More crew had crowded in behind Hreem’s command pod to watch the larger image on the main screen. At the scan console, Erbee gazed upward, his mouth slackly open, lips glistening. He’d better not start drooling again, or I’ll rip his lips off, thought Hreem. Then another caption caught his eye.
Torigan: The Archonic Enclave.
A subdued murmur rose from the crew. The scene had been recorded from ground level—the Rifters assigned to Torigan had evidently not had too much trouble landing. But now the Archon’s forces were resisting strenuously. Across the expanse of a wide public square, its gleaming white surface now littered with burning vehicles and the anonymous huddled lumps of fallen combatants, a group of magnificent buildings was the focus of a vicious firefight. The brilliant threads of lazjacs and the thicker, somewhat blurry bolts from firejacs converged across the square and were answered in kind. An occasional blue-white vortex of energy, slow-moving but deadly, marked the replies of plasmoid cannons. The noise was shatteringly intense. There were no people visible—the square was no place for fragile human flesh.
In the midst of the buildings loomed a vast geodesic dome, glittering gold in the hot sunlight, its form shimmering in the heat rising from the burning wrecks in the square.
“That’s the Mycorium,” commented Dyasil. “I visited it once. Weird place.”
Hreem waved him to silence as a small shape in the green-blue sky bulleted past, streaks of missile fire raining down from it on the defending positions. The last missile hit the dome: the golden shape crumpled inward in almost slow motion, a strange fog or mist billowing skyward from its dark interior.
“Stupid blits!” said Hreem in disgust.
Erbee looked confused. “Why’s that?”
The defending fire was falling off rapidly now. Across the square, men could be seen running toward the attacking Rifters, weaponless, leaping and twisting bizarrely, their forms strangely blurred.
“That was the fungus collection of the Archonei of Torigan,” said Dyasil. “Toadstools and all sorts of slimy blunge from all over the Thousand Suns. Stupid thing to keep in the middle of a city. The Panarch tried to get her to move it into space.”
“Now they’ll have to use full armor and decon chambers if they want to get any loot,” Hreem said, guffawing. “The whole city’ll be armpit-deep in crawling slimes and man-eating mushrooms, or whatever it was the crazy old bitch kept in there.”
“Pretty close, Cap’n.” Dyasil’s shudder was audible in his voice. “She used ’em for the Local Justice Option. There’re vids of the executions.”
On the screen the battle was over. From the fallen bodies of the defenders blobby columns of multihued slime wavered toward the smoky sky, like pillars of rotten cheese. The bridge was silent as the scene faded out, someone leaving hurriedly.
The viewscreen showed space again. Below appeared a planet, its surface blurred by the energies of an activated Shield. The caption scrolled up—Minerva—causing a buzz of excited comment. This was the planet reserved exclusively for the Panarchic Academy and its support population, training center for the Panarch’s military forces.
“This will be good!” said someone.
Erbee’s console bleeped. The lanky Rifter slapped a pad and looked down at his console. “Cap’n! Emergence pulse... five light-seconds.”
The other Rifters on the bridge scrambled to their positions.
Hreem slapped the jump pad beside him, feeling the faint subsonic pulse as the fiveskip blipped briefly. The main screen blanked to a view of space. The screen shimmered as the computer located the intruder—in the center, a translucent blue-white sphere of light dissipated against the stars.
Hreem kept his hand poised over the jump pad. “Pili! Give me shields and lock on targeting. Ready a skipmissile. Erbee. ID?”
A tense moment later: “Incoming, Cap’n. Rift Sodality code: it’s the Satansclaw.”
“About time! Cancel that, Pili. Dyasil, general broadcast...” Hreem caught himself, remembering that the damn hyperwave broadcast to everybody. Only one-time ciphers would be sure protection against Barrodagh listening in—The less that slug knows, the better—and he hadn’t bothered setting them up. “... EM-cast: all ships jump to second rendezvous point and close to within a light-second for EM conference.” Despite practice during the Lith’s long sequestration, he still wasn’t used to the new communications terminology the hyperwave made necessary, especially in a fleet where not all the ships had one.
It took a few minutes to get to the second rendezvous, and further delay while the ships closed in, but his relief at being well away from the beacon signal eased Hreem’s impatience, until it became obvious that Tallis was late again.
At the nav console, Bargun and another tech were bent over the little screen, still watching Dyasil’s recording, eager anticipation on their faces.
‘Bargun!” snapped Hreem. “You got that first jump in-system plotted?”
“Yeah. If we’re more’ n half a light-second off I’ll eat my console. But Dward and me want to see some of those spit-and-polish nackers at the Academy get flamed.”
“If we’re off more than that, you’ll wish I gave you the choice of eating your console, so cut that chatzing recording off and set up the jump. Anyway, Neyvla-Khan and his clan don’t take chances—once the Shield’s down they’ll just stand off in orbit and slag the surface. Only a fool would land on a planet full of Academy-trained fighters.”
The viewscreen slowly segmented itself into a number of windows as the captains of the rest of the Rifter ships joined the conference.
Finally, Tallis Y’Marmor’s pop-eyed face appeared, but it took a few seconds for his eyes to focus on Hreem. Tallis grinned, his larynx bobbing as he swallowed nervously. Hreem snorted with exasperation—The stupid blit’s still five light-seconds out.
“Sorry I’m late, Hreem,” Tallis began, “but my fiveskip’s all chatzed up and we’re having trouble finding the problem.”
“Y’Marmor, you blunge-brain,” Hreem yelled, “get yourself in closer so we can talk without waiting for you to hear us!”
Y’Marmor’s blundering explanation continued for another ten seconds, while Hreem fumed and the other faces on the screen grinned. “... so we took...” He stopped and glared at Hreem. “I just told you, I can’t control it that fine! We’re coming in under geeplane—it’ll only take a few minutes.”
“Forget it, Y’Marmor. Just listen and keep your mouth shut. If you have any questions, ask ’em at the end.”
Hreem shifted his attention to the rest. “All right, you’ve got some of the details so far. Here’s how we’re gonna handle the attack now that Tallis is here.” The captains gazed back at him with anticipation.
“First jump is to twenty light-minutes out and over. Then the Lith’ll jump in just short of the skip barrier and take out one of the resonators. That’ll leave the way clear for the rest of you to skip in close to Charvann after the field collapses back to normal radius—wait for my signal. When you skip in, take out whatever ships you see. Don’t take prizes—blast ’em all. We don’t want to overlook any naval ships. Remember, Novograth and Satansclaw: your skipmissiles are hotter than anything the Navy’s got, but your shields and everything else are the same as ever. The rest of you don’t have any advantage except surprise, so shoot first! Any questions so far?”
As soon as he asked the question, Hreem knew what was coming. Everyone knew the weakness of the fiveskip: get too close to a planetary-sized gravity well—inside radius—in fivespace, and you ended up inverted in three dimensions. It was a spectacularly messy fate that was the subject of many a late-night bilge-banging session. On Charvann, the resonance field extended radius to second lunar orbit, if Hreem’s attack failed...
Sure enough, one of the captains had to ask. “What if they get the field back up?”
“Then you’ll end up staring at the inside of your own head!” snarled Hreem. “They can’t. RiftNet says Charvann doesn’t have a backu
p. Costs a lot of money and the stupid blits preferred to spend it on teacup appreciation or some such blunge for the university instead. Anyway, after we mop up, the Novograth will take on the Shield while Lith and Satansclaw keep a lookout in case any other Navy ships show up.”
“This might be a good time to remind everyone about long-ranging, just in case Korion is in-system,” interrupted Esteel’s captain, Kherrimun, a younger man who Hreem had once encountered on Rifthaven, to their mutual dissatisfaction.
Pushy chatzer. He didn’t want to emphasize that, and didn’t like being reminded of it himself, but now he had no choice. He wasn’t about to let Kherrimun take control of the briefing. I’ll deal with you later.
“I don’t think anyone’s going to forget how good a cruiser is at long-ranging.” But some of ’em will, he thought disgustedly. Too many of the ships that Barrodagh had assigned to him were crewed by Rifters too careful or timid to merit the attention of the Navy’s largest ships, whose seven-kilometer baseline lent their sensors terrifying precision and range.
“Any of you get lazy after we mop up the locals, and decide to stop drunkwalking, cruiser’ll target you from way out, then jump in on top of you... no warning.” From ten light-minutes out, a cruiser could take its time targeting a distant fleet, then jump in close, correct and fire long before the emergence pulse from its targeting position arrived to warn its victims. Only random changes in velocity offered any protection for a targeted ship—the more often, the better.
Warned by the expressions on some of their faces, Hreem went on quickly, directing their attention back to more pleasant anticipations.
“But Korion’s probably not even in-system. They got a lot of planets on their patrol. And if it is—” Hreem smiled broadly. “—well, are they ever gonna be surprised, finding out what an Alpha Class can do with an Urian relay in its powerdeck!”
The other captains laughed—all except Tallis, who hadn’t heard the remark yet. His lack of reaction made him look even stupider than usual.
“After the Shield collapses, we land—you’ve already got your assignments.”
“What kind of defenses are we going to encounter on the way down?” interrupted the captain of the Novograth, a woman with a plump, rosy face who looked like someone’s grandmother until you noticed the deadness of her eyes. Hreem knew nothing about her aside from her entry in the RiftNet Pandoxicon—he hadn’t bothered to read the rest of the dossier Riolo had put together. Her speech was precise, almost prissy, which had irritated Hreem the first time he talked to her, and even more now.
“None, if they’re smart. They know there’s no defense against dirty nukes in atmosphere.” The rules of war involving planetary defense were ancient and rarely violated: civilian populations were too effective as hostages to make resistance to a landing practical once the Shield fell.
“But listen close...” Hreem leaned forward for emphasis. “You’ve all seen the vid from that chatzer Barrodagh. There’s gonna be no looting until after we find this Omilov blungebag—and everything in his house is gonna be under guard. That’s Tallis’s assignment, and anybody who crosses me up on this gets an all-expenses-paid vacation under the personal guidance of Dol’jhar’s torturer... after Norio finishes with you. You got that?” By the expressions on their faces, Hreem judged the threat sufficient. Just to make sure, he stretched ostentatiously in his pod, extending the heel-claws of his boots with a minatory click and then relaxing.
“Right. Afterward, Charvann’s ours. Have fun. But don’t any of you get trigger-happy and shoot up the Node or any of the Syncs, either—all the Highdwellings are mine. Any more questions?”
There were none and he dismissed them—”Except you, Y’Marmor. We’ve got some talking to do.”
The last of the other faces had just winked out when the pop-eyed Rifter captain reacted, and the light-speed delay irritated Hreem afresh.
“It’s not my fault,” whined Tallis. “It’s that blit O’Pappan and his refit crew on Rifthaven, selling me substandard parts.”
“Blow it out your blungehole, Y’Marmor—he sells you what you pay him for. If you’d put more money into the guts of the Satansclaw and less into all those chatzy decorations—like that screaming horror you call a cabin. With all those paintings of fat bitches and that curlicue furniture that makes you feel like you’re sitting on somebody’s face... it’s like a cross between a chatz-house and a corpse-painter’s waiting room...” Hreem’s disgust left him wordless for a moment. The rest of the crew on the bridge were silent, but Hreem could feel their grins.
“Forget all that, Y’Marmor. I don’t know why Eusabian picked you to handle this Omilov blit, and if I had any say in the matter you wouldn’t be part of my command, but you’re here, and if you chatz up this attack I’ll let Norio play with you for a while, and then send you off to that Evodh chatzer for a guided tour of his mindripper. Now, how much longer are you gonna need to get your fiveskip working right?”
Hreem’s threats and obvious anger cut Tallis’s usually interminable self-serving explanations to a barely tolerable minimum, and got results. An hour after the Satansclaw signed off, Dyasil reported that Y’Marmor had messaged his readiness.
“He sounded kind of unhappy, Cap’n,” the tech said with a wry smile, “though I can’t imagine why.”
Hreem laughed and dismissed the matter, excitement rising in him now that the attack was about to begin. Though he was enormously successful by Rifter standards, Hreem had always been on the run. Few Rifters in the jacking trade ever lived long enough to relax and enjoy their loot, and the more successful they were, the more likely was a fatal encounter with the Navy—not to mention the deadly envy of fellow Rifters.
But now it was his turn to call the shots. Fate and the Lord of Vengeance had placed the ultimate weapon in his hands, and like his fellows in the Rift Sodality whose work he had just watched with delight, Hreem was eager to unleash it on his persecutors. He knitted his fingers together and stretched his arms overhead, feeling the last of his anxiety depart. For a moment the quiet hum of the ship around him was as much a part of him as the sound of the breath through his nostrils or the subdued murmur of his pulse. He was the instrument of his own vengeance.
“Dyasil,” he said, “battle stations. Signal the fleet. Bargun... take us in.” Moments later the bridge shuddered gently as the fiveskip engaged and the viewscreen blanked as the Flower of Lith leapt out of spacetime toward Charvann.
THREE
To its captain’s intense relief, the Satansclaw made the skip to twenty out-and-over without incident, but it seemed to Tallis Y’Marmor that the Flower of Lith jumped out only moments after he arrived. Fifteen minutes to go.
Tallis watched the wake of the Lith dissipate redly against the stars, then he slumped back in his command chair and picked nervously at the ornately gilded filigree on his console. His finger rings glittered in the subdued light of the Satansclaw’s bridge. Around him the monitors sat alertly, some stiffly, resplendent in red uniforms with gold piping at the seams, a couple of them fidgeting at their consoles.
Hreem’s tongue-lashing was still vivid in his mind. How ludicrous, and how typical, of that barbarian to call my ship a chatz-house! Chatz-house! How would he know? There isn’t one in the Thousand Suns that’ll let him in—unless he brings his own partner. And then they charge him double just to clean up the room afterward.
Tallis sniffed fastidiously—the bridge of the Lith was a pretty repulsive sight, all naked metal slopped with gray paint, and, he was sure, a thin film of grease on everything. He looked around with satisfaction at the complex inlays and gleaming paneling that made the bridge of the Satansclaw such a delight to his eyes. A subtle change in the airflow on the bridge wafted the scent of sandalwood, bergamot, and nushia to him and he smiled, pleased at the new combination he’d devised for the tianqi, so necessary for keeping the crews’ senses occupied in the otherwise monotonous confines of a ship in flight.
He inhaled deeply
, reassured by remembering that Hreem was in no position to carry out those threats. Not when the Lord of Vengeance is relying on me to bring Gnostor Omilov to Arthelion.
His pleasant reverie about what he could have said to Hreem was marred by the quiet voice of sho-Imbris, the navigator. “Ten minutes to skip.”
Tallis’s stomach suddenly insisted that the gravitors were unstable, but he knew they weren’t. A zap-and-skip raid was one thing—Tallis was good at that, which was why the Karroo Syndicate had commissioned him in the Satansclaw under their Writ. They wanted profits, not damage reports. But a full-fledged attack on a planet, and with a cruiser in the system—that was unheard of. He wondered again what Eusabian had offered the Karroo, to entice them to risk their ships in the Dol’jharian attack.
Tallis found himself hoping that the fiveskip would fail again, so he’d miss the worst of the battle. Hreem couldn’t blame him... But he would. He’d seen one of Hreem’s “entertainments,” and he knew that the burly captain needed little or no excuse to stage one. And what Norio could do to a man’s ego... Tallis shuddered. One’s emotions should be private, not the instruments of a psychic flaying.
His fingers drummed nervously near the code pads on his console, then he noticed what he was doing and snatched his hand away. You’re not that afraid of the attack, insisted his interior voice, chattering away full speed under the lash of his anxiety. A familiar tingle of combined guilt and anxiety burned through him, mixed with repugnance. You spent a half-year’s take on the damned thing, and you’ve never used it.
A shudder of superstitious fear ran through him as he thought of the mass of circuitry the Barcan technician had buried deep within the Satansclaw’s computers. A logos—embodying the combined expertise of scores of ship captains, including some of the greatest fighters who’d ever lived. The names of the captains whose talents the logos held was a roll call of the Hall of Honor: Ilvarez, Metellus, Tu Chang, Porgruth Minor among others—they were his to command. Perhaps it would be a good idea to switch it on and link it to the ship’s sensorium, just to watch his back and help him with the tactical displays. It wouldn’t have any trouble at all dealing with this attack.
The Phoenix in Flight Page 15
