sass flashed a glance at her console, adrenaline spiking. Interceptors, three of them. Coming in hot, firing.

  “Make it quick,” she told him as he swore out loud. Laser fire hit their shields, breaking through at Port Bulkhead 46 aft. She sealed the compartment with quick, tense moves. “We’re not going to have much time.”

  THE OUTPOST

  He looks so damned vulnerable. In her nervousness over their impending escape plans, Doc Eden Fynn forgot that Jace Serafino was not unconscious on the surgery table, even though his damned kissable mouth was slack and his damned twinkling eyes were closed.

  Appearances are deceiving, he whispered in her mind, his tone playful and seductive.

  Stop it! she told him, flashing an image of a rectal thermometer. Next to her, Mara finished laying out the instruments, including three different levels of sonic scalpels and two medical lasers. Mara and Nando seemed far more concerned with the instruments that would touch the implant than with Jace’s condition. They barely checked his life signs on the diag panel.

  Both wore, as Jace surmised, small but deadly laser pistols clipped to their belts. Cure ’Em then Kill ’Em, at your service, she thought with disgust as she ran her medicorder over Jace’s head and chest. She took a deep breath. Time to start the show. Gods, Sass was so much better at this than she was. But Sass wasn’t here.

  “Hmm.” She made that worried-medical-doctor sigh. Mara was a med-tech. She knew what it meant.

  But Mara, it seemed, wasn’t interested in anything the medicorder said about Jace.

  “Hmm,” Eden said louder, and tapped at the medicorder. “I seem to have a possible equipment malfunction.” She glanced from Mara to Nando. “Do you have another medicorder handy?”

  At Mara’s nod, Nando unclipped one from his belt and handed it to Eden.

  “Thanks.” She flipped it on and stared at it a moment, foot tapping. “Hmm,” she said again.

  “Doctor Fynn.” Mara was clearly not pleased. “Delaying the procedure—”

  “Assures the implant won’t be damaged,” Eden cut in brusquely. Her anger wasn’t feigned. “I thought I was getting an incorrect reading. I’m not. See for yourself.” She thrust the medicorder’s screen almost to Mara’s nose.

  The woman stepped back, then frowned. “Abnormal brain waves around the harness. He didn’t have that earlier. We ran full scans on him.”

  “He has it now.” She turned and shoved the medicorder toward Nando, who stood on the other side of the surgery bed. “Maybe you can explain it.”

  Nando had to lean over Jace to see the screen. Which is exactly what Jace wanted him to do. Now, he told Eden.

  He lunged upward. Eden swung the medicorder and smashed it against the side of Mara’s face. The woman stumbled backward, one arm coming up to shield her face, the other reaching for her pistol.

  Eden struck again with the medicorder, grabbed the woman’s arm, and pushed her backward, giving the med-tech no room to raise her weapon. But Mara was strong. She kicked out, catching Eden in the shin. Pain shot up her leg as grunts and thuds sounded behind her. She momentarily lost her balance. Mara shoved her back toward the bed.

  Eden tried for another blow with the medicorder, but Mara was quicker this time and, blood streaming from her nose, caught Eden’s arm as it swung inches from her face.

  “Nando!” Mara bellowed, locking Eden’s wrist in a paralyzing grip.

  A screeching yowl filled the room. Reilly, launching himself from his hiding place on a supply shelf, latched on to Mara’s thigh, claws slicing through her uniform.

  She jerked sideways but didn’t let go of Eden’s arm.

  Laser fire sliced the air. Eden wrenched around, dragging Mara with her, her arm numb, her leg spasming. Bianca stood in the doorway.

  “Stop this now!” She held a pistol in both hands, switching her target from Eden to Jace, now pulling himself off the floor. Two guards were behind her, rifles at the ready.

  Fuck. Jace’s desolation filled Eden’s senses as his voice sounded harsh in her mind.

  “Against the wall, both of you, hands out!” Bianca ordered.

  Eden, sweetling, I’m sorry.

  It’s okay. Her voice trembled, tears pricking at the back of her eyes. We had to try. She glanced surreptitiously around as she limped toward the back wall. Reilly and Tank were nowhere to be seen. Go Blink, she told them. Be safe. Please, go Blink.

  Reilly help! came back the small voice.

  No! She leaned wearily against the wall and stared at Bianca. Be safe. Mommy loves you. Mommy will always love you. Now go Blink!

  I’ll always love you, Jace told her softly.

  Bianca moved swiftly into the room, guards flanking her. Mara, her face still smeared with blood, had her pistol out and aimed it at Eden.

  “Kill me,” Eden said, “and you’ll never get the codes for the implant.”

  “I don’t have to kill you,” Bianca replied. She jerked her chin at Nando, whose left eye was battered shut. “Hand me a scalpel. I’m going to do a little surgery on my brother. Not enough to kill him, Doctor,” she told Eden, “but enough to make him wish he was dead. Let’s see how long you can listen to him scream.”

  THE WINDBLADE

  “Ten thousand feet and descending,” Sass called out over the din as she seesawed the Blade through the night sky in a final attempt to avoid the Interceptor’s lasers. They’d taken six more direct hits aft. Compartments 52 and 47 were blown. Shield-failure alarms blared, engine-temperature alarms wailed, incoming-craft-advisory alarms trilled. At least the cockpit-pressure alarms ceased screaming in her ears.

  Small reassurance, that.

  “Almost there,” Kel-Paten called back. They needed a secure lock on the Traveler in order to transport to the ship, or else they would shortly share a beer in hell. Starboard laser banks were depleted. The weapons comp targeted the Interceptors, returning fire with the port banks, but wouldn’t last much longer.

  Zanorian would be really, really pissed if he saw the holes in his beloved ship right now.

  A console behind her sparked. Cockpit lights—already on emergency greens—flickered ominously. “Shit.”

  “Got. A. Lock.” Kel-Paten spaced his words in between his frantic actions on his console, his hands moving rapidly from one screen to another. He’d removed his safety straps, hooking one leg around the base of his chair to keep from being thrown to the cockpit floor. “Got it!”

  “Go!” Sass shouted hoarsely. “Program a four-minute lag. I’ll be right behind you.”

  He grabbed her shoulder. “You go. I’ll follow.”

  “You need to be first on scene. We’ve been over this.” He was far better equipped than she was to take out any guards on board and get the ship online. “Damn you, go!”

  “Sass—”

  She spared ten seconds to glance at him. The desolate look in his eyes tore at her. “I love you, Branden. Remember that, no matter what. I love you
. Now go! That’s an order.”

  He kissed her quickly, not much more than a glancing brush of lips, his fingers fumbling in his shirt pocket. His admiral’s insignia—five stars cresting a slash of lightning, set in gold and diamonds. The Blade dipped as he pinned it to her shirt. “Keep this part of me with you forever.” His voice broke. “I love you, Sass.” She leveled the wings as he stepped away.

  She bit her lip to keep from crying and, hands trembling on the console keypads, listened to the muted whine of a transbeam kicking on behind her.

  Five thousand feet. Four thousand. She had to make sure the Blade—so heavily damaged it strained her ability to control it—didn’t take out the outpost or, worse, the Traveler. She had to hold her on course to a crash scene just south. Enough to pull the guards from the buildings. Enough that no one would be watching the Traveler. Enough to give them time to find Jace, Eden, and the furzels and get off planet.

  They’d be pursued. They expected that. But they’d have a fresh ship and full laser banks.

  She hoped. She prayed. Or else it was all for nothing.

  Three thousand feet, flying in the dark with no instruments. Not even Kel-Paten’s night sight to guide her. Flying by feel, by gut instinct. Kel-Paten would be on the Traveler by now, taking care of any guards, powering up ship’s systems. She thought of that. Not how she had no idea how she was going to release the controls two and a half minutes from now and make it to the back of the cabin in time. The Interceptors behind her still raked the ship with laser fire.

  A red light glared bright on the console, a new alarm adding its funereal dirge to the din.

  The transbeam generator had died.

  For a moment she sat frozen, staring at the information on the screen. Then a cry—primal, angry, and harsh—rose in her throat. Wordless, pained, she let it out as she desperately shunted any remaining power to the unit. Engines, lights, guidance, weapons comps went black and died. Life support, air recyclers went silent. The transbeam generator never came back on. She was trapped.

  Twenty-eight hundred feet. Two thousand. In the bright moonlight Sass could see the faint outlines of the treetops below. It was past four minutes. Branden was listening for a transbeam signal that would never chime.